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his back, but he wouldn’t let himself quit. I had carried his
pack as well as mine for the last part of the trip, and the
resultant debt of gratitude had already provided me with
some information I’d needed. Tommy H. had gotten
married a year ago, so I could no longer repay his services
au naturel. His marital status wouldn’t have stopped me,
but for the time being Tommy H. had shown himself to be
the faithful type.
“Hello, Tommy H.!” I tried for a syrupy voice, though I
doubted I could bullshit my old buddy. After a minute of
small talk I got straight to the point: “I have three names I
need data on fast: Veli-Pekka Virtanen, Paula Johanna Salo,
and Petri Ilmari Aalto.”
I’d barely gotten into the fat suit, Santa coat, and beard
when Tommy H. called back. Petri was totally clean,
nothing on him in the police files. Virtanen had done two
short stints for drug dealing, and before that there’d been a
pile of fines for the same thing. Paula Johanna Salo’s
charges stopped at one. She’d driven into a truck in the
middle of the night on busy Kustaa Vaasa Street. The blood
tests had found alcohol, benzodiazepines, and strong pain
medicine. Salo had left behind a three-year-old daughter.
“Who’s the father?”
“The papers give only the mother’s name. The child is
currently in her grandmother’s care.”