Where Have All the Young Girls Gone

by Leena Lehtolainen

  “Puupponen just called. He says his head feels like it does after drinking all night on May Day. The hospital called him to report that Samir Amir still isn’t in any shape to be questioned. They don’t know if he ever will be. His mother visited today but with no real results. Puupponen said he was going to take a thousand milligrams of ibuprofen and try to get some sleep. He’ll come in tomorrow if the jackhammers have disappeared.”

  I told Koivu about my dilemma with Ruuskanen. Next I sent Ruuskanen and Taskinen the meeting invitation. Then I called Samir Amir’s mother. Our previous meeting had been brief. Mira Amir had let her husband do almost all of the talking and only sat nodding by his side. Mira didn’t have a cell phone, but she answered on my second attempt on the family’s landline. She spoke good English, which she’d apparently learned during school in the still-unified Yugoslavia.

  “Amir residence.”

  “Detective Maria Kallio, Espoo police. Hello. Do you have a moment?”

  “Is this really the police and not another reporter? I’m not going to talk to any reporters, no matter what you promise to pay. My family doesn’t need that kind of reputation.”

  “I can give you the Espoo police switchboard number, and they’ll connect you back to me, if you’d like. And I want to talk about Sara, not Samir. Did you send her back to Bosnia because Samir was molesting her?”

  It was quiet on the other end of the line, and when she finally answered, her English was somewhat less clear than before.

  “I not understand what you mean.”

  “Was Samir molesting his sister sexually? Did he attack Sara?”

  Mira didn’t reply.

  “Was Sara using birth control pills so she wouldn’t become pregnant from her brother? Did Samir rape her too?”

  “No! Samir sick, very sick. You can’t send him back Bosnia. He is in bad, bad shape now. You know this. He not even recognize his own mother.”

  “Did Samir see rapes or other sexual violence as a six-year-old in the Srebrenica massacre? Since we can’t speak with him, we need your help.”

  “He is my son, and I won’t let him be deported! He can’t go back to Bosnia. He saw too much, saw things that no child should see. I cannot talk about it. He saw his sister and aunt die, saw . . .” Mira Amir went silent and then hung up the phone.

  I sat at my desk and took a few deep breaths. During my time in the police, I’d encountered dozens of women who had been raped, from girls who were barely teenagers to eighty-year-old great-grandmothers. The oldest rape victim I’d met was a woman who was turning ninety the next year and lived alone in a secluded cottage. She had been the victim of two burglars in their twenties. One of them had finally attacked her sexually after the elderly woman ignored their threats and attempted to call the police. The two friends were caught sitting in a car, surrounded by their plunder and emptying a bottle of cognac they’d pilfered from the old lady. Both were probably still in jail, since that was their sixth break-in.

  I’d never needed to turn the screws on a rape victim to try to make her tell me how she had provoked the offender to carry out his act. Now I would have to do exactly that, and on behalf of all the victims of rape I had ever met before, I found myself hating Heini Korhonen.

  20

  “What sense is there in you going and getting in Heini Korhonen’s face? We can’t change what happened. How can we prove that she provoked Samir to attack her? We can’t. She lied to Aisha about Ayan and Miina’s relationship, but that isn’t actually a crime either. Don’t let your own experiences cloud your judgement, Maria.”

  I knew that Koivu was right. A healthy serving of chicken pesto lasagna had cooled me down a bit too. I still wanted to meet with Heini, though. I’d asked Koivu to go with me to track her down. Before that we’d put out an elevated-priority APB on Ayan Ali Jussuf. In addition to the police, alerts had been sent to hospitals, shelters, and girls homes throughout the Nordic countries. She had to be somewhere. She didn’t have a bank account or any credit cards, and Aisha hadn’t been able to say whether the eight hundred euros from the amulet had been Ayan’s only money. That would hardly have lasted two months if she had to pay for room and board. Shelters weren’t under any obligation to reveal their clients to the police, though. Maybe Ayan had forbidden them from notifying anyone of her whereabouts. I added to the bulletin that incorrect information received by the family was being corrected. Heini owed Ayan at least that much.

  I reached Heini on her cell phone.

  “Hello, Heini. How are you doing today?”

  “I’m trying to work. I have a meeting with Sylvia today. The Girls Club advisory board is convening tonight.” Heini’s voice was robotic, completely devoid of emotion. Was she just acting?

  “What time are you meeting her?”

  “At four. The board meeting is at six.”

  “So, you should have time for a chat with me and Detective Koivu. Are you at the Girls Club now?”

  “Yes. But I have work to do.”

  “We won’t bother you for long.”

  I promised Koivu cinnamon buns at Kaisa’s Café in Tapiola if he went with me. Of course, I didn’t have to entice him with sweet rolls—I could have just ordered him, but this was an easy way to get him to agree without losing face. While Koivu was arranging a car for us, I read through the physician’s report on Heini’s injuries. There were strangulation marks on her neck and scrapes and bruises on various parts of her body. The strangulation marks had without a doubt been caused by someone else. Theoretically Heini could have caused the other contusions herself. The sperm found in Heini’s vagina, which matched Samir Amir’s DNA, was evidence that intercourse had occurred.

  Heini had calculated right in calling me. I’d been on her side from the beginning. And she’d been lucky that Samir had gone mute. Of course, the fact that Heini had provided the opportunity for the act didn’t reduce the seriousness of Samir’s crime. The physician’s report would speak loud and clear to the prosecutor.

  The route to the Girls Club was already all too familiar. Traffic was backed up at a major intersection partway there, because there was a troop of children crossing the crosswalk toward the swimming center and preventing a tractor trailer from turning left. Half of the trailer was blocking the oncoming lane. Koivu and I looked at each other; this was clearly a moving violation. We didn’t feel like getting involved, though, and just waited patiently for the next light, even as the drivers behind us honked like a two-minute delay was a major catastrophe.

  It was easy finding a parking place this time, since it was the middle of the day.

  “You be the good cop this time,” I said to Koivu as we were getting out of the car. He nodded and looked like he was going to say something in reply, but then he closed his mouth again.

  The door to the Girls Club was locked. I had to ring the bell three times before Heini came. She had on a dark-gray turtleneck and different jeans than the day before, this time light blue. It didn’t look like she’d washed her hair. The bruise on her left cheek had lightened to a yellowish purple. That would get her some stares on the street. She didn’t say hello or reply to Koivu’s greeting.

  I walked to the lounge, sat down, and took my computer out of my bag. Koivu and Heini followed behind. Koivu pulled over a chair for Heini and almost pushed her down into it. He stood in the doorway. He looked even larger than usual in the small room.

  “We came because of this video,” I said, turning the screen toward Heini. At first, she didn’t show any interest in what she was being shown. After hearing a couple of sentences of dialogue, though, she clearly realized what she was watching, and when she heard her own voice, her face flushed. However, she stayed silent all the way through the clip. I took the USB drive out of the computer and opened the physician’s statement.

  “On this video you say that you’re ready for any kind of sacrifice to advance your cause. Is that what was going on with Samir Amir? Did you guess that he would attack you if you invited hi
m into your home?”

  Heini didn’t answer.

  “We aren’t accusing you of anything.” Koivu took the third chair and sat next to Heini. “I know quite a bit about the things you were talking about. My wife’s family came here as refugees. First, they had to move to Vietnam from China to escape the Cultural Revolution, and then they had to flee again during the seventies. Maybe you’ve heard about the boat people. Her family has done everything they can to adapt to life in Finland. My wife is a police officer too. She even changed her name to sound more Finnish. One of Anu’s brothers is an engineer for Ericsson, and the other is a shop teacher. I understand perfectly well why you want immigrants to follow our rules.”

  Koivu had turned on the charm. It almost made me smile.

  “Where did you get this video?” Heini’s voice sounded just as apathetic as it had on the phone.

  “That doesn’t matter,” I answered. “What does matter is that you tried to play god. Wouldn’t the online commenting have been enough?”

  Heini looked at me hollowly, but when she answered, life slowly returned to her voice.

  “Don’t you understand? If we’re too meek, they’ll take over the whole world. Think how Finnish women have fought for their rights. Do you want to start having to wear a veil? Do you want your female grandchildren to be barred from going to school? If we give in to them, soon we’ll be back in the Stone Age. By all means let them come, but on our terms. Let them believe what they want, but let them also follow our laws. No headscarves or burqas, and jail time for female circumcisions. Are you a feminist?”

  “Yes,” I answered, even though my opinions weren’t Heini’s business. I was just trying to get her to talk herself into a corner. So far, she hadn’t said anything that would allow us to charge her, but if she chattered enough, maybe she would fulfill the statutory requirements for a charge of incitement to racial hatred.

  “So how can you think any differently? The Muslims want to take away our rights. You saw what happened to me with Samir. He didn’t listen when I said no. He didn’t realize that in Finland a woman can flirt with a guy and even touch him without it being a promise of sex. That’s what they think, and even if you put them in jail they just repeat their crimes as soon as they get out. I’m fighting for us women—Finnish women and immigrant women. Open your eyes, Maria!”

  “So, you were flirting with Samir and you touched him?”

  Heini responded sharply. “I didn’t say that. I just said that I told him no. What is Samir claiming?”

  “Nothing right now. We haven’t been able to interview him yet. Surely Sara Amir told you that her brother was molesting her.”

  “Can you prove that?”

  “The Bosnian police found Sara. She’s fine. She is going to school in a village called Bihać. The police are still talking to her. But Noor is dead, and Ayan Ali Jussuf’s fate is still unknown. Maybe she killed herself because she was driven away from home. How does that help your plans? You convinced Ayan’s mother that she was romantically involved with Miina Saraneva.”

  “I misunderstood.” Now Heini was talking to Koivu. “They were together all the time; Ayan was always stroking Miina’s hair and calling her by Arabic pet names. I didn’t think there was anything wrong with it, but I’d heard what Ayan’s brothers were like, and I didn’t want her getting into trouble. Her Allah is even harsher on lesbians than our most conservative Lutheran God, after all. I’ve heard terrible things from these girls. The Girls Club is their last refuge. I had to do something . . .” Heini’s last word was only a whisper. It was like the fire that had been burning in her had suddenly gone out. Koivu and I sat in silence. We should have made Heini repeat the details of the rape, tell us how her injuries had been caused.

  “Why haven’t you been able to interview Samir?” she finally asked.

  Koivu looked at me. We didn’t have the right to give out information about the health status of Heini’s rapist.

  “What did Samir do after he ejaculated? According to the patrol report, he was sitting next to the door to the balcony in your apartment and whimpering when you let the police in. Obviously, he let you go, because you were able to call for help.”

  “I don’t really remember . . . Do I have to talk about it?”

  “You seemed awfully ready to sacrifice yourself for your cause,” I began, but Koivu glared at me. Silence descended over the room again, broken only by the periodic hum of the computer’s fan and hard disk. I could hear the clock ticking in the next room.

  “I know you’re going to show that video to Sylvia, and I’m going to lose my job,” Heini finally said, again in her robot voice. “None of it did any good anyway. I certainly didn’t feel like a hero with Samir. There wasn’t anything noble in that sacrifice. It was just horrible. I managed to write about it online, but I haven’t had the energy to follow the discussions. I imagined giving interviews, but I can’t. He destroyed me. Do you understand? I can never let a man touch me ever again. So much for heroism. I promised to tell everyone how dangerous it is to invite the wrong man into your home. So they would know. But I don’t think I can.”

  According to the investigating Puupponen had done online, Heini had received a generous amount of sympathy, but of course there were also those who considered her a naïve feminist bitch who had gotten her just deserts. Heini had wanted to increase the level of hate, and at that she had succeeded brilliantly. Even I had to fight not to hate her, although for a different reason than the others.

  “After Samir came, he stayed on top of me for a second and then strangled me again. I was sure he was going to kill me. I asked him not to kill me, begged him in every possible language. I said that I wouldn’t report it to the police if he would just let me go. He did. I didn’t dare move; I just waited for him to leave. I saw how he looked out the window, how he opened the balcony door. I started to get cold lying there on the floor. He looked like he was going to jump off the balcony, but he didn’t. He just sat down on the floor and started to whine. I got the bread knife, closed myself in the bathroom, and called you. I’d heard that the emergency operators don’t always answer, and I was afraid for my life. I didn’t really mean . . . I didn’t want him to attack me. When he came to my place, I thought I would just give him a cup of coffee and then ask him to leave. It was just a whim on the bus. I didn’t really want this.”

  Koivu moved closer to Heini. She recoiled.

  “I think you need a doctor’s help, and sick leave. Maria, can I have a word with you?” Koivu stood up, and I followed him into the band room. He closed the door behind us.

  “You recognize the symptoms? Korhonen is at the breaking point. No more pushing her. She’s already paying for her stupidity.”

  “As are a lot of other people. But you’re right. Maybe now isn’t the best time to interview her. I’m not able to stay objective.”

  Koivu wrapped his arms around my shoulders. I believed Heini when she said that she would never be able to stand having a man touch her again. After my sexual assault, it had been a long time before I was able to let even my husband near me.

  “It’ll all be OK,” Koivu said, trying to comfort me. “This is our job: other people screw things up and we clean up the mess. Someone has to do it. And now it really is time for a cinnamon roll. Maybe two.”

  The meeting with Ruuskanen and Taskinen the next morning was just as irritating as I had imagined it would be. Ruuskanen immediately went on the defensive.

  “Miro is an adult! I’m not responsible for his politics!”

  We were sitting in Taskinen’s office. Outside it was snowing again. Winter didn’t seem to have any intention of letting up. A snowplow was trying hopelessly to add snow to the nearly twelve-foot-deep piles outside. It would be a miracle if they melted by Midsummer.

  “Of course not, but you have to understand that you can’t investigate a case in which your son is involved,” I said.

  “Involved how? So what if he was at some meeting? What does that
make him guilty of? As I understand it, in this country we have freedom of speech and freedom of assembly. And what is there to investigate at this point anyway? Ezfahani has already confessed and the evidence is solid, and Samir Amir is obviously guilty of rape. I would think the two of you would know not to waste time on cases that are already solved. Just send them both on to the prosecutor.”

  “We haven’t been able to interview Amir yet,” I reminded him.

  “That isn’t my problem; you wanted that investigation. Listen here, Kallio, Taskinen: this is starting to stink to high heaven. I might just make a call to the union. It’s starting to seem like you want me out of the department before the end of my assignment. And I can guess who would be promoted to take my place.”

  “Markku, it isn’t about that,” Taskinen said. “I’m just going to take over the Noor Ezfahani homicide investigation until the case is ready for the prosecutor. As you said yourself, it won’t be long. And you have no reason to worry about your position. Maria, it would be a good idea for you to get in touch with Security Intelligence. Isn’t this homespun cabal more of their thing? A little time with some professional interrogators should scare some sense into these clowns.”

  Ruuskanen rose and closed the door carefully behind himself as he left. Taskinen shrugged. There was a framed newspaper article on his wall that I hadn’t noticed before. I stood up to read it. The piece had been clipped from a December issue of the Christian newspaper Homeland, and it contained an interview with Lauri Johansson, the former leader of the Natural Born Killers gang, who was serving a life sentence for murder. He had found religion in prison and wanted to atone for his crimes.

  “Some of them turn out like that,” Taskinen observed calmly. “It’s good to remember that when this rat race really starts to get you down.”