Death Spiral

by Leena Lehtolainen

  The arena was almost dark again, with only the emergency exit signs glowing green. Then from the darkness came the swooshing of skates and the first candle flame appeared on the ice. Twenty or so more followed, and a string version of Harry Nilsson’s “Without You” began echoing in the hall. Apparently the Espoo Figure-Skating Association synchronized skating team had adapted their spring competition program for the memorial service.

  It was actually quite grotesque: the hall illuminated by candles, the most saccharine possible version of a song that had already been violated by countless third-class singers, and a bunch of little girls with stiff faces trying to get their patterns right on the ice. Fortunately the music stopped frequently, and the voice of the synchronized skating team’s coach brought me back to reality. I doubted whether the performance would have Ulrika Weissenberg’s much-vaunted therapeutic effect on the skaters or the audience.

  When the candle procession finally glided off the ice and the lights came up, I saw everyone I’d expected to see over by the entry to the dressing rooms. Wearing a tracksuit and holding her skates, Silja Taskinen stood talking to Elena. Rami Luoto was adjusting Irina Grigorieva’s crooked skating tights. I remembered that she had played Bashful in Snow White and skated her short solo perfectly. Maybe they were putting that in the memorial show too, or did they really intend to make Irina take on Noora’s starring role? Janne lounged in one of the plastic chairs in section A, his legs up on the back of the row in front of him. He wasn’t wearing skates, but Ulrika Weissenberg seemed to be calling him out onto the ice. I started edging closer so I could hear their conversation.

  “You could at least say something about Noora if you don’t want to skate.”

  “I’ll lay my flowers on her casket in the church, and that’s all. There’s no way I’m taking any part in this farce.”

  “We’re doing this for Noora. She would have liked it.”

  “Yeah, she would have, the effing little drama queen. But she isn’t here to see it, is she?” Janne stood up and brought his face right up to Weissenberg’s, taking her by the shoulders. For half a second I thought he was going to hug her, but instead he yelled, “She’s dead, Ulrika. She’s dead! Don’t you get that? Noora is dead! Damn your stupid show to hell!”

  Janne shook Ulrika, and for a moment it looked as though he meant to shove her down the stairs onto the ice, but then he realized what he was doing, let go of Ulrika, and rushed up into the stands where the lights couldn’t reach him.

  Irina Grigorieva skated her solo confidently but without much of the expression she showed in the spring. I wondered why Elena and Rami were going along with Ulrika’s idea of a memorial performance. Even though figure skating was a very disciplined pursuit, it had to be a bit much to ask little children to play happy forest creatures when Snow White had actually been killed. I remembered again Noora’s eyes pleading with the Huntsman for mercy, then little Minni’s body dead in her squalid crib. I closed my eyes. I didn’t want to think about them. I just couldn’t. I forced myself to think about the things the birthing class had taught. Dilation stage, pushing stage, recovery stage. Then something strange happened.

  I’d heard of it happening to other people. Someone brooded over a problem for weeks, constantly thinking about it and contemplating various solutions without success. And then suddenly there’s a big flash, and a clear picture emerges from the chaos.

  That was exactly what happened to me as I tried to repeat in my mind the stages of giving birth. I realized who had killed Noora Nieminen and why. Even the how started forming in my mind. The answers had been practically crashing into me, crying out for the right questions. It was as if I’d heard them at random from the mouths of chance passersby.

  I stood up and walked to the hall. I had to call the Department of Motor Vehicles. They confirmed my suspicion. Next I checked a few details from my notes and Noora’s diaries. In my excitement I nearly couldn’t find the right pages. The joy of knowing did battle in my head with the fury I felt toward Noora’s killer. But I still didn’t quite know what I should do. The person I wanted wasn’t exactly going anywhere, so the arrest could wait until tomorrow. I had to calm down before reentering the arena so I wouldn’t walk up and punch the murderer in the face. A few minutes passed before I was able to go back in.

  Now Silja was on the ice. Her violet tights and tracksuit jacket didn’t exactly fit the evil stepmother solo. Her skating was effortless from start to finish. As Silja prepared for her triple Salchow, it was immediately obvious she didn’t have enough speed. Her jump took off low out of the curve, and Silja crashed painfully to the ice. Her ankle ended up strangely under her body, even though skaters at her level usually knew how to fall without injury. And instead of standing up, Silja remained sitting on the ice holding her ankle. Rami was the first to realize what had happened and rushed out onto the ice.

  “Turn off the music!” I heard him yell. Helping Silja up, he supported her by the shoulder so she could use her healthy foot to glide back to the stands.

  I descended the stairs and heaved myself over the barrier so I could make my way through the upper stands to Silja. Her leg was elevated, and Rami and Elena were bustling about in concern.

  “Irina, get some ice from the concessions,” Elena ordered.

  “It isn’t broken. Just a sprain. And it doesn’t feel swollen,” Rami said as he inspected the injury. “Does it hurt much?”

  “Ow! Don’t do that,” Silja moaned.

  “Hi, Silja. Is it bad?” I asked from higher up in the stands.

  No one seemed particularly surprised to see me, and Silja almost smiled.

  “Hi, Maria! I don’t know. I don’t think I’ll be able to skate tomorrow, though.”

  Remembering our conversation that morning, I had to struggle not to grin. Of course Silja had fallen on purpose. Now she could get out of skating in the memorial program.

  “You can’t skate?” Ulrika’s voice was suddenly shrill. It was easy to see that the past two weeks had worn her down. I expected her to finally break down, but she managed to compose herself.

  Elena Grigorieva took control of the situation and ordered all the forest creatures watching from the passageway back onto the ice. I offered to take Silja home, but she said her mom was coming to get her anyway.

  “I’m going to take my driving test when we get back from Canada. Then getting around will be a lot easier,” Silja said.

  I sat down next to her and we watched the forest creatures dance, trading a few little comments about the skaters’ technique. The music had woken up my own Creature, who seemed to be trying to swim in time with the tune.

  Elena Grigorieva took the group through the practice with astounding energy, given that she must have been exhausted. Tomi Liikanen had been set free, but the investigation into his activities was really just beginning. He was sure to face charges for drug trafficking, and Elena would be questioned about that too.

  Eventually the practice ended. The parents picked up their children, and Terttu Taskinen came to fetch Silja, who gave me a wink as she hobbled out of the arena with her mother’s arm around her. In the hallway I ran into the person I had just realized killed Noora. I wasn’t able to keep quiet after all. I wanted to be done with this.

  “I have a few things to talk to you about. Do you have a minute?” I was sure my voice sounded hysterical.

  “Sure,” he said as if without a clue what was going on. And maybe he didn’t know. Maybe he thought he was beyond suspicion.

  Climbing to the upper seats of section A, I sat down on an uncomfortable plastic bench. The Matinkylä Ice Arena was small and homey, but even on a summer night, it could be terribly cold. I pulled my jacket tighter around me and shoved my hands in my pockets.

  The janitor closed the six-foot-high iron gate between the stands and the public entrance. He glanced at me in surprise but didn’t say anything. The lights in the arena dimmed. The person I was waiting for returned to the arena and ascended the stai
rs toward me. Despite still wearing skates, he walked nimbly.

  “Can I leave now?” the janitor yelled from the door to the concession area.

  “Go ahead,” my companion replied.

  “I’m closing this since you have keys!”

  The janitor closed the thick glass door.

  Suddenly the arena was strangely quiet, with only the air conditioning faintly whirring. What was I doing? Until then the idea that he could be any danger to me hadn’t crossed my mind. Was it wise to be locked into an empty ice rink with him? But the janitor was probably still around, and they couldn’t leave the building completely empty all night. It wasn’t a problem. I’d just ask a couple of questions and go, leaving Noora’s killer to wonder how much I really knew. Unnerving him would probably be the best tactic.

  “Do you want to talk here?” he asked, pulling his own coat tighter around himself too. “You aren’t cold, are you?”

  I shook my head and looked into Rami Luoto’s blueberry-colored eyes. They glittered almost black in the dim light of the arena. The laugh lines of his boyish face were clearly visible this close up, and frost-colored hairs grew on his ears.

  “The last time we met, I asked you about Noora’s boyfriends. She was so infatuated with Janne, but the feeling wasn’t mutual. The autopsy indicated that Noora may not have been a virgin. Do you know who she might have had a sexual relationship with?”

  Rami’s gaze lowered. Place Your Bets! proclaimed one of the advertisements on the boards. And I did.

  “It happened two years ago, didn’t it? In the winter, around the time Noora’s mother started dating Vesku Teräsvuori. You’ve always liked little girls, haven’t you?”

  “Did Noora write about it in her diary?” Luoto asked. Then he shivered.

  I nodded. What did it matter whether I was lying or not? Luoto opened his mouth, but no sound came out. He had done that a lot when I was interviewing him. Maybe he had wanted to admit to killing Noora before, but he couldn’t do it, and I hadn’t known to ask.

  “Noora wasn’t even fourteen. She was a child and you were her coach. How did it happen?”

  I didn’t believe Luoto had forcibly raped Noora. It must have at least started voluntarily.

  But Luoto wasn’t willing to talk. So we just looked at the white surface of the ice broken by hockey markings and the blue-and-red letters of the advertisements. Karjala Beer. Sisu Salmiakki. Rautaruukki Construction.

  “I barely even suspected you. You didn’t seem to have any kind of motive for killing Noora. I’m sure you realize the situation is very different now.”

  “Has anyone else read Noora’s diaries?” Luoto’s voice had turned almost unrecognizable, low and tense.

  “Police investigations are group work,” I said, lying again because I was the one getting nervous now. If Luoto had lost control with Noora, he might be capable of the same kind of outburst now.

  “Of course I knew it was wrong. It was the greatest mistake of my life,” Luoto forced himself to say. “It was at a camp. Janne and Silja had brought some wine and gave some to Noora too. Too much. Things like that don’t usually happen. When she was drunk, Noora had a fit of jealousy about Janne. I took her to my room to calm her down. And . . . and . . . she was so beautiful. It just happened.”

  I remembered the picture of the adolescent ballerina on Luoto’s wall and Noora’s diaries’ repeated entries about Rami harping on her for gaining weight.

  “So you play gay so no one will wonder about your lack of relationships with adult women,” I said.

  “People think men like me are gay anyway.” Luoto tried to laugh without success.

  “As far as that goes, I don’t think you’ve been able to fool everyone, at least not Elena,” I said, remembering the way Elena had pulled her daughter out of Luoto’s reach. “And that’s why you like coaching little girls. You get to touch them legally. That’s why you were perfectly willing to give up coaching the seniors.”

  Luoto didn’t reply. I was beginning to lose my temper. Rami Luoto had been so easy to like, which was probably why the other adults on the team had closed their eyes to his tendency.

  “Luckily for you, Noora was so ashamed of what happened, she couldn’t tell anyone about it for years. Did you tell her no one would believe her? Or did you make her believe Janne would hate her?”

  Luoto looked at me as if I were a total stranger. “I’m not that kind of person. I asked her forgiveness. Over and over again. I thought she’d already forgotten it.”

  “Forgotten? Because you weren’t interested in her sexually anymore? Maybe she had tried to put it out of her mind, but then it came back to her when she saw how you were treating Irina. Now there’s a girl you must really like.”

  Luoto swallowed. He was shaking and he opened his mouth, but no sound escaped his throat. I was having a hard time talking too. I was the last to condemn anyone for their sexual proclivities, but meddling with children was the line where my sympathy ended. Luoto wasn’t even some pathetic flasher lurking in the bushes; he was an adult into whose care children were entrusted.

  “Noora probably thought it was all her fault, that she had been dirty somehow and that was why you came after her,” I said. “But then in Edmonton she met another one of your old students, a young Canadian woman, and she realized she wasn’t the only one and that the fault was really in you. And then she started to see your interest in Irina with new eyes. Which was why she decided to expose that you had molested her.”

  Imagining the events of Noora’s last day alive wasn’t difficult. Everyone said that Noora had a penchant for the dramatic. The argument over the commercial had made her mad, and maybe in her rage she had screamed at Rami and said she was going to tell everyone what he’d done two years ago.

  “So you didn’t walk home at all,” I continued. “It was raining, so you had your sister’s car. You weren’t lying when you said you don’t own one of your own. You just failed to mention that you just borrow your sister’s Renault Clio.”

  Luoto rubbed his upper lip with his left hand. Even though his body was shivering with cold, beads of sweat had broken out on his forehead. It would be easier if he just told me what had happened. Described how he picked Noora up. I still didn’t know where he’d killed her. Had he stopped the car in the parking lot near the forest and then followed Noora to where her bag was found? Or had he beaten Noora to death in the car? Why had he decided to take the body to the parking garage at the shopping center?

  Maybe he would explain during his interrogation. He had already admitted enough through his silence. There wasn’t any point continuing this conversation.

  It crossed my mind that leaving him alone for the night wasn’t the best idea, that he might try to do something to himself. But what did I care? Luoto had already managed to ruin so many lives. I knew I shouldn’t think that way, but I was too exhausted to feel any empathy for Rami Luoto. Rami, that bastard, Noora had written, and now I thought exactly the same thing.

  Standing, I picked up my bag and started to leave. Luoto grabbed me by the arm.

  “What’s going to happen to me now?” he asked in the same tense whisper. “I didn’t kill Noora on purpose. Do you understand? It was an accident. I didn’t know that . . . that a person could die so easily.”

  Luoto had to force the last words out of his mouth. His eyes stared into mine like two hollow, bottomless chasms. Then I saw my own face in them, full of anger and disbelief. I don’t know how Luoto interpreted my expression.

  Suddenly his grip on my arm tightened. “Tell me what happens now. Did you come to arrest me?”

  “Let me go!”

  But Luoto didn’t obey. I realized that he must have stared at Noora with exactly the same eyes. Like a cornered dog. The only option was to attack.

  “You didn’t come to arrest me. You don’t have enough evidence yet. You lied about the diary too. Noora told me she never wrote about it. That what I did to her was too horrible to write down.”

/>   “I’m not the only one who knows you killed Noora,” I said as calmly as I could. “Let me go. You’re under arrest.”

  I had never imagined that Luoto would really attack me. I started trying to shake myself free, but Luoto wouldn’t let go of my arm. On the contrary. Suddenly he wrapped his other arm around my neck and tried to get me in a headlock.

  Of course they taught us how to get out of that at the police academy. And under normal circumstances it wouldn’t have been any trick at all. Normal circumstances, meaning I wasn’t in my twenty-eighth week of pregnancy and my opponent wasn’t a professional athlete. So now I just thrashed. I felt my lungs bursting for lack of air and imagined the Creature struggling as the umbilical cord no longer brought it oxygen. That thought made me struggle just enough that Luoto’s grip failed.

  As fast as I dared in the darkness, I charged down the stairs. Falling would be catastrophic. As soon as my lungs had enough air again, I started screaming. The arena couldn’t be empty yet. At least the janitor must still be around. My bag contained at least my keys and a small knife, which I could have used to defend myself, but it was lost somewhere in the darkness. Along with my phone.

  Hearing steps clacking behind me, I tried the impossible, climbing over the six-foot fence that separated the stands from the lobby area. But that was a mistake. Luoto was on me in a second and pulled me down off the fence. I thudded to the ground, and Luoto collapsed on top of me. The impact was tremendous, but the pain I feared didn’t come, at least not yet, and I didn’t feel blood running from between my legs.

  Luoto tried to sit on top of me, but I managed to roll out from under him. I had almost made it to my feet when a glint of light on metal cut through the gloom.

  Rami had slipped the guard off of his right skate and was trying to kick me with it. Not in the face, in the stomach. At the last instant I dodged, but I didn’t manage to run before he dove at my legs to try to bring me down again.

  I knew what he intended, and it made me shriek in a way I had never dreamed I could. He was going to stomp me to death with his skates. As another kick aimed at me, I just had time to lift my arm to protect my belly, and the blade only hit the loose sleeve of my jacket. The punch I aimed at his face hit him in the nose, but it didn’t even start bleeding.