Death Spiral

by Leena Lehtolainen

  Coincidentally, it was the same Mattinen gang I’d nabbed during a murder investigation about four years earlier that handled Liikanen’s trafficking. When the gang broke up, the dealers had to look for new importers, and that was how Liikanen met Teräsvuori. He didn’t handle any big deals either, mostly just marijuana for bored kids out in the countryside.

  “They tried to push heroin on me and Vesku too, but we didn’t dare take it. Or I didn’t anyway. I don’t see anything wrong with trying to grow your muscles a little. You can’t get addicted to it like real drugs, and no one forces you to do it,” Liikanen said in his own defense.

  “Do you think it’s morally right to give doping drugs to a sixteen-year-old? You were also Noora’s dealer. And don’t deny it. I read all about it in her diary. Were you afraid of her talking? Is that why you killed her?”

  “I didn’t kill her! I didn’t even see her that night!”

  “Your friend did back up your story about delivering the energy drinks, but you still could have had time to go beat Noora to death, and you have the muscles for it.”

  “But I didn’t do it!”

  “But you know who did, don’t you?”

  That sentence made Koivu stand up straight and Liikanen rub his thighs in agitation.

  “How should I know who killed her?”

  “Last Tuesday behind the Fishmaid Restaurant, Teräsvuori said you both knew who killed Noora and why. Don’t you remember?”

  Liikanen stared at me, dumbfounded. I wondered whether I might have made a mistake. Maybe the person on the loading dock with Teräsvuori hadn’t been him.

  “How you do you know what we were talking about?” he finally asked.

  “Teräsvuori was under surveillance,” I said, lying. “So tell me what Vesku meant.”

  “What do I get if I do?” Liikanen asked greedily.

  I sighed. I didn’t have the desire or the authority to cut a deal with Liikanen—Narcotics was handling him. And since Teräsvuori wasn’t around to contradict him, Liikanen could give us any name he wanted.

  I wasn’t surprised when Tomi said, “I thought Vesku was talking about himself. He wanted revenge on Hanna. The police know that.”

  There was no way I could prove Teräsvuori meant anyone else. But was there anyone other than Elena Grigorieva that Liikanen might want to protect? I moved on.

  “How did Noora know she could get diet pills from you?”

  Tomi Liikanen stood up and started pacing around the room.

  Ten feet from wall to wall, only three steps in either direction, even with Liikanen’s short legs. Of course sitting hunched in a cell with nothing to do was difficult for a man who was used to training hard six times a week. What kind of pills did Liikanen take to maintain his physique? Was it possible to get addicted to them?

  “She just guessed! This one day she just came up and asked about supplements for appetite control. She said she wanted to lose the fat on her ass without dropping any muscle. Me the idiot suggested Mirapront, since I was having a hard time selling them otherwise.”

  “And Noora wanted to buy? Did Elena know Noora was taking weight-loss pills?”

  “No! Elena would have blown her top if she heard I was messing with Noora.”

  There was no doubt Liikanen was a little afraid of his wife. But had Elena Grigorieva known about Liikanen’s side business? Tomi denied this strenuously. Elena didn’t approve of doping. She had seen enough of its consequences during her active skating career. I wondered if she would leave Tomi after she learned about his illicit business and his role in Anton’s death. The Russians would get to decide whether to press charges for that. And really no one had any information about that fight other than Liikanen’s own account. For some reason I believed it because it was too simple to be made up.

  “Why did Noora think she could get away with taking phentermine? It’s on the antidoping list.”

  Liikanen shook his head. “Noora wasn’t going to take them during the competition season. She just wanted to lose a few pounds before Canada.”

  Was Tomi Liikanen really as stupid as he seemed? An athlete at Noora’s level was subject to testing at any time. It was hard to imagine that Liikanen having a cool enough head to hide Noora’s body in a stranger’s trunk. But maybe that was just dumb luck.

  “Were you the one who locked me in your gym?” I finally asked Liikanen, sure he would admit he had.

  “No! No way! The last thing I wanted was a cop rummaging through my office. Those locks have acted up before . . .” Liikanen looked like a little boy who was trying to convince a neighbor that it wasn’t his hockey puck that just went through the window.

  Now I stood up too and walked right up to Liikanen. We were probably an amusing pair, a five-foot-three pregnant woman confronting a massive body builder four inches taller. To my surprise, I realized that Liikanen was afraid of me. Poor man. Arnold Schwarzenegger’s muscles didn’t help much without the nerve to shoot any higher in life than selling pills to teenage girls.

  “Who did Noora threaten to tell about the Mirapront?”

  “You’ve got it all wrong. Noora didn’t threaten me. She was afraid I would tell.”

  “Tell who?”

  “Elena, of course . . . and the others. As if I would do that.”

  Of course Liikanen was brave enough to kick around people smaller than himself.

  “But you still teased Noora about her weight when you got the chance. You bastard! What right did you have to judge Noora?”

  I was surprised at the rage that suddenly overcame me. Turning away from Liikanen, I walked out into the hall and kicked the wall. Luckily it worked and I was able to get myself under control before sending Liikanen back to his cell. Narcotics could do what they wanted with him, since I didn’t have any reason to throw him in jail.

  Not yet, at least.

  In the elevator I felt as if I might suffocate on Koivu’s cocktail of overpowering aromas. I asked him to get the records from Liikanen’s weekend interrogation and all the Noora Nieminen murder material, starting from the door-to-door canvassing. There had to be something that would shed some light on the case. Antti had spent all day Sunday trying rebuild my confidence in my policing abilities, but there was some part of me saying I would never figure out who killed Noora. In order to show the crow derisively cawing on my shoulder, I would have to solve this case before I left on maternity leave.

  But I didn’t have the chance to escape to my office to theorize. In front of the duty officer’s cubicle in the little waiting area sat Kauko Nieminen and Ulrika Weissenberg.

  “Maria, you have guests,” the duty officer told me needlessly, adding in hushed tones, “Taskinen wants the unit together at one in the break room.”

  “Hello, Mrs. Weissenberg and Mr. Nieminen. You obviously have some business for me.”

  Kauko Nieminen stood up to shake my hand. His black suit looked brand new. Maybe he had bought it last week at the big-and-tall store for Noora’s funeral. Nieminen’s mustache hung down between his round cheeks like two drooping fir tree branches, and his small eyes were watery. Ulrika Weissenberg was impeccably stylish, as usual. The only accent for her black velvet suit was a white silk scarf, and even her pearl earrings were restrained.

  “We’ve been trying to see Lieutenant Taskinen, but we were told he isn’t here. Do you have a moment for us, Sergeant Kallio?” Weissenberg asked.

  I invited them into my office. Nieminen collapsed onto the couch as if he didn’t quite realize where he was. Weissenberg glanced significantly at the folder I had left on my desk in haste when I left Friday and at the photos hanging on my wall before she deigned to sit next to Nieminen on the couch.

  “We just came from visiting Hanna at the hospital,” said Weissenberg.

  “How is she?”

  “Not very well, as you might imagine. She’s still terribly upset and won’t even be able to participate in Noora’s funeral. Kauko and I have decided to proceed with the service anyway. The
invitations have already gone out, the obituary is in the newspaper, and the skaters have prepared for the memorial service. Have you seen this?”

  Weissenberg tossed the latest tabloids on the desk in front of me. SLAIN FIGURE SKATER’S MOTHER SHOOTS KILLER claimed one paper. Another headline was even more brazen: A MOTHER’S REVENGE—WOMAN KILLS DAUGHTER’S SUSPECTED MURDERER. Both papers had devoted an entire spread to Teräsvuori’s shooting. Taskinen had given a statement to one of the papers emphasizing that Noora’s murder investigation was still ongoing, but that at this stage, it appeared likely that Teräsvuori was not guilty.

  The story was definitely juicy and would supply copy for days. Ulrika’s indignation was easy to understand, but I doubted she was here to complain to me about newspaper stories.

  “We demand that you increase the priority of Noora’s murder investigation. If the police had solved the case, Friday’s tragedy never would have happened.”

  Of course Weissenberg was right. But she was also still a suspect. On the other hand, I had never come up with a reason Kauko Nieminen would have murdered his daughter, even though several incest scenarios had occurred to me over the weekend.

  “I can assure you we’ve had every available resource focused on this case from the beginning,” I replied hopelessly.

  “Do you call making nonsensical arrests using every available resource? Do you still consider Janne Kivi your prime suspect? You’ve dragged him in here twice already! Haven’t the results from his car come in yet? Certainly they demonstrate his innocence.”

  “The second arrest was for speeding and perfectly justified. Janne was driving ninety miles an hour in a fifty zone. As far as the lab results are concerned . . .” I swallowed. I had almost told them the truth, that the forensic investigation hadn’t produced anything helpful. Foreign fibers had been found on Noora’s clothing and bag, but we didn’t have anything to compare them to. The most incriminating evidence was actually Ulrika Weissenberg’s fingernail, which the pathologist had found in Noora’s hair.

  “The success rate for solving homicide cases in our country is excellent,” I said, trying to convince all of us.

  “I’m prepared to offer a reward for information leading to the capture of my daughter’s murderer,” Kauko Nieminen suddenly said. “Do you think one hundred thousand marks would be enough? What newspapers do I need to put the announcement in? I’ll contact Police TV too. And if hiring a private investigator will help, I can find money for that.”

  Kauko’s offer was very serious. He obviously thought money could solve this problem too.

  “Thank you, Mr. Nieminen. If I were you, I would wait just a little longer before offering a reward. Of course it could help, but you know how mercenary people are. You can certainly hire as many private investigators as you want. And we’ve been thinking about Police TV too,” I said, not entirely truthfully, since the topic had only come up once. Although the show could help our work, I wasn’t sure Noora’s murder was really the right kind of crime for them to deal with. The show was so voyeuristic.

  “Are you completely sure Teräsvuori didn’t murder my daughter? Hanna believed that bastard did it,” Nieminen said almost pleadingly. That would have been easy. Teräsvuori could be proclaimed guilty, the police crime fighting statistics would go up, and a clear justification would exist for Hanna’s act.

  But Teräsvuori hadn’t killed Noora.

  “Teräsvuori couldn’t have killed Noora. Both we and the Helsinki police are investigating Teräsvuori’s movements, and the picture that’s emerging is pretty interesting.”

  “Do you mean that bastard could have hired someone to kill my daughter?” Kauko Nieminen yelled, his fist slamming down on my desk so hard it knocked the teacup that had been growing mold all weekend onto the floor.

  “We can’t rule that out.”

  Kauko Nieminen’s self-control failed entirely, and he railed about how lazy and ineffective the police and the justice system were, letting Teräsvuori get off with fines for harassing his family.

  “You made Hanna a murderer! If Hanna goes to jail, I’ll . . . I’ll . . .” Nieminen tried in vain to invent a sufficiently grotesque threat. Hide a bomb under the Minister of Justice’s chair? Sue the Espoo Police? Write to the president to beg for a pardon?

  “How soon do you go on maternity leave?” Ulrika Weissenberg asked, glancing at my belly. Just then the Creature wriggled visibly, which made Ulrika look away.

  I should have answered that it was none of her business, but instead I muttered humbly that I was leaving at Midsummer.

  “If the case isn’t solved by then, who will be in charge of the investigation?”

  “Lieutenant Taskinen has been lead investigator the whole time. The questioning has only been delegated to me due to conflict of interest reasons.” My head was throbbing now and kicking the wall wasn’t going to help. “Since you appear to have time, maybe we could review how your fingernail ended up in Noora Nieminen’s hair. After we get to the interrogation room, I’ll get an officer to come serve as witness. Mr. Nieminen can come along if he likes.”

  This worked. Of course Ulrika hadn’t told the Nieminens the truth about her fight with Noora. Kauko Nieminen glanced at his companion in confusion, but then despair spread over his face. He couldn’t lose his only source of support.

  “Your fingernail . . . in Noora’s hair? Ulrika, what’s going on?”

  For once Ulrika Weissenberg seemed to be at a loss. When she spoke she didn’t look at Nieminen, staring instead at her nails, which were a shiny silver today. I listened to her explanation with a strange satisfaction. Unfortunately Weissenberg’s story was the same as before. Maybe it would still be worth a call to Silja to see if she’d overheard the argument, though. I’d forgotten to check that too. I definitely wasn’t a supercop. And yet, I assured Kauko we would do our best and ratchet up the investigation even more.

  17

  When I finally got the pair out of my office, I felt tired, impotent, and small, even given my appearance. I felt like I would crumble, peeling away from around the Creature into pieces on the rug. I was too fragile to handle a single nasty word.

  And I was surely in for buckets of them that day. I could guess what Taskinen’s meeting would be about.

  I decided to correct at least one omission and call Silja Taskinen. At the same time I could hear how her life was going. School had ended the previous Saturday. Silja was unlikely to have a summer job, since she was leaving soon for her training camp in Canada.

  “Hi, Maria. I was just cleaning out my closet. I have to do something to keep from thinking.”

  Another needle in my heart: the pair who just left weren’t the only ones who needed the peace of mind solving Noora’s case would bring. We chatted for a minute about Hanna and the upcoming funeral. Silja said she felt horrible playing Snow White’s stepmother in the memorial performance, but somehow Ulrika had talked her into it. According to Ulrika, putting on the Snow White piece would be a tribute to Noora and therapy for all of them because, in a way, Noora would be present with them on the ice. The only one she hadn’t convinced to skate was Janne, so the performance would be half baked.

  “I’ll probably have a sore throat or twist my ankle. I can go to the funeral, but I can’t skate.”

  When I inquired whether Silja had heard Ulrika and Noora’s fight at the ice rink, she sighed.

  “Yes, I heard it, as I probably already said, but I didn’t hang around to watch. I’d heard them fight enough times before. And it probably wasn’t the first time Ulrika hit Noora. I don’t like talking about this, though, like I’m blaming Ulrika.”

  “It’s just good you’re talking. Did you hear what Noora said to Ulrika? What could have made her hit Noora?”

  “It was probably what Noora shouted about Janne. Something about Ulrika thinking she could buy Janne, a horny old postmenopausal harpy like her. Noora could be pretty crude.”

  “Bossy old witch” was what Ulrika had claimed N
oora said. I should have guessed Noora would have used something more expressive. Postmenopausal and horny was an amusing contradiction, but Ulrika Weissenberg probably hadn’t laughed.

  “By the way, how well do you remember spring two years ago?”

  “Um, you mean when I was in ninth grade? Why do you ask?”

  “Did anything special happen to Noora then? Take your time to think about it and maybe tell me tomorrow if you don’t remember right now. If you have a diary from then, check there.”

  “Well I can’t think of anything off the top of my head. That was around the same time Noora’s mom started dating that Teräsvuori guy, though. Are you coming to the funeral, Maria?”

  “I guess so.”

  I really had no desire to go. I was sure to start crying. Pregnancy had made me so prone to tears that I even bawled like a baby during movies now.

  “We have practice at the ice rink at eight. Before that is a hockey clinic being taught by some big hockey coach, so even Ulrika couldn’t get it moved. Stanley Cup champions always beat figure skating in Espoo.”

  Ulrika wouldn’t have been able to stop Hanna from pulling that trigger either, I thought after hanging up the phone. That was only a slight comfort. Next I made an appointment to meet Kati Järvenperä that afternoon at the Summer University office. Interviewing the woman whose car Noora’s body was found in had also ended up on the back burner.

  Koivu brought the material I’d requested but instead of letting me jump into it, he announced that the pepperoni pizza I’d promised would hit the spot about now. So we drove to a nearby pizzeria. When the waiter arrived, Koivu thought for a second and then ordered a beer.

  He grinned. “Homeopathic medicine. Isn’t that the idea, that you remove the disease with the thing that caused it?” he asked.

  After eating half of his pizza, he started recounting his escapades with Puupponen and Pihko. Even though Koivu didn’t admit it, I got the feeling that one of the reasons he and Pihko had gone on such a bender was the bad aftertaste of Teräsvuori’s killing.