After he brought the drinks, he asked me to dance again, and I agreed because the Formula 1 discussion was becoming increasingly heated. The band was back to playing slow, syrupy melodies that caught in the singer’s gravelly throat.
“I would never listen to music like this voluntarily,” I said to Jyrki at the next break as we were standing at the edge of the floor, holding hands like two teenagers.
“Why not? A wonderful band and wonderful music, the most wonderful night of my life,” Jyrki lisped and snatched me by the waist into a tango. Our subordinates stared as we bent and spun to the music, and I was at once bemused and terrified.
The party ended at one thirty, and by that time I’d broken down and had that extra gin and tonic and only danced with Taskinen. Some of our colleagues were headed into Helsinki for more, but I thought it best to head home, because I still wanted to read through Annukka Hackman’s Sasha Smeds papers over the weekend. Taskinen thought sharing a taxi was a good idea, although, in reality, my house was significantly out of the way to his. We sat in the back seat hand in hand and side by side, and it felt all too natural. For a moment I imagined how it would feel to be going to the same address.
Jyrki refused to let me pay my part of the fare and insisted on walking me to the stairs. There he kissed me, and I couldn’t help responding. I was surprised by how the kiss was so unlike Jyrki, hard and demanding.
At home the house was quiet. I expected to see the cat coming to demand his food, but the kitchen floor was empty. I made a cheese sandwich, drank a liter of water, and thanked my lucky stars I wouldn’t have to see Taskinen until Monday.
11
It sleeted the entire weekend, and the kids spent hours in front of the TV. I remembered how I’d disapproved of Moomin videos before I had my own children, but now they felt like lifesavers. Antti read something in Swedish, and I continued with Sasha Smeds’s biography, but it didn’t say a word about Andreas and Heli. I tried to reach Atro Jääskeläinen to ask whether the police had actually received the final version of the manuscript, but he didn’t answer his phone. Sini’s cell phone was turned off too. The funeral wouldn’t be until next weekend, and by Sunday afternoon I was sick of waiting. I asked a patrol car to visit the Jääskeläinen residence and deliver Atro a request to be at the police station at ten on Monday morning for an interview. Liisa Rasilainen was on duty and called an hour later to tell me no one answered the door but that the patrol had left an official request in the mailbox.
I understood Jääskeläinen wanting to keep his phone off—I’m sure he was as fed up with the constant pressure from reporters as I was. Over the weekend the newspapers had found space for something besides Sasha Smeds’s accident: for a change, Carcass Kervinen had both tabloids hounding him. Somehow their reporters had found out that one of the forensic pathologists the police used had dated Annukka Hackman and that we’d interrogated him. Kervinen refused to give any interviews, but Atro Jääskeläinen had told the papers about the relationship, wondering aloud why Kervinen was still walking around free.
Updates on Sasha’s condition appeared in every newscast. In addition to second-degree burns, he’d suffered injuries to his lumbar spine. It was probable he’d live, but for the time being it was impossible to say whether he’d get behind the wheel or even walk again. There was a glimpse of Heli in one clip, holding her hands in front of her face and looking small and frightened before the flashing cameras. Two massive security guards stood next to her.
The time of year had arrived when I never had time to get outside when it was light. On Sunday night I went for a run after the kids were asleep, and the streetlights dictated my route. I wasn’t usually afraid of jogging in the dark, but now every shadow lurking beyond the light was a threat. The fragility of life felt too present: Annukka Hackman certainly hadn’t known she would die when she went out swimming, and Sasha Smeds had been ready to celebrate becoming a world champion. As I ran, I thought of Heli and felt sorry for her. Then I imagined Terttu Taskinen’s withdrawn face. There had always been something distant and bitter about her, although based on pictures I’d seen, Terttu had been very beautiful when she was young. Taskinen kept a picture of her from their wedding day on his desk, which Koivu and Puupponen thought was funny for some reason. Why had Taskinen chosen to tell me Terttu was jealous of me?
Just then there was a rustle in the willows, causing me to trip and nearly fall flat on my face. A bushy-haired German shepherd walked out with no owner in sight. The dog jogged along with me for a while, but then turned back. Owning a big dog like that definitely would have made me feel safer, but our apartment was too small. We didn’t even have room for a cat.
When I arrived home I realized I was shaking. Antti looked up from the short story collection he was reading and asked why I looked so pale. I told him about the dog, then went into the next room to stretch and remove my sweaty clothes. I felt cold, so I stood under the hot shower for at least fifteen minutes, and even thought about heating up the sauna, but settled for whiskey instead. That didn’t help the shaking either. In the end, I put on warm pajamas and thick socks, pulled an extra blanket out of the closet, and climbed into bed under a mound of covers.
In the morning it was well below freezing, and the car didn’t want to start despite the engine block heater. Taneli looked like a small animal in his snowsuit and balaclava, which Iida refused to wear because she thought it was too childish.
“I’m the adult and I know that a balaclava is the best choice in weather like this,” I said with finality. Some of Iida’s friends were already dressing like tiny adults, with crop tops and earrings. There was even perfume made for kids, but I thought preschool was a little early for that too. Sometimes on the weekend I’d let Iida try my makeup, although a little girl with half her face covered in violet eye shadow was an appalling sight. I’d done exactly the same thing as a child before I hit my tomboy stage, at which point I didn’t touch makeup for a few years. Then, during my punk phase, I got into heavy eyeliner and black lipstick, which horrified my own mother.
When I pulled into the police department a loud bang came from the left rear tire, and the car’s balance shifted. The tire had burst. I managed to get the car into my normal parking spot, where I opened the trunk and found the lug wrench. As I was bending down next to the defective tire, I heard Ursula’s voice behind me.
“Are you changing your own tire? Isn’t that what subordinates are for—and men?”
I looked up at her. “I guess. But this is my car.”
“And we have a meeting starting in five minutes. Makkonen!” Ursula yelled at one of the young guys from Patrol who was walking by. “Handle Detective Kallio’s tire and leave the keys at the desk downstairs.”
Makkonen obeyed submissively. I didn’t know whether I should be irritated or thankful to Ursula, so I wasn’t either. In a way she was right, but her interference still bothered me.
“And I assume you don’t have a maid?” she asked once we were in the elevator, as I tried without success to rub the mud stains off my gloves.
“Our apartment isn’t that big, and Antti usually vacuums.”
“Well, I live in a studio and just hired an Estonian girl under the table to come once a week. She irons too. On a police salary I can’t afford a legal maid, but I also don’t have time for cleaning.” Ursula fixed her bangs. That’s when I remembered that I’d seen mascara on my cheeks again when I caught my reflection in the car’s rearview mirror earlier, so apparently that promise about being waterproof was a scam.
In the meeting I asked Koivu to partner with me for Atro Jääskeläinen’s interview. Puupponen thought we also needed to bring Carcass Kervinen in for another talking-to. Today’s papers all posited that Annukka Hackman’s spurned lover was guilty, and berated the police for going down blind alleys and harassing the innocent.
“Apparently Atro Jääskeläinen is talking to the papers,” Koivu said.
“And all this publicity is good for the book he
’s about to publish. The final version is probably already at the printer, but it looks like he only gave us a draft. I’ve read and reread the manuscript, but I can’t find anything that would cause a splash.”
“We didn’t find any other version in Hackman’s office,” I said. “But she could have stored it in a safe deposit box or something. Let’s see what Atro Jääskeläinen has to say when he comes in. What’s the situation with the murder weapon, Petri?”
Puustjärvi, who’d only returned to work today, sat as far as possible from Ursula. He said there was still no sign of the weapon. But the report had come back on a trail of size forty-one rubber boot prints that had been found during the initial search of the lake area. It continued from Mäyrä Road to close to the place where Annukka Hackman had left her clothes.
“The sole was from a Nokian Kontio Classic, and the boots were relatively new. Should I go check out all of our prime suspects’ shoes?” Puustjärvi asked.
“Forty-one is either a man with small feet or a gigantic woman,” Puupponen said. “Who would fit that? Atro Jääskeläinen? Or Viktor Smeds? It’s strange that the Smeds boys are so tall given how short their parents are.” Puupponen glanced at me in alarm, and I grinned back. He enjoyed making fun of my height, and I made a point of commenting on his freckles. Together we’d come to the conclusion that we only ribbed the people we really liked.
Fortunately, the unit’s other cases were moving along nicely, but I still left the meeting feeling depressed and cold even though I was wearing my thickest sweater. Koivu and I had arranged to interview Atro Jääskeläinen in one of the downstairs interrogation rooms instead of my office. Being in the same hall as our holding cells put the fear of God in most people, and I wanted that advantage.
“How do you know there’s a newer version of the manuscript?” Koivu asked as we exited the elevator in the basement. Someone was pounding on the door of holding cell number three, and an officer was dragging a vomit-covered teenage boy in heroin withdrawal toward the showers.
“I had a conversation with Heli Haapala.” For some reason I didn’t want to tell Koivu about Heli and Andreas’s affair. I didn’t think Koivu would run to the papers, but the wall around this secret was becoming increasingly fragile, and Sasha and his parents didn’t need anything else to worry about just now. Of course it wasn’t my job to protect them, but I felt a strange sisterhood with Heli, although I knew I couldn’t let this feeling influence my actions in any serious way.
The patrol brought Atro Jääskeläinen in at seven past ten. He looked bloated and haggard, and his eyelids were like cocktail sausages. You could see that he’d loosened his belt one notch by the open, worn hole that was now visible.
“Good morning, Mr. Jääskeläinen. Would you like some coffee or juice?” I asked in a friendly tone, but at the same time I turned the Interrogation Room 2 lamp so it left me and Koivu in shadow and shone straight in Jääskeläinen’s face. He tried to shift his position in the chair he’d slouched into, but that didn’t help.
“So you still haven’t caught my wife’s murderer? You’re protecting Kervinen because he’s one of your own. It’s disgusting.”
“We aren’t protecting anyone,” I answered. “Has it occurred to you that all these articles blaming Kervinen are protecting the real murderer? Let the police handle the public relations.”
“But you aren’t telling the press anything!”
“We’re saying as much we think is wise. Let’s start the interview,” I said, then started the recorder. “Present Lieutenant Maria Kallio and Sergeant Koivu, time ten thirteen, November . . .” I hadn’t dictated the beginning of an interrogation in ages, and it felt strangely satisfying. I started by asking Jääskeläinen’s shoe size, which made him laugh in confusion.
“Forty-one or two.”
Jääskeläinen denied owning any rubber boots; he wasn’t the walking-in-the-woods type. And he swore he’d turned over every version of Annukka’s manuscript.
“How much did your wife tell you about how her work was progressing? Did she tell you everything she’d found out?”
“The book was Annukka’s project. I considered putting it off or canceling it when Sasha Smeds refused to cooperate anymore, but Annukka talked me out of it. When will I get the manuscript and background material back? Even though Sasha still didn’t win the championship, the accident and his recovery are good stuff for the final chapter. We’re just starting to run short on time to hit the Christmas market. That’s the best way to honor Annukka’s memory, to give her final work to the world.”
Koivu and I both asked, in different words, whether we’d been given the final manuscript. We each received the same response: the only version of the book that existed was the one Jääskeläinen had already given to the police. I knew the unit’s secretary had made copies of everything, so I decided to let Jääskeläinen have the manuscript disks and other materials back.
“Where is Annukka being buried?” I asked once the official interview was over.
“The service is in Olari Church, then she’s being cremated. Annukka said once she didn’t want to leave a grave behind, although we hadn’t really talked about these things much yet. We only talked about it once after we had two close calls on the freeway back to back. Annukka was only thirty-two, and people her age aren’t supposed to die.”
After Jääskeläinen left with Koivu, I stayed and sat in the dark interrogation room for a while. I didn’t have a clue how we should proceed. It was like I was leading a homicide investigation for the first time. During the last year of my maternity leave, I’d considered pursuing other jobs, like applying for a prosecutor position or Interpol. Perhaps I should have. But of course family stood in the way of the latter. As long as Antti’s job situation was uncertain, I didn’t dare make any big changes in my own life.
It was possible that Heli had lied about Annukka’s discovery of the affair with Andreas, but why would she have done that? A version of the manuscript with the Heli-Andreas revelation probably had existed, and it had probably been destroyed or hidden in the same place as the gun used to kill Annukka. I needed someone to talk to. Maybe Jyrki would be free.
“I just came from a working lunch and thought I’d take a nap on the couch,” he admitted when I walked through his door. “I didn’t get much sleep last night.”
“Terttu keeping you up?” I asked as he sat up.
“At two I made her take a sleeping pill. She hasn’t been willing to take sick leave. She says she’ll go crazy if she doesn’t have something to do. The results are coming at the end of the week. Whatever they say, anything is better than this waiting. And then to top it all off she found a red hair on the collar of my jacket and a smear of makeup on the front.”
“You should have said it was Puupponen’s,” I said, laughing, but my throat felt hot. I didn’t want the conversation to go there—I was muddled up enough as it was. “Jyrki, I need some advice. I suspect there’s another version of Annukka Hackman’s manuscript somewhere. According to Jääskeläinen it isn’t in the company safe or anywhere else in the building, but I can’t be sure he’s telling the truth. I want to execute another search on Annukka’s house and the family business, as well as the Smedses’ house and Jouko Suuronen’s place.”
Taskinen’s expression tightened.
“That sounds pretty desperate. The press will make it sound like we’re fumbling around in the dark,” he said. I felt a blush spread across my cheeks; Taskinen was right. And besides, if the new manuscript existed, Suuronen, Sasha, or Heli could have taken it with them when they left Finland and easily destroyed it.
“And we still have a pair of rubber boots to find,” I said and started to laugh again, although tears weren’t far off. “Maybe we should arrest Kervinen at least for show. Do you remember how big his feet are?”
“Maria, calm down. These cases have always worked out before. Annukka Hackman is no Kyllikki Saari,” Jyrki said, referring to the most infamous unsolved murder
in Finnish history. He stood up and took my hands, and I let him hold them for a few seconds before I left for lunch.
When I was finishing my salmon pasta, the duty officer at the front desk called to tell me I had a visitor. Since I’d intended to spend the whole afternoon wrestling with a compensation planning questionnaire, I was perfectly happy with the interruption. When I arrived at the desk to pick up my car keys and meet my guest, there was a surprise in store for me. I’d expected some friend or another, but instead Andreas Smeds was standing in the lobby. This was the first time I’d seen him washed and groomed. He was wearing a trendy black leather jacket, and the rest of his outfit was black as well. The whites of his eyes looked red against his pale face. His cheekbones stood out, and he bit his lip. I decided to take him to my office and call for backup as necessary.
“Heli says hi,” Andreas said as we sat down to coffee around the table in my office. I hadn’t turned the tape recorder on yet. “She called last night and told me about your conversation. Does the whole police department know yet?”
“No. I—”
“Heli was out of her senses when she told you,” Andreas interrupted. “She’s always expected a catastrophe, so when Annukka busted us . . .” Andreas gave a crooked smile. “Busted is right—like two kids smoking cigarettes. Anyway, afterward, Heli said we had to tell Sasha. I refused and went to see Annukka to try to talk some sense into her. I got her to promise she’d wait to expose us until after the world championship. It was in her best interest too, since the book would sell more if Sasha won. She wasn’t thinking of Sasha’s feelings, just the money. No one’s feelings mattered to her.”
Below the Surface Page 14