Copper Heart

by Leena Lehtolainen

  I wondered whether that was what made Aniliina sick, the fear of being different and the need to be accepted. Since she couldn’t control anything else about her life, maybe she tried to compensate by controlling her weight. If the pressure to fit in was as strong as when I was a kid, I thought I could understand Aniliina a little better. Because she didn’t have a natural rebellious streak like I did, she turned all her anger and anxiety against her own body.

  Back at the station, it was quiet, so I ground away at my paperwork for a while. Jussi had left me with quite the backlog of cases from over the winter. A surprising number of criminal indictments were still in their initial stages, and there was plenty of catch-up to do issuing liens for unpaid fines. Maybe he had needed a rest more than he needed a study sabbatical. And here I thought temping for a small-town sheriff was going to be boring.

  Koivu called around noon.

  “I have news. You probably aren’t going to be happy to hear that one of the sets of prints from that brooch are Matti Virtanen’s.”

  “Shit! I never should have handed him that mirror!”

  “You don’t really mean that. You’d want to know the truth anyway. I’m going to interview the Virtanens as soon as I can, but things are a little exciting around here at the moment. You heard that those skinheads and Somalis were fighting in the hospital. Some visitors, who weren’t checked properly at the door, brought in weapons. And, of course, both sides are telling completely different stories.”

  “What about Anita?”

  “I haven’t really seen her. She was on graveyard. Tomorrow is her birthday though. I guess I should try to come up with something.”

  “Good luck. Did you already hear what happened at the Flöjts’ last night?”

  Koivu hadn’t, so I brought him up to speed, and then we chewed the fat until the duty officer notified him that he had another call.

  I called Ella to see if she was free for lunch, but found myself almost relieved when the city switchboard said she had gone to Kuopio for the day for a seminar. So, lacking anything better to do, I stopped by the corner store for some potato salad and a bag of Pirate Doubloons salmiakki, and then continued through my pile of paperwork. I’ve always been convinced the ammonium chloride in salty licorice improves your ability to think.

  As I was gnawing on one particularly tough piece, a knock came at my door and Mr. Kivinen walked in. Today he was wearing a dull-silver suit with a tie bright as the clear blue sky above the Tower. Quickly I tried to swallow the candy, but it stuck nastily in my throat.

  “Could I bother you for a moment?” he asked.

  When I nodded, he sat down under President Ahtisaari. “I just wanted to come and thank you for how well you’ve handled this investigation so far. It hasn’t interfered with our operations at all. Quite the opposite. You know how curious people are.”

  I nodded.

  “And I’m also glad that you’ve kept our discussion at the restaurant that morning just between the two of us. I forgot to mention that my wife doesn’t know about what happened between Meritta and me. The detective who interviewed her—I think his name was Koivu—was very discreet.”

  “It’s nice to hear that, even though I’m not actually leading the investigation. Detective Sergeant Järvisalo from the county police unit is.”

  “Oh, I know how much the local authorities influence these things. I wanted to try to thank you somehow…Would you ever be interested in touring the mine tunnels? We weren’t able to show them during the opening. And then perhaps I could offer you lunch in our restaurant.”

  “Actually, I’d love to visit the edge of the cave-in. Meritta said the excavations there are amazing.” I was thinking of Meritta’s mine paintings. Was the killer’s motive hiding in them somewhere? Could going to the place where she painted them tell me what it was?

  “Unfortunately the cave-in area would be too dangerous, so we can’t go there. But we’ll see. Would tomorrow work, perhaps around eleven thirty? Then I could show you around myself.”

  For the sake of appearances, I glanced at my calendar, even though I knew I was free then. After Kivinen left, I gagged the candy the rest of the way down my throat. What did he want from me? Why had he come to tell me that his wife didn’t know about his relationship with Meritta? Was he trying to protect his wife? I remembered a bored-looking woman in a Marimekko dress and then made a mental note to dig out Koivu’s interview notes as soon as I finished the stack of forms I was working on.

  Then I dove into the Saastamoinen Construction Company bankruptcy filing. The time it had taken to file this fraud indictment was completely unacceptable. Why had Jussi let this sit on his desk for six months? In order to focus, I kept munching on my skull-and-crossbones salmiakki coins, which seemed to have dried out pretty thoroughly. Suddenly I felt a dull ache in my left molar. Damn, a filling was caught!

  I was in luck though, managing to land an appointment at Tuija Miettinen’s dental clinic that afternoon due to an unexpected cancellation. Located just a few doors down from the police station, Tuija’s office was in the same place I remembered going to the dentist when I was in school. The only difference was that the sign on the door said Miettinen now instead of Sorsa.

  I had never been one of those people who was afraid of going to the dentist, but I didn’t love it either. However, now I was nervous. Being Tuija’s patient somehow felt strange. I had barely had a chance to flip through the previous week’s Donald Duck comic book in the waiting room before they called me in.

  The dentist’s coat suited Tuija. Against the bright white, her pallid cheeks seemed to have color, and the sheen of her short, dark hair was stronger than usual. The dental hygienist, a woman in her forties, seemed a nervous sort.

  “Hi, Maria. Let’s take a look at that filling,” Tuija said, motioning me to the chair. “How did it come loose?”

  “Chewing dried-out Pirate Doubloons.” I was mortified, caught eating silly candy like a little kid!

  As she poked and prodded, Tuija narrated to her assistant. “Mesial-occlusal portion of amalgam on #18 chipped, no signs of decay and no other cracks noted on surrounding tooth structure. OK, Maria, now I’ll just check for anything on your other teeth while we’re here.”

  “There shouldn’t be anything,” I muttered with my mouth full of mirrors and instruments of torture. Tuija continued listing off tooth codes, but didn’t find any tartar buildup.

  Then she turned to her hygienist. “OK, Maija, you can go. There’s just this one filling, and I can handle that myself.”

  Tuija explained that her assistant had already set another appointment after their previous client cancelled.

  I nodded, even though no one was asking my permission.

  “Let’s get some anesthetic in those gums. You aren’t allergic to anything, are you?” Her mask hid the lower half of her face and the glare on her glasses concealed her eyes, making her expression unreadable. Tuija tilted the chair farther back. From the reception area came a quick “Bye” and the thud of a door closing. As the syringe approached my mouth, I turned my eyes away. What was the syringe really filled with? I felt a wave of fear. I was completely at Tuija’s mercy, but then in the blink of an eye the injection was done.

  “Now we just wait. Is there news on Meritta’s case?”

  “Not really.”

  “Is Johnny a suspect?” she asked, taking off her face mask. Her face looked pale again. “You can bet he was sugarcoating what he was really doing Friday night.”

  “You knew about their relationship?”

  “Of course. It’s been a long time since Johnny bothered hiding his women from me.”

  “Were you jealous?”

  “Of Meritta?” Tuija laughed in a way that was more like a series of snorting sounds. “I’ve spent so many years watching Johnny with other women that I don’t bother being jealous anymore. I don’t care. But Meritta did. She wanted Johnny for herself.”

  Tuija’s face was just as serious as it h
ad been fifteen years ago. She was such a dull grind that we all had wondered what Johnny saw in her. I still didn’t really understand.

  “Can you still feel anything?” Tuija asked, inserting something in my mouth.

  “What? Oh, in my tooth? No.”

  With that, Tuija got to work. I was so tense that the only place that hurt was my neck. Once the drill stopped whining and Tuija finished cramming filling material into my tooth, she started talking again.

  “So you can stop suspecting me of anything. Of course I’m sure Johnny has told you his sob story too, about his horrible wife who just doesn’t understand. And he’s right; I don’t. You’d think four years would be long enough to get over turning thirty. That man has such a hard time living with himself that no one else can stand to be with him either. I guess he’s disappointed with his life. But I’m not disappointed with mine. I like my job and my kids, and I’m satisfied being a normal person living a normal life. Johnny says he wants adventure, but he doesn’t actually dare do anything with his life except for womanizing endlessly.”

  I grunted something, but my mouth was so full of stuff that saying anything intelligible was impossible. I imagine Tuija enjoyed that. I couldn’t remember her ever saying this much to me at once. Tuija squirted my mouth full of water, and a little went down the wrong pipe, coming straight back up onto Tuija’s face mask. But she didn’t seem to even notice as she continued suctioning the water out of my mouth. Maybe the squirting and sucking were usually the dental hygienist’s job.

  “I don’t want a man who’s only ever half-present, who only does work around the house when he’s asked. I’m sick of explaining to our kids why he’s always gone. And honestly, I feel less lonely since he moved out.” Tuija began raising my chair, which hid her face from view again.

  “It might be a little sore tonight when the anesthetic wears off. Take painkillers as needed. And don’t eat anything for a couple of hours.”

  As I stood up, Tuija had her back to me as she washed her hands. My cheek felt three times larger than normal, and talking was difficult.

  “If you’re trying to convince me that you didn’t kill Meritta, you’re talking to the wrong person. I’m not in charge of the investigation. The county detectives are.”

  “I didn’t mean that. I just want to say that you can have Johnny. Isn’t that what you’ve wanted the last fifteen years?”

  Turning toward me, Tuija’s face was one of amused spite. “It’s pathetic how obvious it is.”

  I fled the room, not sticking around to hear any more. The tears came as soon as I got outside. I felt like a stupid teenager again.

  “Did it hurt that bad?” asked Officer Lasarov, who was sitting behind the Plexiglas at the duty desk when I returned to the police station to gather my things.

  “She hit a nerve.”

  Lasarov nodded sympathetically. Even for a police officer, visiting the dentist was an acceptable reason to complain about pain. Knowing that the best remedy for pain was more pain, I headed to the weight room in the basement of the local swimming club.

  It was literally just a weight room, a small, sweaty cellar with mostly barbells and benches. A few machines had been added recently, apparently at Kaisa’s request. That one of the best javelin throwers in the world worked out in this sorry excuse for a gym was incredible. Didn’t she bring the city loads of positive publicity? Or was she the wrong sex for that to matter?

  But there was nothing wrong with the leg extension or curl machines. As I slaved away for a good hour on my usual routine, I watched in amusement as the guys grunted with their weights. Twenty more pounds on the bar than normal and a nice, long pose after racking it. Clearly they were laying it on because a new girl was in the gym, even if she was a familiar face.

  After soaking in the shower for ten minutes, I was ready to meet Jaska. I had a feeling that Jaska had to know more than he was sharing about Meritta’s death. I wouldn’t have been the least bit surprised if he had been the intruder from the night before. The only thing was that he could have gone into his sister’s house anytime he wanted.

  Jaska and his mother lived in what everyone called the “high-rises” near my old school. They were only three stories tall, but at the time of construction, they were the first multistory apartment buildings in town. Hence the name. When I rang the bell, Jaska’s younger sister, Jaana, opened the door and reported that her brother was at band practice.

  “They’re still practicing in the same basement you guys used. I don’t know who he’s playing with, but you can go and see.” Jaana also told me that Aniliina’s father had arrived in town a few hours earlier.

  I wondered whether I should bother interrupting band practice. Johnny might be there too. I was nervous, but I decided not to be completely spineless. Seeing the cave where I spent the best times of my high school years was going to be weird. In reality, the room we used was the high school’s bomb shelter. No sound passed through the thick door that led down to the practice room.

  When I opened it and started down the stairs, I could hear that at least some of the dials were turned up to eleven. The hallway had that familiar smell of cigarettes, beer, and French fries, and the pale-yellow paint had peeled away to almost nothing. Descending those concrete steps felt like walking back through time to puberty.

  Five musicians were playing: Jaska on guitar; Johnny on vocals and guitar; Pasi, another former Tiger, on drums; a fifteen-year-old on bass; and another vaguely familiar-looking guy on keyboards. All men. Typical. They all stared at me in astonishment—all except Johnny, who turned his eyes to the ceiling.

  “Hi. Jaska, I need to talk to you.”

  “Are you in a hurry? Tumppi has to leave in an hour,” Jaska said, motioning to the bassist. “If not, sit down and have a listen.”

  I didn’t really know what I was supposed to do. Pasi lit a cigarette, which instantly filled the low-ceilinged room with smoke. Empty beer bottles served as ashtrays, as they had fifteen years earlier. Johnny sat on a table, tuning the top string of his guitar. Then suddenly his E-string broke with a twang and he swore.

  “I have a spare,” Jaska said.

  Had anything changed? Jaska always carried a couple of extra sets of strings, sometimes even a set for the bass, along with a bunch of picks, a pitch pipe, tape for fixing drumheads, and just about everything else a band could need to keep on playing. Before I used to think his attention to detail was funny, but now it just felt sad. His own body was in complete crap shape, but you could bet he would have a spare guitar string.

  “We have a gig coming up in July. Popeda is playing at Ilosaarirock and we’re the second warm-up act,” Jaska said proudly.

  “Yeah, half an hour at seven o’clock in exchange for free oxygen,” Pasi added sardonically.

  I’d heard this conversation before. A major music festival, a chance at a big break, and everyone but Jaska knowing that nothing would come of it.

  Johnny had his guitar fixed.

  “Should we try these songs you and Jaska have been working on?” Johnny asked Pasi. All of a sudden, Jaska seemed to stand a little taller.

  The first piece began with a flamboyant organ solo on the keyboard, followed by Jaska singing lyrics in elementary-school English delivered in a you’re-squeezing-my-testicles parody of Meatloaf.

  The songs were horrible. I didn’t know which of them was responsible for the words and which the melody, but no one knew what they were doing. Jaska still didn’t know how to play, and his attempted imitation of classic heavy metal vocals was appalling. The bass player was quite good, and I couldn’t tell about the keyboardist because the part they had written for him was such an irritating mishmash. Johnny played lazily. I wished I had gone home after all.

  “Well, what did you think?” Jaska asked after the three-song set. His swollen eyes were aglow with anticipation.

  “It was different than I expected. A little like Meatloaf with some Ramones mixed in. The organ part was pretty interesting…�
� I met Johnny’s mocking gaze that seemed to say, So, you don’t dare tell him the truth either.

  Next the guys played a mixed bag of covers, including ZZ Top and Led Zeppelin. An almost healthy cast had appeared on Jaska’s face, and his eyes were full of life. The scar behind his left cheek, which he had gotten from falling on a beer bottle while drunk, burned a dark red. Occasionally his enthusiastic hands would slip on the neck of the guitar. The others had better technique, but no one could match Jaska’s passion. Playing with them would have been more fun than listening. Then at least I could have concentrated on making my own part as good as possible and enjoyed melting into the larger sound. Gradually, I felt myself getting into the music, and my hand started drumming on the edge of the table. When I noticed a tambourine on the couch, I picked it up and started shaking it, not giving a damn that it didn’t fit with the song they were attacking, the Hurriganeses’ “Get On” with its “Johnny B. Goode” intro riff. Even though I hadn’t sung much during my Rat Poison days, I found myself adding background vocals for Johnny and Jaska.

  Over the years, the band cave had gained some new furniture—a table and a couple of chairs. The couch was still the same one that Johnny had once passed out on, the same one where I had sat while Jaska copied my language arts and math homework between class periods. Even then it had been ready for the landfill. I doubted anyone had cleaned it in all these years.

  “I gotta go now,” Tumppi said after we wrapped up “Get On.”

  “He has to get back to the base, and the last bus leaves soon,” Jaska explained, lifting a bag of beer out from behind the drum kit.

  “He’s in the army? I thought he looked about fifteen.”

  “Fifteen or nineteen, what do we care?” Johnny laughed. “Hey, Jaska, don’t start drinking yet. Let’s play some more. Maria can do bass.”

  “I haven’t played in a hundred years! Don’t expect me to be good anymore.” Still, I picked up the bass guitar off the couch, plugged the cord into the amplifier, and adjusted the shoulder strap. I liked feeling the hard surface of the instrument against my thighs again. The strings were warm under my fingers, a little stiffer than what I was used to. Experimentally I plucked a few scales and then threw out a boogie-woogie lick. After just a few scraps of melody, I could feel my fingertips on my left hand begin to sting. But I didn’t care. Finally, I was home.