Below the Surface

by Leena Lehtolainen

  Puupponen and Puustjärvi entered the room together.

  “How’s Kervinen’s brother?” I asked.

  “He didn’t show much emotion. But his wife went hysterical and started screaming about how a person was bound to go crazy if his job was digging around in bodies and then the only woman he ever loved was murdered. Which isn’t the worst theory in the world,” Puupponen said. He looked exhausted too, and Puustjärvi’s face seemed frozen in a permanent expression of misery. The birth of the twins was probably a pretty significant source of stress, along with the fact that he’d cheated on his wife.

  The mood in the meeting was oppressive. No one wanted a second homicide investigation on top of the badly stalled one we already had. Ursula glared at Koivu, who was uncommonly quiet, and even Puupponen didn’t crack any jokes. Lähde and Autio were going to head back to Kervinen’s neighborhood to continue the search for possible eyewitnesses.

  “The lady downstairs swears there was an angel in white with Kervinen on the balcony, but I’m leaning away from believing her. She’s got a serious case of dementia and spends her days in a care center while the daughter is at work. Apparently she sees a lot of angels,” Lähde said.

  “I’ve already written up a press release requesting eyewitness reports. We can eliminate two of the suspects from Annukka Hackman’s murder: Jouko Suuronen, because we had him in a holding cell last night, and Sasha Smeds, who’s lying in the ICU in a hospital in England. I also think it’s extremely unlikely that Sini Jääskeläinen or Viktor Smeds could have pushed Kervinen off that balcony. It also would have been difficult for Heli Haapala or Rauha Smeds. Atro Jääskeläinen, on the other hand, is on his way in for questioning.”

  “What about Andreas Smeds?” Ursula asked. “And Annukka Hackman’s gun is still missing. What if someone used it to threaten Kervinen and make him jump? Then we can’t even eliminate the teenage girl.”

  “Based on the crime statistics lately, I’d almost be more likely to believe the perpetrator was young,” Autio offered. He had three teenage children who were reputed to have the strictest curfews in all of Espoo and were required by their father to use a breathalyzer on the weekends. Autio thought that was the only way to keep children on the straight and narrow. Once Koivu had asked whether Autio did drug testing on his kids too, and Autio said it was too expensive on a cop’s salary.

  “Let’s question Jääskeläinen first. Ville, you and Puustjärvi take a crack at Suuronen once his lawyer shows up. Ursula, be ready to come with me to talk to Jääskeläinen. If you’re free, come to my office right after this meeting and we’ll talk tactics.”

  I saw a smile flash across Ursula’s face. I actually had little intention of talking about Jääskeläinen. This was going to be a conversation about Koivu and not one that I was looking forward to.

  Fortunately the smaller cases were moving along nicely, but that was cold comfort. The wind seemed to force its way through the window frames, and I felt simultaneously cold and sweaty in my shabby clothes from yesterday. I wished I could have offered my subordinates solace and encouragement, but all I managed was a minute of silence in Kervinen’s memory.

  After the meeting, Ursula and I walked together to my office. Our heels clicked out of step in the hallway as my phone kept beeping with incoming messages. The department press officer had distributed the press release and had already received a raft of inquiries and requests for comment.

  “Just one call first, if you don’t mind waiting,” I said to Ursula and motioned to the couch.

  “We probably need to hold a briefing, and the chief agrees,” the press officer said. “There’s already talk of a serial killer.”

  “Got it. Let’s do noon. Call the hyenas together. I’ll tell them what I can,” I said in resignation. Did Ursula have some instant beauty drops or some other secret weapon I could borrow from her? About all I had in my own bag that might help was concealer. Perhaps intentionally, Ursula was dressed more conservatively than usual in brown corduroy trousers and a matching polo shirt. I wondered again how she had the money for such a large wardrobe.

  “So what about Jääskeläinen?” she asked enthusiastically once I’d hung up and sat down behind my desk.

  “This isn’t about him; it’s about you and Koivu. I want to request that you retract your accusation. You know it’s baseless. If the department starts a larger investigation into your behavior, there are bystanders who will suffer too, like Puustjärvi and his wife. And there are plenty of people who can testify that you were the one hanging on Koivu at the Christmas party, not the other way around. Do you really want that?”

  Ursula sat quietly and looked at her nails, which were also painted brown. Suddenly a tear ran down her cheek, and she muttered, “Of course you’re all ganging up on me. That’s what always happens. That was why I wanted out of Lahti too. Everyone was all over me there too, and no one ever believed that I didn’t . . .” Ursula wiped the tear away. “Of course I know Koivu’s your favorite, and that you’re under Taskinen’s special protection. But what do you know about me and Puustjärvi?”

  “What Petri told me, that you two had sex once.”

  “Does everyone in this unit have to report to their boss about their private lives too?” Now there was no sign of the tears. Ursula was furious.

  “Not at all. I would have preferred never to hear about it, but Petri wanted to clear his conscience to someone. I don’t want to spread that around, but I also don’t intend to stand by and watch while you try to force Koivu out of our unit with your nonsensical accusations. What do you think you’re going to gain from this?”

  “I should have known there would be trouble with a woman as a boss! What a queen bee you are, trying to get all the men to dance to your tune!” Ursula screamed. “It’s always the same, all you old bitches plotting behind my back. You claim you’re a feminist, but you only give me pointless jobs and defend the men no matter what they do.”

  I let Ursula bluster. Maybe she was right. I hadn’t had much time to encourage the newest member of the unit, since I’d had enough on my plate trying to get back up to speed after my maternity leave. Hiring Ursula had been one of my first acts when I got back, and admittedly I’d favored her in the selection process because of her sex. I told her that now.

  “But I don’t want to get a job just because I’m a woman!” she said. “Is that supposed to be feminism now too?”

  “Ursula, calm down. I wanted you in this unit because you seemed competent. What you do in your free time is none of my business, but your work is. Retract your accusations against Koivu before this spirals out of control. We may have a double murder to investigate, and we need everyone’s contributions, including yours and Koivu’s. You won’t have to work together, though, I promise.”

  “So you’re pressuring me?”

  “I’m not pressuring you; I’m asking you.”

  Ursula stood up. “Just wait until the reporters I know hear about this,” she hissed, then turned to leave. Once the door had slammed behind her, I put my face in my hands. Kervinen’s lifeless eyes appeared before me. We had just talked yesterday, and now his body was in a steel box, waiting to be cut apart.

  Thankfully I had a spare shirt, underwear, and panty hose in my office closet. Grabbing them, I headed for the showers, where I found some deodorant and moisturizer someone had left behind. I didn’t wash my hair, since it wouldn’t have time to dry. I used the concealer under my eyes and tried to tell myself that a homicide detective was allowed to look tired.

  The press room was almost full, and I counted a dozen different microphones and tape recorders on the table. The camera flashes made me blink involuntarily. I started by saying that the police needed the public’s help in clarifying how Hannu Kervinen had died, then I opened the floor to questions.

  “So the police suspect homicide. Does Mr. Kervinen’s profession as a forensic pathologist have anything to do with this?” asked the crime reporter for one of the national TV network
s, a familiar, sharp fellow.

  “That is one of our lines of investigation.”

  “Mr. Kervinen was also one of the prime suspects in Annukka Hackman’s murder, isn’t that right?” the reporter continued. “Do the two cases have anything to do with each other?”

  “Naturally we’re looking into that, but at this point we can’t say anything certain.”

  “How has Ms. Hackman’s murder investigation been proceeding? Not much information has been released. Did Kervinen kill Hackman and then take his own life?” asked one of the tabloid reporters.

  “That’s another line of investigation. Hackman’s murder investigation is proceeding, but as you know, DNA analysis takes time.”

  “Are the police still interested in Sasha Smeds and his family’s activities? And has it occurred to you that the police investigation played a role in interfering with Sasha’s concentration and possibly caused his tragic accident?”

  I didn’t know the young man who had raised his voice aggressively and asked that last question. He was dressed in the latest style young people were wearing and a baseball cap with the logo of a Helsinki radio station on it.

  “The police have a duty to question all necessary individuals regardless of social status or life situation.”

  “Including Sasha Smeds’s manager? Apparently he’s currently in police custody,” yelled the same young reporter, causing a stir among the rest of the audience. Who had leaked about Suuronen?

  “Mr. Suuronen is assisting us in our investigation,” I replied coldly, and in response received a wave of questions that seemed like it would never let up. This balancing act between avoiding the impression of a cover-up and exposing too much took nearly an hour. Afterward I could have eaten a horse. As first aid I downed a couple of salmiakki fish to get my hands to stop shaking, and then I went downstairs to devour a plate of veggie pasta. As I was carrying my dirty tray to the rack, I received a message that Atro Jääskeläinen was waiting in an interrogation room. Immediately I called Ursula. She was busy with an interview for an assault case.

  “Tell me when you’re done, and we’ll go have a chat with Jääskeläinen.”

  “You still want me there?”

  “Hey, this is our job. Tell me when you’re free.”

  On my computer I found an e-mail from Taskinen in Tampere.

  He’d heard about Kervinen’s death and wanted to tell me to keep my chin up. I teared up again. Jyrki knew the pressure a lead investigator worked under, and he hadn’t always been able to stand up to it either. I dialed his number, then I realized he probably wouldn’t be able to answer. And talking to Jyrki wouldn’t solve anything. On the contrary, I needed to keep my guard up so our warming relationship wouldn’t cause any new trouble.

  15

  It was almost two before Ursula announced she was on her way to Interrogation Room 4. None of the others were free, so Jääskeläinen got our most comfortable room. He still looked bloated and prematurely aged; the bags under my own eyes were mild compared to his. I nodded to Ursula to indicate that she could start the questioning. Atro Jääskeläinen beat her to it, though, asking why the police weren’t keeping him better informed about the progress of his wife’s murder investigation.

  “Things are moving forward all the time,” Ursula assured him. “But we need to ask you some follow-up questions. When did you last see Hannu Kervinen?”

  Atro Jääskeläinen frowned, then sighed heavily.

  “Since Annukka died, I haven’t really slept at night. I don’t like walking around the house keeping Sini up, so I’ve been going for drives. It calms me down. Usually I drive on the freeway, but last night I took a different route and ended up in Tapiola. Then the anger hit me again.” Jääskeläinen sighed again. “I was driving through town and saw the flask buildings where Annukka had promised to move in with Kervinen. I thought . . . I thought that maybe I could get the bastard to confess since you cops can’t seem to. Why do you ask? Did he admit he’s guilty?”

  Ursula’s coffee cup hit the table with a bang. She was speechless. It was my turn to step in.

  “Did you visit Kervinen’s apartment last night?”

  “I tried. The chickenshit wouldn’t let me in.”

  “What time?”

  “Two thirty. I rang the bell, and he answered but said he was sleeping. Really he was just afraid of my fist in his face, and that’s exactly what would have happened if I’d seen him.” Jääskeläinen sat up straighter. Ursula stared at him intently, a challenge gleaming in her eyes.

  “Did you know your wife had arranged a meeting with Kervinen the Wednesday before last?” she asked. Jääskeläinen’s face closed up like a child on the verge of bursting into tears.

  “I heard about it from Sini after Annukka died,” he forced himself to say. “The poor girl was beside herself. She thought that I . . . I don’t understand why Annukka wanted to meet him unless he knew something that might help her with the Smeds book. And I told him that again last night through the intercom. Annukka never really cared about him. She chose me.”

  Puupponen was sitting in the next interrogation room with Jouko Suuronen. Maybe Jääskeläinen didn’t even know Hackman had made a new version of her book after learning about Heli’s affair with Andreas. But how had Suuronen found out?

  “Where did you go from Kervinen’s apartment?”

  Jääskeläinen sighed. “I drove around for a couple of hours and listened to the radio. I was at home a little before four and in bed by five. I slept past noon and didn’t even hear Sini leave for school.”

  Word of Kervinen’s death hadn’t made it into the morning print editions of any of the papers, but the story had been online since seven. Jääskeläinen was at least good at playing clueless.

  “Were there any witnesses to your movements?” Ursula asked.

  “A patrol car pulled up behind me on the Turku Highway around the turnoff for Lohja. I was going a little over the limit, but I slowed down when I saw them. They might remember me. I was in my Audi. I can’t even touch Annukka’s car. I should probably sell it. Sini promised to take Annukka’s clothes and things to the flea market. She’s a good girl. But why are you asking about what I did last night? That isn’t going to help solve Annukka’s murder.”

  Ursula cast me a questioning glance, and I nodded slightly in response. “Hannu Kervinen died last night,” Ursula said.

  The color drained from Jääskeläinen’s face. “Oh my God!” he said, his voice cracking. “I guess I should be happy. Did he leave a confession behind?”

  “What did you say to him last night?”

  “I asked him to let me in. Then I probably said something about how it was ridiculous for him to think Annukka would have come back to him even if they had met. Look, Annukka and I had an agreement . . .” Jääskeläinen went silent and squeezed his hands into fists so hard his hairy fingers turned red.

  “What kind of agreement?” As I waited for him to respond, I considered pausing the interrogation for a while. Some of the witness reports had already come in, and maybe one of them would contradict what he was telling us.

  “I take some pretty strong blood pressure medication and it . . . You can probably guess some of the side effects.” Now Jääskeläinen was beet red. “And Annukka was so much younger. Of course there are other ways to satisfy a woman, but I still gave her permission . . . Just so long as nothing threatened our marriage. I loved Annukka, and I respected her as a journalist. And of course it stroked my ego that she chose me instead of Kervinen.”

  “So you gave your wife permission to sleep with other men?” Ursula’s voice was triumphant, as if this information meant something important to her. “And you weren’t jealous?”

  “As far as I know, she never had a chance to take advantage of the arrangement after she broke off her relationship with Kervinen. I gave Annukka the resources to write the book she wanted to write. Annukka brought life and color into my world. Now that’s all gone because of that maniac. I�
��m glad he’s dead!” Jääskeläinen’s clenched fists pounded the table.

  “I’m going to have to interrupt this interview, but I hope you can stay at the police station for a while,” I said. “We’ll continue this soon. Ursula, could you please keep Mr. Jääskeläinen company? I have to attend to some other business.”

  First I went back upstairs to my office and got on our intranet. A whole series of interview reports were waiting—our team had been quick with Kervinen’s neighbors. One next-door neighbor had heard Kervinen’s buzzer ring in the night but wasn’t able to say when. A resident of the adjacent building had seen a male figure at the door to Kervinen’s stairwell at about two thirty, but he didn’t know whether the man had gone inside. According to the crime lab’s report, there were signs on Kervinen’s balcony that someone had climbed over the railing, and they had collected numerous fingerprints. However, there were no footprints and no particular evidence of a struggle. We already had a DNA sample from Jääskeläinen taken when Annukka Hackman died, so we could compare it to the evidence collected from Kervinen’s body.

  I called Antti and asked him to pick up Iida, despite how enticing going home and sleeping in my own bed felt. Antti simply agreed; he’d given up complaining. I didn’t want to let Jääskeläinen leave the police station, but I didn’t have enough evidence to hold him. And besides, I wanted to know how Jouko Suuronen would explain the disk with the manuscript we’d found in his possession before I decided how to proceed with Jääskeläinen.

  I ran back down the stairs because I needed to limber up. I knocked on the door to Interrogation Room 2. Puupponen had remembered to videotape Suuronen’s interrogation. When I arrived, he paused the tape.

  “A few words, Ville,” I said, gesturing for him to come outside. We walked out of the holding area, climbing the stairs half a floor up onto the landing.