Below the Surface

by Leena Lehtolainen

  “Koivu wanted to settle things with you face to face,” I told Ursula as we waited in my office for him. She and Autio intended to continue with Andreas later, although I doubted they’d get anything more out of him. Tomorrow I’d have to appeal to the district court to remand Andreas for trial if I thought we had grounds to arrest him. I was so irritated by his antics that I would have been fine with letting him sit in jail for a few days even though it was probably a worse punishment to release him to the mercy of the reporters and paparazzi.

  “Why do Koivu and I need you here when we meet?” Ursula asked.

  “It’s always good to have a witness.”

  “Yes, and you’re known for being so neutral,” Ursula snapped back as Koivu walked in. Instead of sitting next to Ursula on the couch, he stood by the window. Neither seemed talkative. I didn’t feel like playing day care teacher, so I just waited for them to start the game. Ursula had found a chip in her nail polish and fished for something in her purse. I watched in amusement as she calmly began touching up her gold nails. I tried to catch Koivu’s gaze, since he’d been the one who wanted this meeting. Strange how such a talkative person could turn so taciturn when he had to open up about his own feelings instead of interrogating other people.

  “I think you owe me an apology,” he finally said in a low voice after Ursula had begun her second coat.

  “Usually guilty people apologize, not the innocent,” Ursula responded coldly.

  “You made false accusations against me.”

  “But they didn’t believe me!”

  “You’re right, because your claims were ridiculous.” Koivu was still looking out the window at the darkening afternoon. The moon was already in the sky, shining like a blood orange that someone had sliced in half.

  “So I’m supposed to apologize for what you did to me?” Ursula stood up and grabbed her purse. “OK. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Are you happy?” And with that she turned on her heels and walked out, slamming the door so hard that the kids’ picture on my desk fell over. I set the picture back up. It had been taken at the day care earlier in the fall. Iida’s lace collar was a little crooked, and Taneli sneered instead of smiling. That was why I liked the photo so much.

  “I think you’re going to have to settle for that,” I said.

  “I imagine so. Maybe I should change units instead of Anu. Why don’t you believe Andreas Smeds’s confession?”

  “Instinct. Which has been wrong before.”

  “I know. Have you heard anything new?”

  “I just visited Andreas.”

  “No, I mean—” Koivu began, but then his phone started ringing. It was about one of his cases, a convenience store robber caught the morning of Kervinen’s death, who’d beaten a clerk after discovering that there was only fifty euros in the bag. Apparently his withdrawal symptoms had become so severe that he wanted to confess. Koivu disappeared, and I decided to head home. When I picked the kids up from day care, Taneli was wearing a bright-yellow shirt that was too big for him, because in honor of Friday he’d managed to dirty not only his actual shirt but also his backup. I knew the laundry hamper at home was already overflowing, but the cupboards were bare.

  “Put on Popeda,” Iida demanded in the car. The poor kid had been brainwashed with her mom’s favorite music and hummed along happily with Pate Mustajärvi as he sang about hitting rock bottom and only having twenty cents in his pocket. A couple of times the ladies at the day care had commented on Iida’s song selections after she’d insisted on performing the Ramones’ “I Wanna Be Sedated,” even though she didn’t have a clue what the words meant. I thought my daughter’s taste in music was much better than the Shakira and Britney Spears songs her peers preferred.

  Even though I was on call all weekend, I didn’t have to go in to work other than a quick visit to the court on Saturday afternoon for Andreas’s arraignment. Saturday’s papers had already proclaimed him guilty. Atro Jääskeläinen was interviewed in several of the stories. He said he suspected that Andreas had killed Annukka because he couldn’t stand the shame of having his drunk-driving convictions brought back to light.

  “In her book Annukka really shows the contrast between Sasha and his brother. Sasha is a great man. It’s really too bad he missed winning the world championship this year. We’re publishing the book as soon as possible, once Annukka’s funeral is behind us,” Jääskeläinen said in one paper. The story was accompanied by a photograph of him looking forlorn as he sat next to a black-framed picture of Annukka.

  The district court session was routine, and I only had to be away from home for an hour. Andreas was there, but he didn’t have to say a word. He sat leaning back a bit, eyes closed, looking like none of it had anything to do with him. It wasn’t until he heard that he’d be detained in jail for another two weeks that he flinched slightly. For ease of questioning, he would be kept in our building’s holding cells. A few reporters and a photographer were waiting outside the court, and I was amused by the way Andreas grinned for the cameras.

  On Saturday we also received a couple of tips that a man fitting Andreas’s description had been seen behind the wheel of a Land Rover on Gesterby Road south of the lake on the day of Hackman’s murder. I wasn’t particularly moved by this since publishing a suspect’s picture always caused a wave of this sort of thing. There was still nothing to connect Andreas to Kervinen’s murder, though. And according to Lähde, there were no probable hanging locations in Kervinen’s apartment other than the TV wall mount, but even that was only six feet off the ground.

  “It was about as high as I am tall. Maybe he tested it out, then decided it was better to jump,” Lähde suggested over the phone.

  I’d gone in the kitchen and closed the door to talk because I didn’t want the kids hearing a conversation about hanging. So far I’d only told Iida I was a police officer who caught bad guys, but now that she was learning to read it would be harder to protect her from the truth.

  On Saturday night Antti went to his work Christmas party, which I hoped would perk him up. He’d spent the day reading unemployment insurance brochures and calculating whether it would make sense to pull Taneli out of day care entirely and only have Iida in half-day preschool. I’d spent the time cleaning. The White Cube’s only good quality compared to our old house was that once I had the kids’ toys in some sort of order, the rest of the place cleaned up in an hour.

  “Won’t Smeds need a farmhand now that Andreas is going to prison?” Antti asked as he slicked his hair back with gel. The hairdo made him look like a mafioso from a 1970s American B movie. Antti rarely commented on the cases I worked, because according to him they affected our lives enough as it was.

  “Call and ask. That could be a new career for you. Study to become an itinerant farmworker.”

  “Actually, there’s an interesting project starting in March at Vaasa University, sort of a multidisciplinary dynamic model development thing combining math and economics. I could telecommute, and I’d only have to go to Vaasa maybe every other week. Kirsti Jensen called while you were vacuuming. I’ll have to think about it. It’s still temp work, but that’s better than nothing.”

  In the end, I didn’t need to press the cousins into babysitting; I was able to handle the usual Christmas party assaults and a rape at a local hockey club’s party over the phone. The December work schedules hadn’t come out yet, but I’d be on during at least one of the holidays. Hopefully it just wasn’t Christmas Eve. Christmas violence depressed me the most; it contrasted so much with the joy, peace, and goodwill shown in all the advertisements at that time of year. On the previous Christmas we’d seen a record number of parents lose custody of their children, some as a result of abuse and others because of neglect. There were children who spent Christmas Eve alone, without food or a single present, while their parents were at the bar or passed out on the couch. I assumed I’d be seeing some of them again at work before too long, once they grew up a little.

  District Attorne
y Haimakainen called on Sunday morning. I hadn’t seen him at Andreas’s arraignment, but now he wanted to be part of the Hackman investigation.

  “This is such a significant case that the prosecutor’s office should have been alerted immediately when the investigation began,” he said.

  “I think this is a normal homicide.”

  “Not with such important people mixed up in it. We need to meet first thing tomorrow morning. Does nine thirty work for you?”

  I knew it was best to deal with unpleasant things as quickly as possible, so I agreed. At noon I took a long run around Central Park. When I was halfway around, my phone started ringing. I never carried it on runs unless I was on call. Cursing, I stopped to dig it out of my pocket. I didn’t recognize the number.

  “Kallio.”

  “Hi, this is Sasha Smeds. I heard about Andreas. What the hell is he doing?” Sasha’s voice was higher pitched and huskier than before; he’d probably been on a ventilator for days.

  “What do you mean?” I started walking past a multicolored art installation toward the river.

  “I already confirmed his movements in my interview. Or more like how there were none to report. Andreas couldn’t have left Smedsbo that night. I can offer you proof of that, on the record, if you’ll let me. Talk to Jouko. He can arrange a formal interview when I get back to Finland. Andreas has always had a habit of saying stupid things when he’s drunk. He’s innocent. You have to let him go.”

  18

  Because of a conflict in the police chief’s schedule, the department leadership meeting was moved to Monday morning, so Koivu had to run our unit’s usual morning meeting. Outside the sixth-floor windows everything was dark: the streetlights were out. I grimaced and changed the subject when everyone congratulated me for solving the Hackman case. Sasha Smeds’s call the previous day certainly hadn’t helped the situation. After talking to him, I’d called Suuronen to arrange the interview Sasha had asked for.

  “Andreas has always been a basket case, but what the hell is he doing now? Sasha doesn’t need anything else to worry about. He’s recovering, but his co-driver is still holding on by a thread. They had to amputate his legs, he was burned so bad. Sasha blames himself.”

  I was starting to believe that Suuronen did care about Sasha and not just the money he made as a result of Sasha’s victories. And in the press, Sasha was the incorruptible hero of Finnish rally racing. Annukka Hackman really had needed to look elsewhere—into someone else’s life—if she wanted anything juicy in her book.

  Taskinen arrived last to the meeting, uncharacteristically late. As the chief of police droned on about the coming year’s case closure goals, I looked out the window at the darkness, where shapes were slowly taking form. The sun was still hidden behind the trees, but the color of the sky showed that it would be visible later in the day. Suddenly the meeting didn’t feel as exasperating as usual. Strange how the mere promise of light could affect my mood. My allergy to meetings had worsened over the years, and I could only stand them when I got to lead the discussion and set the pace myself. What would the police academy entrance exams say about my ability to work in a team environment now?

  Taskinen revealed the cause for his tardiness after the meeting. As the others left, he lingered in the room.

  “I took Terttu to the hospital today. I didn’t sleep much over the weekend.” Taskinen’s face looked worn, and for once it was easy to believe he was over fifty. The furrows in his brow were deeper than ever, and the harsh light of the meeting room exposed how much gray was in his hair.

  “Is the surgery today?”

  “They moved it to tomorrow. Today is still tests. We wrote her will and planned the funeral yesterday. Terttu insisted. Silja’s coming next week. She completely broke down when she heard the news. Luckily she has a lot of friends in Canada, and of course her husband. Today you can bet I’m going to run at least ten kilometers as soon as I get away from the hospital. You wouldn’t want to come with me, would you?”

  “You think I could keep up? You still do a marathon in what, three hours?” I said, trying to lighten the mood. My legs were still feeling yesterday’s jog, and I doubted I was up to two long runs in two days. We agreed to chat by phone that evening, since Jyrki was sure to need someone to talk to.

  I ran into Koivu when I reached our hallway. “Ciao, boss,” he said. “Have you seen the headlines in today’s papers? According to the rumors online, Heli Haapala and Andreas are having an affair. And Ursula called in sick. Flu, supposedly.”

  “Goddamn it!” I yelled as I snatched the paper out of Koivu’s hand. Of course anyone could say anything on the Internet. But apparently it was a slow news day, so the print press was willing to report even online rumors to fill space. “Did you talk about this in the meeting?”

  “Yep. I said the boss was going to rip whoever leaked this online to shreds. No one looked particularly guilty. Who should we assign to Autio, to continue questioning Andreas?”

  “No one for now. We’ll just keep him locked up as long as the prosecutor lets us.”

  I told Koivu about Sasha’s phone call. The charter flight carrying his entourage was expected at Helsinki-Vantaa Airport around two o’clock. Sasha would then be transferred to a private room at Helsinki University Hospital for about a week. It was pointless hoping the media would let him rest and recuperate. Now everything related to Annukka Hackman would sell all too well. Once he heard about the affair, would Sasha still be prepared to back up his brother’s alibi?

  “What did Puupponen report about Annukka Hackman’s funeral?” I asked.

  “The same things you can read in the paper. People cried and gave speeches about a heroic reporter killed in the line of duty.”

  Koivu took the paper back from me and opened it to the first spread. The pictures covered half the pages. In one, Annukka Hackman was a beaming bride next to a more pallid Atro Jääskeläinen, and in the another Jääskeläinen placed flowers on his wife’s casket in a church.

  “That hockey rapist is here too. Nasty case. The victim is only fourteen. So young she believed the player she worshipped really just wanted to show her his trophy case when he took her to his house. I assigned Puustjärvi to interview the victim. Petri’s good with kids. I’ll handle the dude myself.”

  “You have my permission to give him the third degree. I’m glad the girl reported it. Are you free around two? If so, let’s go to the airport to meet Sasha Smeds. Suuronen promised to reserve a VIP lounge for us for fifteen minutes. This is such a shitty situation that I want to handle it myself.”

  “Gladly,” Koivu said, then laughed. “Read the rest of that paper and you’ll know more. The investigative journalists seem to have a leg up on us.”

  I did as ordered, although reading Internet rumors and the superlatives of funeral reporting made me sick. An article that followed the funeral spread emphasized that Annukka Hackman had been working at the lake, even though there was no hint of that in the evidence. If Andreas was telling the truth, why had he chosen to kill Hackman there? Because it was secluded and a weapon would be easily available?

  A call from Antti brought me back to the present day.

  “My love. Can you talk?”

  “I wouldn’t answer otherwise, my love,” I said, emphasizing the final word a little sarcastically. We weren’t in the habit of using pet names, so they felt artificial.

  “I called the University of Vaasa. I’m going for a visit on Wednesday, taking the morning train up and the night train back. They seemed really interested.”

  “That’s fantastic! Can you get the kids today? I think this is going to be another long one. Kisses.”

  Our life wasn’t going to get any easier if Antti had to commute between Espoo and Vaasa five hours to the north. He thought domestic flights were a waste of energy, but now he’d have to fly sometimes. And if he worked from home, he’d need an office. Maybe I’d finally be able to convince him we had to get out of the White Cube. We could go apartme
nt hunting next weekend.

  Haimakainen, the district attorney, arrived for our meeting five minutes early.

  “This crime is so high profile that we can’t keep soft-pedaling the investigation,” Haimakainen said in a lather. “Andreas Smeds has a criminal past. And of course he thinks he can give the authorities the runaround because of his brother’s position.”

  Haimakainen was approaching retirement, and he probably thought it would be nice to end his career with a splash. He was thorough in his work and even after three decades as a prosecutor he still had a few shreds of idealism left. Crime could never be completely eliminated, but at least the innocent could be guaranteed some peace while the criminals were suffering their punishments.

  “I’m not at all convinced Andreas Smeds is guilty. One drunken confession isn’t enough.”

  “But the newspapers laid out a clear motive for the crime!” Haimakainen said. “Don’t make a simple case more complicated than it has to be.”

  Haimakainen’s agitation subsided a bit when I told him about Sasha’s phone call. We continued our conversation over lunch, since he wanted to talk about Kervinen too. According to the criminal psychologist’s report, changes in Kervinen’s handwriting in his final diary entries suggested worsening depression, and the termination of entries on the day of Hackman’s death pointed to his inability to process his grief. It was possible he’d committed suicide. And, given his depression, it was unlikely he could have planned Annukka Hackman’s murder in advance and in a way that left so little evidence.

  When I returned from lunch, I saw Rauha Smeds in the lobby arguing with the duty officer. I tried to slip past her since I still had work to do before going to the airport, but Rauha noticed me.

  “Detective Kallio!” she yelled after me.