“I still think I should have a lawyer present.”
“For what? You’re no longer a suspect.”
“I don’t want certain things to get out,” he says.
“Heli knows about your affair.”
“She does? Fuck.”
“So you don’t have anything to lose,” I say.
We go to my office. I give him coffee and cigarettes. Seppo’s smiling, happy. “About what happened yesterday,” he says, “I understand that you were upset. You thought a murderer threatened your wife. I’m not going to tell anyone about it. What Heli and I did to you was terrible. Maybe we can just call it even.”
I scared him. He played a hand in destroying my marriage. He can’t be stupid enough to consider those things equitable. He probably just doesn’t want anyone to know he pissed on himself.
“That sounds fair,” I say. “Let’s forget the past and start over. Who knows, if we met under different circumstances, we might have been friends.”
This gratifies him. He offers his hand and we shake.
“Are you comfortable?” I ask. “Want anything?”
“Thanks, I’m fine.”
“Are you ready to talk about the case?”
“Anything to help. I guess you know Sufia and I were close.”
“Tell me about you and Sufia.” I start a tape recorder.
“Do we need that?”
“Yeah, we do. Is it a problem?”
He processes the ramifications of being taped. It takes him a while. “I guess not.”
“Good. Tell me about you and Sufia.”
Seppo’s pause tells me he’s thinking about how to present himself in the best possible light. “Sufia was different.”
“How so?”
“I met her at a cocktail party about three months ago. She had the most gorgeous eyes I had ever seen. We talked for hours. She was interested in me, she listened to me.”
“Did she talk about herself?”
“Not much, she liked to talk about me. It seemed like she really cared if I was happy, like I was important to her.”
“Had you been unhappy?”
“Not exactly.”
“It sounds like she gave you something you felt you were missing.”
He thinks about this. “You know Heli. She can be charming when she wants to. She hasn’t wanted to for a while.”
I don’t know her anymore, so I don’t say anything.
“That doesn’t mean I don’t love her,” he says.
“Of course not.”
“It’s just that some other companionship was nice.”
“Sufia was young and beautiful. That must have been nice too.”
His voice intimates that we’re talking buddy to buddy. “You have no idea.”
I mimic his tone. “I bet the sex was pretty good.”
He looks proud of himself. “The best I’ve ever had. She loved doing it with me. The girl came like a rocket.”
“Let’s talk about Tuesday, the day she was killed,” I say.
“She came to the hotel at about twelve thirty. We didn’t talk much. You know.”
“I can only imagine.”
“She left around two, said she had things to do.”
Maybe to see Peter. “Why did you rent a room at Hullu Poro instead of going to her cabin? After all, you were paying for it.”
“She said it was a mess. She was too embarrassed to let the maid clean it and wanted to do it herself, but kept putting it off. Sufia wasn’t exactly domestically inclined.”
I give him a just-us-guys smile. “I guess she had other talents that made up for it.”
“Yeah.” He snickers. “Besides, I stay at Hullu Poro when I’ve had too much to drink in the bar there, so I don’t get behind the wheel.”
“You’re a good citizen. When was the last time you were in Sufia’s room?”
“About a week ago, I suppose.”
“Where was your car while she was in your room that day?”
“Outside in the parking lot.”
“Does anybody else have access to it? Do you ever loan it to your friends?”
“Just Heli. She has her own set of car keys.”
“Did you ever let Sufia borrow your car?”
“No.”
“I found your semen and her blood in the backseat. You had other places available to have sex. Why in the car, and why the blood?”
He smiles. “Did you ever see Sufia? I fucked her anywhere and everywhere I could, as often as I could. One look in those gorgeous eyes of hers made my dick hard. Maybe she’d started her period when we did it in the car.”
“It seems like your feelings for Sufia were genuine. Was there any future in the relationship?”
“She told me she loved me and would like to have something more permanent. I told her things could stay the way they were. Permanently.”
“Meaning she could be your mistress indefinitely. Do you think Heli knew about your affair?”
“I was careful to make sure she didn’t find out.”
It’s hard to picture Seppo being careful about anything. “But you talked to other people about Sufia.”
“Just a few close friends.”
“I’ll need their names and contact information.”
He nods.
“Because, the thing is, you called Sufia a ‘nigger whore’ during a phone conversation, just about a half an hour after somebody carved ‘nigger whore’ on her abdomen. That strikes me as more than coincidental.”
“He told you what I said?”
“Yeah.”
He looks down at the desk, starts to fidget. “What are you getting at?”
“You pretended like you cared about Sufia, but you called her a
‘nigger whore’ behind her back. You bragged about coming on her face and fucking her in the ass. Some people might take that to mean you were using her. If you talked about her, using that exact phrase, to various people, one of them could have used that information to set you up. Or somebody could have overheard a conversation and used it to frame you. That’s what I’m getting at.”
He looks relieved. “I see what you mean-I’ll make a list.”
“There’s another option,” I say. “The phone call was later than you said and doesn’t entirely clear you. There was enough time after the murder for you to get back to your room and call a friend to give yourself an alibi.”
He scratches his head, thinks about it. “If I did that, why would I call her a ‘nigger whore’ and mess up my alibi?”
“That’s a good question. A better one is why you ever called her that at all.”
“If somebody tried to frame me,” he says, “like you think they are, it wouldn’t have been too hard. Somebody could have borrowed my car for a while and put it back. Everybody knows I don’t get out of bed till four when I’ve been drinking the night before.”
“What time do you get out of bed when you haven’t been drinking?”
He hesitates. “Four.”
So he’s drunk every night and sleeps through his hangovers. I change gears. “Did you realize that Sufia’s clitoris had been removed?”
“I knew there was something strange down there but didn’t ask her about it. Why would someone do that?”
I don’t bother to explain. “She didn’t enjoy sex with you as much as you think, maybe not at all.”
He looks unbelieving.
“Peter Eklund was having an affair with Sufia,” I say. “That’s why she wouldn’t let you go to her room. Peter’s liquor bottles were all over it.”
I gauge his reaction. He looks injured, as if the idea of Sufia betraying him is both hurtful and mystifying. I wonder how good an actor he is. “No shit?” he asks.
“No shit. I think she wasn’t satisfied being your mistress, I think she used you.”
“That ungrateful bitch,” he says.
“Some people don’t know how good they have it,” I say, then cut him off. “That’s enough for now.�
�
I thank Seppo for his cooperation and apologize for the inconvenience. I give him his car keys and walk him out to the garage. “Anything you need,” he says. “Anything. You just ask.”
I open the garage door and reporters start swarming toward us.
“I’ll see you soon,” I say, and wave as Seppo drives away.
I didn’t bring my coat. It’s fucking freezing outside. The reporters start questioning me, but my statement is brief. “That was Seppo Niemi you just saw leaving. He provided an alibi and I released him. We’re now pursuing other avenues of investigation.” They keep shouting. I shut the garage door in their faces and go back into the station.
Back in the common room, I relate my interview with Seppo and lay out what we’ve got to do next. “We’ve made a lot of progress. We know where Sufia was when she was abducted. Since, by his own admission, Seppo’s vehicle was in the parking lot, it could have been used in the commission of the crime. The tears are the key. Because of them, it appears Seppo had an accomplice. Whoever shed them is linked to Seppo. It’s possible Seppo wasn’t even present when the crime was committed. Sufia’s affair with Peter gives him motive. Seppo could have had her killed.”
I’m pretending confidence I don’t feel. Yesterday, it looked like we’d broken the case in forty-eight hours. Now we’re at a standstill.
“We have to pursue the Peter Eklund lead with the same thoroughness as our investigation of Seppo. Peter’s car was in the parking lot too. Antti, you process it.”
He looks demoralized. I don’t have to tell him he can’t go on vacation.
“Jussi, you go to Hullu Poro. Check out if Peter was there at the time of the murder. Question the staff and everyone who’s been hanging around the bar over the past few days. If his car turns up evidence or we can’t confirm his alibi, we’ll treat his house as a crime scene. Valtteri, you go back to investigating locals. Known racists, sex offenders, men prone to violence. I’ll take photos of Seppo and Peter with me and re-canvass Marjakyla. And Valtteri, come into my office, I want to talk to you.”
When we’re alone, Valtteri says, “About Marjakyla, your father wasn’t at work in the bar when Sufia was murdered. You asked me to check.”
“Then I’ll ask him about it myself. I want to talk to you about Heli.”
“What about her?”
“When she left Kittila, she shook the dust off her feet and never came back. As far as I know, she hasn’t been here since we divorced. She hated her family. When we were married, she only came here when I wanted to see mine. Seppo always came here alone. She tells me, as she put it, that she’s ‘rediscovering her religious roots.’ Have you seen her in church?”
He nods. “It’s true, she’s been attending regularly.”
“Why didn’t you mention it to me?”
“I don’t like to bring up your ex-wife, it’s not my place.” He pauses. “You don’t think Heli could have had anything to do with it.”
“She’s gone for years. Then she shows back up, and her common-law husband’s mistress is murdered. She had keys to his car, she had motive. It’s a natural line of questioning.”
“Maybe you’re not taking the possibility that Peter and his friends killed Sufia seriously enough,” he says. “He and Seppo have nearly identical vehicles and they were both in the parking lot. They smoke the same brand of cigarettes, even have the same shoe size.”
“I’m taking it seriously. If Jussi finds blood in his car, it will provide sufficient grounds to seize his house and treat it as a secondary crime scene.”
“Arresting Seppo has already caused you a lot of trouble. If you accuse Heli, it might cost you your job.”
“I’m not accusing her. It’s a line of inquiry we have to pursue, because it’s our duty. And I’m not investigating her, I’m asking you to do it.”
“How could Heli have done it? I mean physically. She’s a woman. She can’t commit rape.”
“We haven’t proven that Sufia was raped.”
“Heli is so small, how could she have forced Sufia into the car? Don’t you remember how Sufia looked? I can’t imagine Heli inflicting those kinds of injuries.”
“Just nose around,” I say. “Find out what Heli’s been doing and who she’s been associating with. Discreet questioning. That’s all I ask.”
“This is going to lead to no good end,” Valtteri concludes, and walks out.
19
I write a press release, but not the way the chief wanted it. I don’t mention my previous marriage to Heli, or that she left me for Seppo, and I don’t write anything to tarnish his image. I keep it simple, say he provided an alibi and was released. I e-mail it to all the major Finnish newspapers, STT and Reuters.
The photocopy of Sufia’s address book is on the desk in front of me. I start making phone calls again. After an hour, I get a hit.
“That bitch fucked my boyfriend. She sucked his cock in my own goddamned house. I’m glad she’s dead.”
“Who’s your boyfriend?” I ask.
“You mean, who was my boyfriend. That bitch wrecked everything.”
“Yes, that’s what I mean.”
She gives me the name of a Finnish television star. I call him.
“Fuck,” he says. “What did you hear?”
I play him. “Never mind that. Just give me your version of events.”
“Maybe it’s wrong to speak ill of the dead, but the blackmailing bitch said she was gonna get me.”
“How did she say she was going to get you?”
“She was never anything to me. I had a girlfriend and Sufia was a side thing. Excuse me for being blunt, but Sufia was an incredible fuck. The girl could suck an egg through a straw. And gorgeous, Jesus, just looking at her could almost make me come. My girlfriend caught us. Sufia was happy about it because she said we could see each other out in the open, but I wanted to get rid of Sufia so I could patch things up. Sufia got angry. She said she’d claim I raped her and told me I had to give her money.”
“Did you?”
“I told her to go fuck herself.”
“Have you been to Levi lately?”
“Not for two years. Am I a suspect?”
“Not at present. Thank you for your cooperation. One last thing, what kind of car do you drive?”
“A BMW. Why?”
I ignore the question and hang up. I can understand Sufia’s attraction to rich and famous men, but I’m left wondering about her obsession with BMWs. I’ve talked to around thirty people about Sufia. No one knew her, not even the men she’d had affairs with. It seems no one cared enough to bother, but I want to. I decide to watch her movies.
I print out Seppo’s arrest photo and one of Peter from the sex offender database, then go to the BMW website, download and print pictures of star-spoked and double-spoked wheels and drive to Marjakyla. I decide to get the worst over with and go to my parents’ house first. I knock, and Dad yells for me to come in. He’s sitting in his armchair smoking an unfiltered North State. A glass of piima, buttermilk, sits on the end table beside him. I take this to mean he’s not drunk. I’m relieved.
“Hello son,” he says.
The television is turned off, the curtains are drawn. The only light spills out from the kitchen. He’s sitting in the dark and what would be silence, except for the incessant ticking of clocks.
Mom’s dentures are in a water glass beside Dad’s piima. She got them as a present when she was confirmed into the Lutheran church at the age of fifteen. Years ago, dentures were the traditional confirmation gift. There was little or no dental care then, and most people’s teeth rotted out of their heads not long after they reached puberty.
“Where’s Mom?” I ask.
“Upstairs taking a nap.”
Despite his drinking, Dad’s health is good. Among other ailments, Mom is overweight and has high blood pressure. She tires easily. I sit across from him, in her chair.
“I’m not trying to piss you off,” I say, “but I have to
ask you where you were at two P.M. on Tuesday, when Sufia Elmi was killed.”
He takes a drag off his cigarette. “That girl was killed across the road,” he says. “You think I did it, then came back here and talked to you and your mother?”
I’ve never figured out why my father is such an argumentative, aggressive jerk. He has four sons, and we all left home as soon as we were old enough. He drove us away with his drunken rages and beatings. My three brothers did pretty well for themselves though.
When Finland’s economy collapsed in 1989, my oldest brother, Juha, went to Norway to look for work and got a job in a fish canning factory. Now he’s married and makes good money working in the Norwegian oil fields. After Timo’s short stint in jail for bootlegging, he settled in Pietarsaari, on the West Coast, and works in a paper factory. Jari got into medical school, and now he’s a neurologist in Helsinki.
Dad is always putting Jari down, says he thinks he’s better than everybody else. Dad is just jealous of him. Jari is one of the nicest people I know. My brothers are all nice guys, but we’re not close. Maybe because we shared so many bad experiences, it’s easier to limit contact so we don’t have to think about our childhoods.
Mom has put up with Dad going on fifty years. I don’t know how she’s managed it. Then again, she had no money, no education. I suppose after she got married and figured out what she’d gotten herself into, she didn’t have many options. Still, I wish she had tried to do more to defend us kids from him.
“I know you weren’t at work,” I say. “If I don’t know where you were and somebody asks later, it’ll look like I’m hiding something. I’m trying to protect you.”
“It’s not your business where I was.”
“If you were drunk somewhere, I don’t care.” It occurs to me that maybe he’s having an affair. “If it’s something you don’t want Mom to find out about, I won’t tell her.”
He finishes the piima in a long gulp. “I was fishing,” he says.
Now I get it. It was the anniversary of my sister Suvi’s death. He spent the afternoon sitting on the frozen lake, visiting the spot where she died. Dad and I look at each other. I feel embarrassed because I intruded on something so private to him, and the sadness I always feel when I think of Suvi wells up.
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