Against the Wall by Jarkko Sipila

was shot in the forehead. One interesting detail was that the victim was wearing a Los Angeles Lakers cap. There’s a basketball on the logo, and the bullet entered in the very center of the ball. Any basketball coach would have to admit that’s a pretty good shot ,” Kannas quipped, glancing at Kulta, the hoopster. Nobody smiled.
    “At any rate, it wasn’t from point-blank range. The weapon was a hand gun.”
    “Do we know whether it was a pistol or a revolver?” Kulta asked.
    Kannas glared playfully at Kulta. “A machine gun can be a hand gun according to our official manuals, though we can rule out cannons and grenade launchers. In other words, we don’t know whether it was a pistol, a revolver, or a rifle. We didn’t find any casings, but that doesn’t necessarily mean anything—the shooter could have picked them up. Based on the entry hole in his forehead, I would say it was a small-caliber handgun. The coroner should be able to verify that when they dig out the bullet.”
    “When was he shot?” Joutsamo asked.
    “Well, he was pretty chilly. Wasn’t quite fresh, so I’d estimate sometime between Sunday and Tuesday morning.”
    “That’s a big range.”
    “True, but it’s the best I can do.”
    “Shame.”
    “A little more about the garage. The cement floor was rough enough that it didn’t show any prints. The doorknobs had been wiped clean or something, so no prints there either. There’s a sandy spot in the yard, just in front of the house, where we took a plaster cast of some tire tracks. They’re worn GT Radials, made for vans.”
    “For a van?” Takamäki asked.
    “Yup. You can tell from the size and the tread pattern.”
    “What make and color was it?” Kulta joked.
    “Bring me the van and I’ll tell you if the tires match,” Kannas shot back. “A couple more things. There were a lot of cigarette butts and a wad of chewing gum in the yard, which we submitted for DNA testing. We put a rush on them, but who knows when the results will come back. And we don’t have anything right now that would connect those items to the crime.”
    Kannas continued, “Eriksson didn’t have a phone on him. We’re not sure if it was taken, or if he didn’t have one to begin with.”
    “These types always have a phone,” Kohonen interjected.
    “Tell us where it is then.” Kulta said.
    “Mikko, stick to the case,” Takamäki snapped. “If you don’t have anything to contribute, then let the rest of us think.”
    Kannas bent over and took a Ziploc bag out of the briefcase beside his chair. Inside was a Belgian-made FN pistol. “Instead, we found this in his pocket. I guess it’s your job as detectives to draw the conclusions, but from our standpoint, I can say that there were no bullet holes in the walls, and we didn’t find anybody else’s blood. In other words, Eriksson probably didn’t have time to use it.”
    “Kirsi, track down the history on this weapon,” Takamäki said.
    Kannas handed the plastic bag to Kohonen. “The serial number is intact.”
    Kannas took another plastic bag out of his briefcase. “These are the contents of Eriksson’s pockets. You should go through them when you get a chance. I haven’t personally inspected them, but we took photographs of everything.”
    “Anna, you can take care of that,” Takamäki said, and Joutsamo took the bag. At a glance, it contained some tattered papers, candy wrappers, coins, keys, and a small black wallet.
     
    * * *
     
    Joutsamo was wearing latex gloves, and had spread the contents of Eriksson’s pockets out on the conference room table after the others had left. Eriksson had had a single five-euro note and coins amounting to eight euros and twenty cents. Joutsamo set the money, some rumpled papers she assumed to be receipts, and a pack of chewing gum aside. She also had a notepad and a green pencil stub for notetaking.
    There were four keys: two regular door keys, a deadbolt key, and a Saab car key. Joutsamo guessed that