Death Spiral

by Leena Lehtolainen

  At home I made some chamomile tea and ran a bath. I would clean up and then call my friend Eva Jensen, who was a professional therapist. Maybe I could stop by her house that night to chat and see her four-month-old baby.

  I had never felt so helpless as at the moment Hanna pulled the trigger. Usually I buried feelings of helplessness in exercise and hard work. But why the hell did I always have to be so tough? The reason wasn’t just because that as a woman working in the masculine world of a police station, I had to succeed one hundred and twenty percent to be taken seriously. Apparently it took pregnancy—the knowledge that it affected another person—for me to be weak even for half a day. Maybe I should learn to like myself a little more. Learn to forgive myself.

  After getting out of the bath, I started sorting through several sacks of hand-me-down baby clothes, which my younger sister Helena’s husband had dropped off a few weeks before. My sister Eeva’s youngest, Aliisa, was only a month and a half old, but she’d sent me all of her son Saku’s old blue rompers. Of course she would only dress her daughter in pink and canary yellow.

  I separated the ridiculously small coats and pants and socks, which I never would have believed would fit anyone’s feet, as well as frilly dresses and lace caps, into six-month, twelve-month, and eighteen-month piles. It was silly that even baby clothes were so gender segregated. One of the tiny nightgowns had Bonne Nuit embroidered on it. It gave off an oddly sour smell. The clothes had been washed with unscented detergent, so a hint of the baby who had worn them remained.

  The Creature was bouncing around inside me, and I started talking to it, telling it what pretty clothes were waiting in the world outside. I promised it could wear the lovely blue sailor overalls, no matter what sex it was. The Creature wriggled more strongly than normal, as though overjoyed, and I felt for a second as if ten weeks was far too long to wait. I wanted so badly to meet the baby swimming inside of me.

  15

  The next day I entertained myself with shopping and chocolate cake. I had arranged a shopping date with my college friend Leena. We were meeting at Stockmann under the clock at eleven thirty. I desperately needed new underwear.

  “And none of that grandmother stuff,” Leena said on the escalator. She was a regular lace lingerie freak, who wouldn’t have pulled on a pair of powder-pink cotton panties if someone paid her to. Out of habit I made my way to the sports bra shelf, but Leena called me away. She almost squealed with joy after finding my size in a black lace nursing bra.

  “You have to buy this,” she said. “When I was pregnant they didn’t even have these, just plain white ones. No, you should buy two. Milk stains so fast.”

  I guess I had to believe a mother of two. I splurged for matching panties too. Then I remembered that my mascara tube had only been giving dry clumps the last couple of days. So we headed for the cosmetics counter. Along with the mascara, I grabbed an eye shadow palette with a shimmery gold and violet, and Leena bought three lipsticks to match her moods.

  “Now for hats,” she said when I was ready to put my feet up.

  “A hat? I only wear a wool cap in the winter and only when I’m skiing,” I groused as she pushed me back to the escalator.

  “What you need is a really elegant straw hat for summer.” Leena plopped a wide-brimmed hat on my head that made me look like a mushroom. We giggled in front of the mirror like schoolgirls and didn’t end up buying anything.

  I was feeling so spry, I decided I would attend Pihko’s going-away party that night. I liked Pihko, and I was going to miss his seriousness and the occasional glimpse of his dry sense of humor. I didn’t need to stay there long. Just the time it took to drink a couple of low-alcohol beers. But what would I wear? We marched to the dress department, where we found an ankle-length number vaguely reminiscent of a tent, perfect for an expectant mother. I didn’t usually splurge, but I let my Visa sing. Maybe I’d be able to sell the dress at a consignment store after the pregnancy.

  Then we made our way to a corner table at a nearby café for a lunch of chocolate cake and man watching. Pickings were slim, though, so we soon ended up talking about work. Leena was the only lawyer I knew who was afraid of even seeing a cop when she was driving, but she fought like a lion as defense counsel. Although our views on crime and the justice of the punishments handed down were often at odds, it was nice to talk with an expert who looked at it from a different perspective.

  “I couldn’t handle being around violence like that,” Leena said with a sigh when I told her about Teräsvuori’s and Noora’s deaths and then about Jaana Markkanen, the girl who killed her baby. “There’s enough to deal with in the police reports and affidavits I have to read.”

  “I’ll admit, I’m liking the idea of a long vacation. Maybe I’ll have some time to think about what I want to be when I grow up,” I said with a grin and then turned the conversation to exercising while pregnant. It was nice to chat about fun, inconsequential things like makeup, recipes, and the new wines I still couldn’t drink.

  A late afternoon sauna after I got home topped off the pampering. I was used to working as many as ten days straight, which was unavoidable sometimes as a detective. I hadn’t realized how exhausted I was until I talked to Leena about it. I was leaning back against the wall with my feet up on the railing around the sauna stove, almost nodding off, when something strange started happening.

  All through the pregnancy my breasts had been hypersensitive to cold. But now they started to ache despite the heat of the sauna, a strange feeling of pressure spread through them, and I started to feel like something besides sweat was running down my skin.

  I gave a bewildered laugh. “Antti, look! Milk!”

  Actually, it wasn’t milk, just some sort of clear whey sort of stuff that dripped from mysterious, invisible ducts in my nipples. The painful feeling turned warm, and even though I tried to stop my breasts from running, they wouldn’t until I went out to cool off in the dressing room.

  “That was strange. The books said it was supposed to happen, though,” said Antti, who had read every book on childbirth and baby care he could find. “What were you thinking about? Nursing?”

  “Nothing. I wasn’t thinking anything. I didn’t realize my milk could come in so soon. What a weird feeling.”

  “The heat probably did it,” Antti said and caressed my breasts, which had grown to one-and-a-half times their normal size. Then he moved his hand down the dark-purple line pregnancy had drawn on my stomach. The wood in the sauna stove was only embers by the time we went back in to wash up, sweaty now from making love.

  After the sauna I put on my new dress, did my makeup, and put my hair up in a sort of half topknot.

  “You look like the lady of the manor,” Antti said when I went to show off my outfit. I took it as a compliment.

  Pihko’s going-away party was being held near the police station, in the private room of the restaurant at Hotel Espoo. The men from our unit, which meant everyone besides me, had started with a sauna at six, and at least Puupponen and Lähde seemed to be in high spirits already. They were planning the after-party at Fanny Hill, a strip club in Helsinki that Puupponen and I had visited once to interview one of the girls. The boys claimed Puupponen had become a regular after that visit.

  My arrival at the restaurant set off a wave of whistles and catcalls, which I answered by calmly blowing kisses all around. I didn’t go out with coworkers much, and especially not now that I couldn’t stand tobacco smoke. Lieutenant Taskinen appeared next to me, his eyes looking brighter than normal and a glass of cognac in his hand. Usually when I’d seen him drunk, at Christmas parties and the like, I’d also been too tipsy to evaluate anyone else’s inebriation.

  “It’s nice you came. Now we can give Pihko his present.” Taskinen seemed to think that if anyone was going to help him present a gift, it would be me. Exactly the same thing had happened at our colleague’s funeral, where I had been one of the wreath bearers. And it wasn’t because I was a woman; it was because Taskinen
considered me a confidant.

  Taskinen went to the cloakroom and grabbed the suitcase we had packed with our law school survival kit. Laws of Finland, handcuffs from an adult novelty shop, an American police-style MagLite; a bottle of Koskenkorva vodka, antinausea medication, and ibuprofen; and condoms, stylish black socks, and Donald Duck long johns. It also included a collection of sappy love poems a boring jurisprudent could use to woo women. We’d made Ström buy that, which was hilarious.

  After the gifting ceremony, everyone did their best to get their blood alcohol level up to at least 0.2. The noise was intense, and I retreated to a side table with Koivu. He looked more sober than the others and explained that he hadn’t made it in time for the sauna because he had to finish typing up Tomi Liikanen’s interrogation report.

  “Dude crumbled like a house of cards when he heard Teräsvuori was dead. We didn’t tell him who had killed him, just that he had been shot.”

  “Well, who does he think did it? What did you find out?” I’d resolved to avoid shoptalk, but my curiosity was piqued. Koivu laid out the whole thing, clearly pleased with himself.

  Liikanen hadn’t needed any real pressure to admit that he and Teräsvuori had been working together for a while. Teräsvuori had met some minor players in the drug business through his brother, and he’d always sold small amount of cannabis while he was traveling around the country running karaoke events. In recent years, he’d sold heroin as well. For his part, Liikanen had started importing cheap steroids way back in the Soviet era while he was doing gym construction consulting. Anton Grigoriev had been one of his best contacts.

  “Did Liikanen have anything to say about Grigoriev’s death?”

  “Plenty. Liikanen was in Moscow when it happened. And man, what a convoluted story, which is why I’m ready to believe it’s true.”

  On the night of Anton Grigoriev’s death, he and Tomi Liikanen had been out drinking vodka in celebration of a successful deal. Anton had his own Lada, which he decided to drive home despite his inebriated state. Liikanen had a bad conscience about it, and he pulled Grigoriev out of the Lada just after he had started it. Grigoriev was agitated, and a struggle ensued with the men falling to the ground. Apparently Grigoriev had left the car in neutral and already released the hand break, because suddenly it started rolling straight toward them. Liikanen just barely managed to roll out of the way, but Grigoriev didn’t. He died instantly.

  Drunk, Tomi didn’t know what to do. The Lada had stopped in a slight depression in the parking lot after crushing Grigoriev’s body. Liikanen put on the parking break and closed the doors, and according to his own account, dragged Grigoriev’s body into the middle of the road so that someone would find him. As for himself, he walked a few blocks and then took a taxi to his hotel, followed by a quick exit from the country.

  “And the missing police reports? Did he know anything about that?”

  “He didn’t admit to anything. Do you know why he said he married Elena Grigorieva?”

  “I think I can guess. Out of guilt. To try to make up for what he did.”

  “Exactly. Strange guy. But not a cold-blooded criminal. My guess is that somehow Teräsvuori found out what happened to Grigoriev and used that to blackmail Liikanen into helping him. But he isn’t willing to admit anything about that.”

  “And what about killing Noora Nieminen?”

  “No. He claims he thought it was Teräsvuori the whole time.”

  “But why?” I yelled over the racket. “Teräsvuori didn’t admit anything to him, did he?”

  “Not directly, but Teräsvuori hinted in that direction.”

  Then one of the women from a neighboring unit, who clearly had her eye on our big teddy bear, came over to pull Koivu onto the dance floor. Pihko bowed to me in turn. As we danced, it was amusing how hard he tried to avoid touching my belly. We talked about law school and all the possibilities it could open up for him as a police officer. Now, after his fifth pint, Pihko admitted that his big dream was to be the chief director of the national police force someday.

  After a few dances I headed for the restroom. When I got back, Ström took me by the arm and led me to an empty table for two.

  “Do you have a drink? I can buy you a beer.”

  This was strangely generous for Ström and probably had to do with the fact that he knew all I could drink was the mild stuff. For himself he ordered a stout. A man like him wouldn’t dream of touching anything below six percent in a restaurant.

  “Pretty shitty day yesterday,” Ström said when our drinks finally arrived.

  “Not one of the most fun of my life.”

  “So your famous human-relations skills weren’t enough to stop the Nieminen broad from splattering her old boyfriend’s guts all over the wall? Well, that’s a mother’s love for you. Now you know what to expect when you have a baby of your own.”

  I stared at Ström in disbelief. One of the unwritten rules of policing was that you never picked on anyone else about a botched job, because it could be your turn next. Apparently these rules didn’t apply to Ström.

  “Think about it, Kallio. Do you really think you did the right thing yesterday? Couldn’t you have saved Teräsvuori’s life if you’d just had the patience to negotiate and play for time? But you have so much faith in your own charm that you just barged in and waltzed up to a bitch waving a rifle around. You probably thought she’d just throw the gun at your feet when you looked at her.”

  I didn’t have a response for Ström, which was rare for me.

  “Just consider it. The whole operation was under your command yesterday. And what did you do? You made the wrong decision and a person died. Do you really think you’re cut out to be a leader?”

  Now my brain started working again. Ström obviously knew more about the promotion situation than I did. “Have you heard some new rumors?”

  Ström lit a cigarette before answering, blowing smoke straight into my face. “Well, I hear all sorts of things. For example, that Taskinen’s promotion is almost a sure thing. And of course he’ll get to ram through his own little favorite to take his place—”

  “Taskinen’s promotion is almost a sure thing?” I said in confusion. “But didn’t some guy from Turku have it all sewn up?”

  “Turns out they don’t want the Turku guy anymore because he was one of the guys who got shelved after that real estate investigation scandal. That’s why he wants to change jobs. He’s so dirty, it doesn’t matter that he’s the police chief’s old pal. Taskinen’s going to be named before Midsummer.”

  “How do you know?”

  “You just hear things when you hang around the shooting range with the right people,” Ström said coldly. “Think about your options, Kallio. If you try for Taskinen’s place, I’ll make sure Teräsvuori’s family sues to have you relieved of duty for misconduct. Do you really want to go through that meat grinder?”

  When I get angry enough, I don’t feel hot or see red—ice runs through me, and my voice lowers to a lynx’s growl.

  “You can’t afford to do this, Pertti Ström. Don’t forget a certain pair of ice skate guards. The only fingerprints that turned up on them were yours. Think about that.”

  “But it isn’t fucking fair for some pregnant bitch to get a job that belongs to me!” Ström bellowed, and the buzz in the room suddenly died. “And don’t think I don’t know you spread your legs to get where you are. Who’s really that baby’s daddy, huh? Your husband or the boss—or do you even know?”

  Usually the last comment would have just made me laugh, but the previous ones had ripped apart the self-confidence and professional pride I’d just started stitching back together.

  I picked up Ström’s drink and dumped it on his head. And then I followed it with my own. From the next table I grabbed a bottle of ketchup and started squirting it at Ström before he had the sense to get up and make his retreat. Koivu stood next to me, guffawing, and then offered me a mustard bottle. The waitress just watched in horror. The room w
as full of police officers, so she probably expected someone to step in. On the other hand, I was obviously pregnant, and it was clear no one quite had the nerve to confront me, even if I had left a huge puddle of beer and ketchup on the restaurant floor.

  “What’s going on here?” Taskinen asked, plowing his way through the gawking crowd.

  “Ström and I had a little disagreement. He feels threatened. I imagine you’ve heard about the turn in the promotion drama?” I was surprised at how calm I was, even though a few seconds before I had been ready to kill Ström.

  “I heard yesterday morning,” Taskinen said. “I just haven’t had the right opportunity to talk to you about it.”

  “Congratulations,” I said.

  How much of Ström’s insults had Taskinen heard? The truth was that I liked Taskinen a lot and probably could have developed deeper feelings if I let myself. And I knew Taskinen enjoyed my company and wasn’t afraid of a friendly touch when we both needed a reassuring connection. The fact that we both had great relationships with our own spouses didn’t make us immune from being attracted to someone else.

  “I should probably have a talk with Ström,” Taskinen said with a sigh.

  “Don’t bother. I can take care of myself.”

  “Yes, but that was about me too.” Taskinen avoided my gaze, thankfully. Half of our unit was leaning in to hear our hushed conversation.

  “If your position did come open, and I was picked, would Ström be my replacement during maternity leave?” I asked, ignoring that Lähde, Ström’s most faithful ally, was standing right behind Taskinen.

  “Are you worried it would be like twisting the knife in the wound? That’s a hard one,” Taskinen admitted.

  I wasn’t only thinking of Ström’s feelings. If he did my job for six months before I did, he was sure to make coming back to work a living hell.

  I wasn’t in the party spirit anymore. I just wanted to get home as soon as possible, away from the stale tobacco stench of the stuffy room where everyone would be watching me for the rest of the night. I was sure some of my other colleagues would want to talk about what happened yesterday too. Even if they were friendlier than Ström, I didn’t have the energy for it.