Where Have All the Young Girls Gone

by Leena Lehtolainen

  My dad and Taneli were slapping down cards at the kitchen table. Iida was doing her homework at one end, trying to look like the game of Egyptian Ratscrew couldn’t interest her less. After we said hello, my dad told me that Antti had gone for a run but would make supper when he got back.

  My dad was looking a little shorter and whiter haired than he had the last time we’d seen each other, when I’d been startled to realize that in two-inch heels I was taller than he was now. He’d been the only person in my close circle who had considered my decision to visit Afghanistan with some sense.

  “Of course you have to go, if that’s how you feel. Your mother will just have to take sleeping pills until you come back,” he’d said to me on the phone. I’d intentionally called his cell phone before my departure, even though I usually talked more with my mother. But she’d had a sobbing, raving fit when she heard about my plans, and I wanted to avoid having to deal with that again. I’d inquired after her health from my father.

  When I was young I’d been a daddy’s girl, unruly and stubborn. My mother and I had fought frequently, especially about how I dressed. Mom had despised my punk getups and how I hung around with boys so much. It wasn’t until I was an adult that I realized she might have been taking my attitude as a critique of her own feminine style; she wore high heels and jewelry even around the house.

  Taneli shouted with satisfaction when he won the card game, and it was only then that Iida raised her eyes from the history book. She’d obviously been crying; streaks of eyeliner had run down her cheeks.

  “Have you caught the . . . have you caught him?” she asked.

  “Not yet, but we’re working on it.”

  “So you’re working a serious case?” my father asked, trying to be subtle. He wanted to keep Taneli in the dark, but it was no use.

  “At school they said someone was murdered at the high school! I said my mom was investigating it since she’s a murder police.”

  “Homicide detective, you idiot!” Iida said angrily.

  “Taneli, let’s go look at your new Lego ship,” my dad interrupted, standing up. He started to half drag Taneli toward his room. Just then Antti appeared, all sweaty, and said he was going to make chicken couscous once he got out of the shower. Family routine seemed to calm Iida down, but after dinner, once we were in the car on our way to the Girls Club, I saw her wiping away tears again.

  “At school people were saying that Noor’s brothers didn’t like Noor’s boyfriend because he was from the wrong religion. Can they really kill someone because they don’t believe the right way? Isn’t that from the Middle Ages?”

  “You’ve heard rumors that it was someone from Noor’s family?” I felt strange questioning my own child, even informally.

  “Everyone knew. Susa will probably be at the club; that’s Noor’s BFF. Noor told her that if she went outside without a scarf one more time, she was going to get a beating. It’s just like if Dad or Taneli told me I couldn’t wear jeans. It’s sick!”

  I turned off the Ring II Beltway toward Tapiola. I didn’t say anything, because I didn’t feel like getting into a conversation about cultural diversity just now. Traffic was moving slowly because of road construction. Espoo was a city that was never complete. Every time you felt like you were getting used to the landscape or had figured out the best way to get somewhere, a road disappeared or was cut off. Even the names of places changed, according to the sponsors: recently the ice rink had changed from the WestCar Arena to the Barona Arena.

  We arrived to find the Girls Club full of young women. Most were dressed in black, and the Islamic girls had on white or black headscarves. They’d formed a circle, and I stayed back as Iida went to join the group. Nelli Vesterinen stood at the center of the circle. She had exchanged her colorful clothing for black harem pants and a long, black tunic with gold embroidery.

  “Noor liked poetry, both ancient Persian and modern Finnish. I’m going to read you a few poems that she and I discussed. Then we can sing something, if someone has a suggestion.”

  I saw a few scarf-covered heads bowing, and I heard murmuring. Islamic extremists forbade music. I remembered again a couple of my Laestadian classmates from elementary school who weren’t even allowed to do folk dancing, let alone go to PE class. Were that denomination’s attitudes still the same, or had the Conservative Laestadians had to modernize too? When I was young I’d thought that religious fundamentalists were wackos. As I got older I’d tried to understand their worldview, but I hadn’t been able to accept any belief system that subordinated one sex to the other, no matter what the religion.

  I felt like an intruder at the girls’ memorial service. Because Heini Korhonen wasn’t anywhere to be seen, I knocked on the employee lounge door.

  “Who’s there?” The voice wasn’t Heini’s.

  “Detective Maria Kallio, Espoo police.”

  The door opened so fast that it almost hit me in the face. Inside, Heini Korhonen sat next to the small table. The woman who had opened the door was only familiar to me from pictures. Sylvia Sandelin had on a black pantsuit with a white blouse. Her blond, shoulder-length hairstyle was that of someone who had the leisure to spend hours preening. Even Ursula would have envied Sandelin’s jewelry, which adorned her neck, wrists, and ears; the overall effect was just short of ridiculous. Sandelin’s makeup was straight out of whatever textbook advised women over sixty on how to present themselves without looking clownish.

  “Is it normal for the police to show up unannounced in the middle of a memorial service? Is that your tactic?” Sandelin didn’t shake my hand but indicated that I should enter, then closed the door behind me. There were only two chairs, and Sandelin sat down in the free one next to Heini.

  “Hello, Heini,” I said to the young woman, who looked like a ghost next to the polished, manicured Sandelin.

  “Oh, you know each other?”

  “My daughter is a regular here at the Girls Club. Iida Sarkela.”

  Sandelin’s eyes flashed, and she looked me over again, this time more closely.

  “So, you’re Marjatta Sarkela’s policewoman daughter-in-law? Marjatta has talked about you.” Now Sandelin extended her hand, but she didn’t go so far as to stand up. “Sylvia Sandelin. Just call me Sylvia, like all the girls here do—if they dare.” She gave a crooked smile. “Noor Ezfahani never had the nerve. She respected her elders, as is the custom in her home culture. Native Finnish girls now, few of them even know how to politely address people. Marjatta’s granddaughter does, I’ve noticed. Heini, maybe you should go look and see if they need you at the service. Then Detective Kallio will be able to sit down too.”

  Heini Korhonen stood up obediently, and I slipped into her seat. I smiled to myself. I should have guessed that all the wealthy old women in Tapiola would know each other. My mother-in-law wasn’t much older than Sylvia Sandelin, and I could imagine them sitting together at a play at the cultural center or at a Tapiola Sinfonietta concert. I found it amusing that I was able to get into Sandelin’s good graces because Iida knew her yes ma’ams. My Finnish teacher at the police academy had pounded into my head that you had to speak to people with respect, and maybe that had rubbed off on Iida too.

  “You obviously came here because of Noor Ezfahani. Would you like some tea? Heini just put water in the kettle. The white tea will take a little while to brew. I can’t stand teabags.”

  “Then I don’t recommend visiting the Espoo Police Department. Although the coffee is tolerable. A cup of tea would be lovely.”

  Sandelin stood up, took a teapot made of thick blue porcelain out of the cupboard, and carefully measured a few tea flowers into the bottom of it before pouring water from the electric pot. On the table she placed teacups that matched the pot and a glass jar of honey, as well as a pair of silver spoons. The last time I was here, I’d been offered a tea bag. Apparently, Heini Korhonen wasn’t as much of a tea enthusiast as her boss.

  “You’re right. I came because of Noor Ezfahani. The police h
ave been given conflicting information about her social life. What’s your understanding here at the Girls Club?”

  Sandelin stroked the handle of her silver spoon. “I’m not terribly up-to-date on all of the girls’ business. I know your daughter by name, and I’ve talked with her because she’s my friend’s granddaughter. Some of the girls are only faces to me, even though of course I want to help and support all of them. But Noor Ezfahani was an exceptionally intelligent young woman. She knew how to question everything, not only the religion of her home but also the Western culture of mammon. She wanted to be a doctor, just like her Finnish boyfriend. I also know Tuomas Soivio’s parents and grandparents. The family was a little disappointed when Tuomas didn’t go to Tapiola High School, where both of his parents went, but at Olari he could specialize in natural science, and that’s a good foundation for getting into medical school. The family was a little concerned about Tuomas last spring because he was starting to run with the wrong crowd, but thankfully he met Noor then and changed his mind.”

  “Changed his mind about what?”

  “Immigrants. Just think, an intelligent boy like that getting mixed up with those anti-immigrant ruffians. The racists, I mean.” Sandelin wrinkled her nose at the word. She poured our tea. The flowers had opened and fell decoratively into our cups. Sandelin added a large spoonful of honey to her cup before continuing.

  “I sometimes wonder whether there’s any sense even trying to educate some of these boys. They barely know how to read and only seem to express themselves through verbal vomit on the Internet. Do you visit these forums often, Detective?”

  “No. But some do say they advance free speech.”

  “Free speech is a wonderful thing. Everyone defends it. But I don’t support stupid, hateful people’s right to spew their mental excrement in a public forum. There isn’t any benefit in that. Intelligent conversation is utterly impossible on sites that are open to everyone. I’m not ashamed to say out loud that I am more intelligent than ninety-five percent of people. It doesn’t have anything to do with my race or my sex—it’s just because I am who I am. I’ve earned my wealth with my wits, and now I have an obligation to help others. Unfortunately, the politicians decide what my taxes are used for. I’m more intelligent than ninety-five percent of them too.”

  Sylvia Sandelin stopped to sip her tea. I couldn’t resist a comment on her logic.

  “So, you think there are twenty intelligent members of Parliament? And two wise ministers in the government?”

  Sandelin smiled like a teacher at a clever student.

  “You seem like a police officer who knows how to read, write, and even count. No, not all politicians are stupid and self-serving, although it’s easy to think of many of them that way. Some of them are utterly hopeless, but luckily the least clever of them don’t usually get enough power to do real damage. There are more than two wise people in the government, I have to admit. Poking fun at politicians is a base pastime, and maybe it’s best that our stupidest citizens don’t bother to vote. The results would be ghastly if they did, as we have seen.”

  I could hear singing through the door. There wasn’t much chance Noor Ezfahani had gone to Lutheran confirmation class, but the song being sung in her memory came from the Christian youth hymnal I too had used long ago. It was Kari Rydman’s “So Beautiful the Earth.” I understood the choice, because even though Christians had claimed the song as their own, its message wasn’t specific to any one religion. I thought I could pick Iida’s voice out of the chorus. She had a surprisingly clear soprano, also inherited from her father’s mother. Sylvia Sandelin stopped to listen, and we were silent until the end of the song. The girls’ voices broke in the last stanza at the words “departed now friend most beloved,” and I saw how Sandelin’s necklace shook as she tried to hold back her tears. After the song ended, Sandelin said that she had to go talk to the girls. I hung back, standing in the doorway. Iida’s world and my work were now crashing together, and this time the mother won out over the police officer. Several times I’d felt like a sort of cleaning woman who’d come to the scene of an accident after the fact, scrubbing away the bloodstains, collecting all the broken pieces of pottery, and trying to leave the area looking like nothing had ever happened. I also made sure that the person who had made such a mess wouldn’t be able to do it again. But I didn’t believe that my work could stop scars from forming or remove the burden of the memories they would carry with them for the rest of their lives. Would Iida ever forget Noor’s murder?

  I heard Sandelin’s low, peaceful voice, but I couldn’t make out the words. I turned back into the room, took a seat, and sipped my tea. Just then Heini Korhonen returned, flopped down in the other chair, and put her hands in front of her face. After a moment she uncovered her face, and I could see anger boiling in her eyes. She raised her cup of already-cooled tea to her lips and gulped it down as if she hadn’t had anything to drink in hours.

  “Ayan’s disappearance was already horrible enough, but at least there’s still hope that she’s alive. We can’t do anything for Noor. Many of our girls have experienced terrible losses, but they thought they were safe here in Finland. But they aren’t, not as long as there are people in Rome who haven’t learned to do as the Romans.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Noor’s male relatives. The cousin, Rahim, is the worst. He runs with one of the extremist gangs. They are always starting fights. He’s been in jail a few times after fighting with skinheads and Russians, but the police must know that already.”

  I hadn’t heard about this, though the Ezfahanis’ criminal records must have been examined. Perhaps the person who had gone through them hadn’t thought it worth mentioning or that gang fights were relevant to the murder of a young woman.

  “According to the Ezfahani family, Tuomas Soivio wasn’t Noor’s boyfriend at all; he was just obsessed with her, and Noor didn’t want his attention. The family suspects that Soivio killed Noor out of jealousy, because he couldn’t have her.”

  Heini was struck with a sudden coughing fit so powerful that I worried she would choke. Tears came to her eyes, and in the end, she stood up and rushed out the door, presumably to the restroom. I heard the sound of retching, then Heini blew her nose, and finally she flushed the toilet before returning. She sat down and then seemed to be searching for words. The rage in her eyes had intensified.

  “Are the police complete idiots? Tuomas didn’t kill Noor. They were dating, and they were happy. Are you afraid of being accused of racism, so you aren’t looking at her family? That’s where you’ll find the murderer,” Heini said, fuming.

  “Everyone knew,” was what Iida had said about Noor’s boyfriend.

  “I understand that Noor’s best friend’s name is Susa. Is she here now?”

  “I don’t know if she was Noor’s best friend, but they were close. Susanne Jansson. We haven’t seen her. Should I call her?”

  “Could you give me her contact information? An officer can go and interview her. First, tell me everything you know about Noor and Tuomas Soivio’s relationship.”

  Males were only allowed to come inside the Girls Club to give lectures or provide professional services, but Heini had seen Tuomas dropping Noor off and picking her up several times.

  “Noor didn’t want to lie to her family. I’d guess that sometimes she said she was going to Tapiola, which was true, but that instead of coming to the Girls Club she went to see Tuomas or stopped at the club for a few minutes and then left with him. This isn’t some sort of nunnery meant to turn girls away from boys; it’s meant to simply give the girls a place to take a break from boys and the constraints of home. Noor didn’t hide the fact that she was going out with Tuomas. I run a discussion group in which we talk about dating and sex, and Noor, who wanted to be a doctor, was very curious about anatomy. She had never seen any of her adult female family members naked, much less the men. Once she brought in a cross-sectional picture of a penis from a Finnish biology book, and sh
e wanted to know what it would really look and feel like.”

  Noor obviously hadn’t visited any Internet porn sites or watched late-night movies. It would be a shame if young girls’ knowledge of male anatomy only came from those sources, but they at least provided the opportunity to get information, however inaccurate or unsavory. Iida had yet to bring up our going into the sauna together as a family, but Antti was already careful not to say anything about her body or look at her too closely.

  Heini looked up Susanne Jansson’s phone number for me. Maybe Ursula had already gotten it. Sylvia Sandelin’s voice had been replaced by the buzz of conversation. I didn’t know how long Iida wanted to stay at the Girls Club, and I was just thinking I should go and find out when I heard a cry of shock, then others. I stood up and ran into the main room.

  I recognized him immediately, because I’d seen his picture that morning. The boy in the picture had been smiling broadly, but this young man looked haggard. His pants and jacket were covered in mud, as if he’d been riding a bicycle through puddles without any concern for getting wet.

  “Where is Heini? Is she here?”

  “Tuomas, you know the rules,” Sylvia Sandelin said, talking over the boy.

  “Fuck the rules! Noor is dead, and I have to talk to Heini!”

  Heini shoved me aside and ran to Tuomas. She embraced him. She was four inches shorter, but she still pulled his head against her shoulder like a big sister trying to protect a little brother. She whispered something in Tuomas’s ear and led him toward the door so we wouldn’t hear what she was saying.

  Heini knew the police were after Tuomas. I had to act. I took out my phone and called Dispatch.

  “Detective Kallio here; ten-twenty Otsolahti Street, one-six Charlie. On the ground-floor door it says ‘Girls Club.’ I’m on scene, but I need backup.”