A photocopy of Sufia’s address book is in a plastic sleeve on my desk. I have coffee and a cigarette and browse through it again. I recognize more names familiar from the tabloids. Sufia must have liked to surround herself with famous people. I start dialing numbers. I introduce myself and say I have a few questions concerning Sufia Elmi. The media picked up on the murder through the national crime incident database and word has gotten around. People express shock. The interviews are all the same. No one knew Sufia well. The men say they went out a couple times, had some fun. The women say they hung out in nightclubs, went dancing, had some fun. Valtteri comes in. “I called Heli,” he says. “She doesn’t want to see you and asked if I could bring her the keys.” “Tell her no. Seppo’s car is a crime scene and she had access to it. I have to talk to her.” “She won’t come.” “Then arrest her and lock her up.” “Are you serious?” “Yeah.” He hands me a magazine.
