Nights of Awe by Harri Nykänen Read Free Book Online Page A

going to regret they ever started making trouble in our territory. Tell everyone no breaks, not even for a second, not even if they see a pair of elephants fucking right in front of their face. I’ll be there in half an hour.”
    I went back inside. I had already communicated our movements to Manner, who was marking them on the floor with chalk. He saved himself from having to take a few shoe prints this way. Siimes was getting some wider shots before moving in to the details. Manner walked over to me.
    “A day to remember.”
    “You can say that again. How does it look?”
    “I can already tell you that this was a last-nighter, in other words these two were offed first, before the guys at Linnunlaulu. Based on the samples, I’d say it looks like the same killers were at work.”
    I had come to the same conclusion, and it hadn’t been the least bit hard.
    “This guy lounging in the chair here was tortured before he was done in: you notice the compressor and the air hose? The other one was just shot; there’s no sign of other external injuries.”
    Manner squatted and inspected the pockets of the body that was in the chair. In the breast pocket of the sport coat there was a wallet; the side pocket contained two bunches of keys. He opened up the wallet and showed me the driving licence in its plastic sheath.
    “Ali Hamid, apparently the owner of this body shop. In addition to the driving licence, a little money, business cards for the shop, photos of the wife and kids, that’s it.”
    He put the wallet away and studied the keys.
    “Two normal Abloys: one to a Disklock and the other to a deadbolt. The other bunch is all car keys.”
    “Check the other body while you’re at it.”
    Manner put the wallet into a plastic bag and tucked the bag into his case. Then, carefully picking each step, he walked over to the other, noticeably younger victim. A black wallet was found in the back pocket of his overalls.
    “Wasin Mahmed, born 1979,” Manner said. “Judging by his outfit, works here.”
    Wasin Mahmed’s wallet also contained business cards for the shop, plus a photo of him posing with a man about ten years older with bad skin. They had similar features; perhaps they were brothers. There was still sixty-five euros in the wallet, a few coins, and a letter in Arabic that was, judging by its shabbiness, at least several months old.
    “Ari!” Simolin called from the doorway.
    I handed the wallet back to Manner and went over to Simolin.
    “Looks like the employee lived here. We found a back room.”
    Calling the nook a room was a slight exaggeration. A sofa that seemed to double as a bed, a small table and a chair had been jammed into the tiny space. On the table there was a bag of bread, a bottle of water and a few cans of food. Next to the wall stood a metal locker containing a pair of belted jeans, a sweater and a padded nylon windbreaker.
    Two receipts, one for groceries from a nearby store and one from a petrol station, were found in one of the jeans pockets. There was a mobile in the inside pocket of the jacket. I handed it to Simolin.
    “Have it checked, although it doesn’t look like the most urgent thing. But we need to find out who the loved ones are anyways and let them know what’s happened.”
    Beneath the bed there were two cheap plastic suitcases. I opened them. All they contained was clothes.
    Stenman swept in.
    “There’s someone in that RV out there.”
     
    The mobile home was at the edge of the car park, only twenty yards from the body shop. A piece of paper covered in plastic wrap had been taped to the door. It read JÄPPINEN in stick letters.
    The door was opened by an elderly man who looked half-asleep and hung-over. His grey hair was sticking out all over the place, and there was some cream-coloured gunk in the corners of his eyes. I could make out the stench of stale booze from a yard off.
    He was dressed in old-fashioned polyester trousers and a moth-eaten flannel shirt that spilled out