analysis and will take at least a few days. His right collar and shoulders bear some spatter, but it could be the result of his lying beside her while the beating took place. The results are inconclusive. Most interesting, though, is that the lower back of the shirt bears a scorch mark that, once again, is consistent with taser burn.
Milo stretches, folds his hands behind his head, and sits back in his chair. “Told you Filippov did it,” he says. “He tased them to knock them out, tortured Iisa and framed Rein Saar.”
I have to admit that, as Saar claims, it seems possible he was left alive in order to frame him. If Saar was convicted of Iisa’s murder, it would close the case and allow the true killer to avoid investigation and walk free. “Let’s go down to the lockup and talk to Saar,” I say.
We go downstairs, walk along the long white corridor and stop at cell S408. Out of politeness, I knock before entering.
“Might be nice if you showed your colleagues the same courtesy as you do your prisoners,” Milo says.
Saar shouts for us to enter and I open the door.
As jail accommodations go, ours are pretty good. The cell has a decent bed, a bench and a small writing table fixed to a wall decorated with creative inmate graffiti. Every cell has a few books in it for entertainment. The prisoners have a gym to work out in, and a canteen where they can buy snacks and smokes. They eat the same food as the staff.
Saar is sitting on the edge of his bed. Washing the shower of blood off has done wonders for his appearance. “Mind if we have a little chat?” I ask.
“Will it help me get out of here?”
“Possibly.”
“Then by all means, let’s chat.”
“I’m going to ask you some personal questions. Would you rather talk here, off the record, or in the interrogation room and have your statement recorded?”
“If we’re going to talk about my sex life,” he says, “let’s keep it between us for now.”
I sit on the bed beside Saar. Milo sits on the bench. “Would you lift your shirt and let me see your back?”
He does it, shows me a nasty burn just above his waist.
“How did you get that?”
“I don’t know.”
“Why didn’t you mention it before?”
“To be honest, when we talked before, my head hurt so bad and I was so drunk that I didn’t even notice it. Hurts now, though.”
He pulls his shirt down, sits forward with his elbows on his knees.
“Mind if I smoke?” I ask.
“Not if you give me one.”
“You don’t have any?”
“I don’t have any money on me to buy them.”
I take a twenty out of my wallet and give it to him. “You can pay me back. Tell me about you and Iisa-in more detail than before-and about your affair.”
He folds up the bill, unfolds it, puts it in his pocket, thinks how he’s going to spin this. “Iisa was wild,” he says, “loved to party. I wasn’t the only guy she fucked behind Filippov’s back. Just the only steady one. And I had other lovers, too. Like I told you, we had fun. We were comfortable together. Enough so that I gave her a key to my place.”
“Did Iisa use drugs?”
“Sometimes. Coke. Ecstasy. GHB.”
“You think Ivan Filippov killed his wife and framed you. Lots of women fuck around on their husbands. Their husbands don’t usually turn murderous. Why him?”
He ponders, stares at the wall. “Iisa didn’t like fucking her husband. Didn’t do it, in fact. She liked fucking me. I guess his bruised ego could have driven him to it.”
Yes, it could have. “What did you give Iisa that Filippov didn’t?”
“Iisa liked to play games.” He hesitates. “Maybe I shouldn’t have played them.”
“Describe these games.”
“Iisa liked to watch me fuck other women.”
This explains the source of the videos in his computer. “She hid in your closet and shot videos through the hole in your closet door.”
He nods. “I would fuck a girl, she would film it. I would get the girl out of my house, then fuck Iisa while we watched it on my laptop. It got her off.”
This explains the stool in the closet and the camcorder in Iisa’s purse. His story rings true. “How did these games begin?”
“I made a mistake giving her the key. She made a game out of coming to my house when I wasn’t home. She would hide under the bed or in the closet or in the shower. I might be there an hour or two before she jumped out and surprised me.”
I give Saar another smoke and we light up. “Seems like that would piss you off.”
“It did the first time, but it was hard to be mad at Iisa. She was like a little kid, just playing games and having fun. One day I brought a girl home and fucked her. Iisa came in the front door while we fucked. She did it quiet, so I didn’t hear her. She peeked through the door from the living room and masturbated while she watched. That’s how it started. Actually, the game was fun. Got us both excited. I stop interrogating him for a minute, take a break, smoke and think, try to sort all this out. Milo jumps in. “Do you know Ivan Filippov’s secretary, a woman named Linda Pohjola?”
“Yeah. She was a friend of Iisa’s.”
“They looked a hell of a lot alike. Was that a coincidence?”
“No. They’d known each other since they were teenagers and worked at the look-alike thing. Sometimes they would go to parties dressed in identical clothes. It was another one of Iisa’s games. They tag-teamed me once. They even looked the same naked. That was fun, too.”
“What else do you know about Linda?” Milo asks.
“Not much. Iisa didn’t talk a lot about her personal life. Really, our relationship just revolved around fucking.”
“Tell me more about Iisa’s games and other lovers,” Milo says.
“I don’t know much more. She kept a diary, though. She kept it in her purse sometimes. Maybe you could find out something from there.”
“You texted Iisa and asked her to meet you at seven thirty in the morning. Why?”
“I hooked up with a girl. She was going to come home with me, but she got too drunk and tired and took a rain check. Iisa was going to watch us fuck.”
“You lead an exciting life,” Milo says.
Saar manages a wan grin. “I try.”
He looks at me. “Are you going to charge me with murder?”
I remember Jyri’s demand to that effect. “Not today,” I say.
I set my pack of cigarettes on his table. We leave him in peace.
BACK IN MY OFFICE, given the interview, I ask Milo what he thinks.
“Same as I have since the beginning. That motherfucker Filippov killed his wife and framed Saar. I turned that apartment inside out, and there’s no taser in it. The killer took it with him.”
“Exactly,” I say. “The taser burn lends veracity to his story, and the taser is conspicuous by its absence. It’s possible that Iisa tased him, he recovered enough to fight and was angry enough to torture her to death, then dumped the taser and called the police himself. But given his head wound, it’s too much of a stretch. A third party took the taser out of the apartment.”
Milo starts to shake his head and laugh.
“What?” I ask.
