Her Enemy

by Leena Lehtolainen

  “And apparently one of the neighbors was sure that Kimmo didn’t come home until one thirty,” Eki said, interrupting me. I could see in his eyes that he believed Kimmo was guilty.

  “What neighbor? I want to talk to them right now!”

  Eki shook his head, perhaps to say that he didn’t know the name of the neighbor, perhaps to say there wasn’t any point in trying.

  “Goddamn it! Kimmo, I’m only going to ask you one more time: Did you kill Armi?”

  When all he did was stare out the window, I marched over, grabbed him by the shoulders, and made him look me in the eyes. Kimmo’s skin looked terrible—greasy, sweaty, with pitted acne scars studding his cheeks. His voice had a tone of resignation when he replied.

  “No, I didn’t kill her. But no one is going to believe that. Not the police, not Eki…and now not even you…”

  I felt like Brutus. Ignoring Eki, I began explaining my telephone conversation with Elina Kataja. When he heard that I intended to investigate leads at the Club Bizarre event the next night, a slight smile crept onto his face.

  “You’d better take Antti with you.”

  “Why? I know how to take care of myself.”

  “I’m sure you do, but within half an hour you’re going to be sick of all the men panting and circling around you. And it won’t be just men—a lot of people there are going to be interested in a new girl.”

  “I don’t know what Antti would say. Or wear. Would you have something for him if he goes? Or has Ström emptied your stash?”

  Kimmo forced a grin.

  “My stuff is in a locked cabinet in my room. The spare key is on the bookshelf in my copy of Seven Brothers from freshman literature class. I figured it was a good bet no one would ever pick that up to read it.”

  “I’d also like to talk to some of Armi’s friends. Any suggestions on who might be the most helpful?” I asked.

  Kimmo gave me a few names and phone numbers of Armi’s closest girlfriends, and then the guard escorted him back to his cell.

  Eki and I caravanned back to the office. As I drove, I tried to get my thoughts organized, making lists in my mind. Lists of things I had to do. Lists of people I had to interview. Lists of suspects: Makke, Mallu, Mallu’s husband, Armi’s parents, Risto and Marita, Dr. Hellström. Wait, even Eki had been at Risto’s party. What if Eki had killed Armi and thought the best way to get away with it was shifting the blame onto Kimmo? But what would be the motive there? I stared ahead at the thick neck and bald head of my employer, driving ahead of me. I didn’t really know Eki. The few weeks I’d been working for him weren’t much to go by. Perhaps Armi wanted to tell me something about him.

  I’m going completely paranoid, I thought as I parked the Honda in the office driveway. Eki climbed out of his own car and said we needed to have a talk. The office was quiet, the only sound a muffled conversation coming from behind Martti’s door.

  “Just so you know, and this is to be kept between us: I do not believe Kimmo Hänninen is innocent.” Eki sat down in the most comfortable chair in our conference room and grabbed the last piece of chocolate out of the bowl on the table. “That seems clear enough now. At this point, pleading down to manslaughter is our best bet, and we should probably request a psychiatric evaluation as well. All of the Hänninens are messed up, at least Annamari and her children,” Eki added, as if afraid of insulting my almost-relatives.

  “I disagree. I think Kimmo is innocent.”

  Eki’s eyebrows went up. “On what basis?”

  “Ström’s…Detective Sergeant Ström’s evidence is shaky. And then just my general impression. My instincts tell me that Kimmo didn’t murder Armi.”

  “But the law doesn’t operate based on women’s intuition,” Eki said sternly. “In any case, we need to concentrate on defending Kimmo the best way we can. You can go to that club if you want, if you think it will help somehow. Kimmo trusts you. But perhaps it would be best if you try to get him to confess and we’ll move forward with a plea bargain.”

  I stared at Eki. I felt terrible—how was I going to be a lawyer when I couldn’t even convince my own boss that our own client was innocent?

  “I understand that as a former police officer, you naturally want to investigate the case more broadly. It’s in your blood. By all means investigate, but not on office time.”

  I counted slowly to ten. Losing my cool wasn’t going to help. Eki had chosen his side, and I would have to adapt to that. The police considered the case closed as well. Only one doubter remained: yours truly.

  Concentrating on my other cases, I was a good girl for the rest of the day. Although I did try to reach Elina Kataja—Angel—as well as some of Armi’s girlfriends. After work, I headed to the gym. I hoped that wrestling with some weights would improve my mood.

  In the women’s dressing-room mirror, I witnessed my transformation, morphing from no-nonsense legal counselor to serious weight trainer. I wiped my makeup off and pulled my hair up into a high ponytail. My lightweight dress got shoved into my gym bag, and I donned a sleeveless top and green stretch pants in its place. Leather sandals went into the locker and cross-trainers on. Lifting gloves velcroed at the wrist. Another Maria Kallio stared back at me now. Just how many of me were there?

  Apparently, nobody felt like being indoors on a beautiful summer evening, so the gym was a ghost town. As I worked my way systematically through my routine—first legs, then upper body—for an hour and a half, I tried once more to sort everything in my mind. I wondered where Marita might have come by her bruise and whether the vitamins accompanying Makke’s morning cocktail were as innocent as he claimed they were. Did performance-enhancing drugs and hormones change hands here, in this gym? Did Makke use them? He was not muscle-bound by any means, but the way he drank must have made maintaining his physique a challenge. Maybe steroids were his trick. And if he had the connections to get those, perhaps he had scored drugs for Sanna.

  When I left the gym, I had a whole list of questions in need of answers. At the very least, I was sure that this case was nowhere near as straightforward as it looked to Detective Sergeant Pertti Ström.

  Antti was in his office. In order to let him know I was home, I banged around a bit in the kitchen. Chomping on a piece of bread, I called Marita, since she was the only person close I thought might own a sewing machine. In addition to the help with my leather skirt alterations, perhaps I could also get some information.

  “Why don’t you come over right now? And how is Kimmo holding up?” Relaying the bad news was difficult. I almost felt like Marita was starting to believe her brother-in-law was guilty. I promised to come by as soon as I could. I also called one of Armi’s friends whom Kimmo had suggested I contact, a classmate from nursing school named Minna.

  I explained who I was and that I hoped to help find out what had happened to Armi.

  “Yes, I heard. Sari Rannikko, another girl we know from school, called me. Sari is actually on her way over here now. This is just so terrible,” Minna said, bursting into tears.

  “Would it be possible for all three of us to meet up? I was just going to call Sari too,” I said. “Would tonight at seven thirty at Café Socis downtown work?”

  Minna agreed, and I started feeling better. I knew that my close friends, though there were only a few, knew a lot more about me than my parents did—Sari and Minna were bound to be able to tell me something new about Armi.

  Finally, Antti came ambling up from downstairs.

  “How did it go?” he asked, and then saw the answer written on my face.

  “Oh shit…Is he guilty?”

  I went over the evidence again and told him where each of the parties stood, ending with some choice words about the stupidity of both my own boss and the police. Antti, however, appeared pensive.

  “I know Kimmo a lot better than you do,” he said once my tirade ended. “And I don’t know…Maybe he could have killed Armi. Anyone can kill if they’re angry enough.”

  “I’m betting you
didn’t say that to the review board when you applied for your conscientious objector’s exemption from military service,” I said belligerently. “Will you go with me to that party tomorrow?”

  “Uh. Here’s the thing: I don’t think I’m really the voyeuristic type. And I’m not Kimmo’s lawyer. Are you sure your old grudge against this Ström guy isn’t affecting your judgment? You are an ex-cop. You have to know they don’t put people in jail without the proper evidence.”

  “Oh, so you know all about cops now because you’ve been sleeping with one? Let me tell you about cops—they just want an easy ride! What do you want me to do, sit on my thumbs while Kimmo goes to prison for twenty years because of one lazy, prejudiced prick?”

  “You aren’t a cop anymore.”

  “No, I’m not, but I have no intention of just letting things run their course! As far as I’m concerned, you can go right ahead and hide your head in the sand, just like you did during Tommi’s case.”

  That hurt. First Antti went red, then white. His eyes narrowed as like an angry cat’s. For a moment, I thought he might hit me, but then he just turned on his heels and stormed back down to his office, slamming the door as he went. I knew I had attacked Antti in the most tender spot he had. He still felt guilty for his friend’s death and the whole mess surrounding it.

  Jackass, I thought, not really knowing which of us I meant. Would it just be better for us to split up, since we couldn’t seem to stop fighting? Still, I wasn’t in the habit of giving up easily, not in my work or in my personal relationships.

  7

  A few hours later, I was looking out of a bus window at the clouds wandering across the sky, still thinking about Antti. As if by common consent, neither of us had spoken about Tommi’s death since last summer. Guilt about what had happened still ate away at both of us. Antti had failed to reveal vital information, and I had rushed the arrest. The perpetrator—another of Antti’s friends—remained confined to a psychiatric hospital.

  However, Antti was more sensitive and withdrawn than I was on the subject. When things got hard, he usually retreated to the sanctum of his office to sulk. I, on the other hand, was more likely to yell for half an hour and then try to extend an olive branch. Antti wanted to mull problems over, to study them from every angle like a good mathematician. I was hastier, jumping to rash conclusions and never wanting to dwell on anything.

  Just like every other teenage girl, I used to dream of finding a tall, dark, melancholy lover. Antti definitely fit the criteria of my adolescent daydreams, but it turns out that actually living with the moody leading man wasn’t always easy. Maybe Jessica Rabbit was right to want a man who could make her laugh.

  However, as I stepped off the bus in downtown Helsinki, I realized that Antti did make me laugh. It was just the pressure of his dissertation that had been sapping his sense of humor lately. And, of course, getting mixed up in a murder investigation for the second time was bound to traumatize him. I had always wondered about the heroes I saw on detective shows who just went on with their lives as person after person dropped dead around them every episode. In real life, every violent death left an indelible mark on the people involved. Without the flimsy wall of protection provided by my professional role, I might have been on the verge of coming unhinged too.

  With the descriptions Minna had given over the phone, I easily found Armi’s girlfriends sitting at a window table talking over cups of tea beneath the chandeliers of the ornate café. Minna had a low, nervous voice; Sari startled me with her loud, piercing tones.

  I was already grumpy, and hearing Sari’s voice didn’t do much to raise my spirits. I’ve always despised people with ugly voices. Tall and thin with sharp features and short-cropped hair, Sari’s jagged looks fit her voice. Nearsighted eyes darted restlessly behind stylish glasses.

  “Is it true that Kimmo murdered Armi?” Sari practically yelled as I joined them at their table.

  “The police believe so,” I replied quietly and then rehearsed my increasingly tiresome account of events so far. “I was hoping you two might be able to suggest other possibilities. What was your impression of Armi and Kimmo’s relationship? Did Armi say anything out of the ordinary recently? I’m going to get a cup of tea, and then we can talk. Can I offer you anything?”

  “I could really use some ice cream, but I don’t know if I can right now since Armi…” Sari said, her voice now a whine.

  “Armi wouldn’t mind,” Minna said. She was short, with soft curves and dark curls. Under normal circumstances, she probably looked like a Lappish doll with those round eyes and red cheeks, but shock had sucked all of the joy out of her.

  Sari was still at the counter dithering over what flavor of ice cream to choose when I returned to the window table. Minna blew her nose into a handkerchief and then quickly said, “I don’t get Sari. Armi and Sari were in the same classes all through elementary school. But it’s almost like she’s enjoying this.”

  Sari returned to the table. “I got vanilla and rum raisin,” she announced. “Armi liked rum raisin with strawberry. Strange combination, don’t you think? The last time I saw Armi was a week ago when she was over at my place. I live just north of the sports park in those new buildings. But I called her on Saturday. I’ve wondered whether I should tell the police.”

  “You called on Saturday? What time?” I didn’t bother to conceal my enthusiasm, although the reaction of pleasure I saw in Sari’s face nauseated me.

  “Around twelve thirty. I was going to invite her to go into the city, but she said she had visitors coming and—”

  “Did she say what visitors?” I said, interrupting unapologetically.

  “Some Maria. Did she mean you? And then she had to call her sister.”

  I made a mental note to ask Mallu about that call. Did it ever take place?

  “How did Armi sound? Angry? Frightened?”

  “Perfectly normal. I guess she and Kimmo had been fighting, but it wasn’t anything serious. Kimmo had just gone home.”

  I guess my expression gave away how important that last sentence was.

  “I wondered about that too,” Sari continued. “Did Kimmo come back?”

  “You need to tell the police about this call. It could mean a lot for Kimmo.” I couldn’t help breathing a sigh of relief. At least for Kimmo.

  “Minna, when did you last see Armi?”

  Minna looked uncertain. “A couple of weeks ago, I guess. I worked the night shift last week, and I don’t think we even talked on the phone the whole week. When I had seen her, we went to the movies and then had a glass of wine. Armi was obviously worried about something. She was quizzing me about pharmacology, asking me about different benzodiazepines.”

  “What are those?”

  “Sedatives, pretty mild. She said someone she knew was popping them like they were candy.”

  Perhaps I needed to make the rounds of everyone’s medicine cabinets. Although drug abuse didn’t make anyone a murderer. Armi had worked in a private physician’s office, though. Was it possible she had been dealing prescription drugs?

  “She talked to me about Sanna recently,” Sari said, butting in. “Kimmo’s sister, the one who drowned last spring. She was totally nuts, and she used drugs too. A couple of weeks ago, Armi came over for coffee and said she had had a fight with Kimmo about Sanna. Armi didn’t believe Sanna committed suicide.”

  Sari was speaking so loudly that the people at the neighboring tables turned to look at us. Great—a confidential conversation about sex, murder, and drugs, with only half of one of the busiest cafés in the city listening in.

  “Armi thought Sanna was murdered!” Sari yelled, even more emphatically. Minna looked scared.

  “So who killed her?” I asked, more aggressively than necessary.

  “Her boyfriend. That’s what Armi said. That Sanna’s lover murdered her.”

  “Makke? Why? Did Armi say that to Kimmo?”

  “She just said she and Kimmo had a fight because Kimmo thought S
anna committed suicide, but Armi was convinced she was murdered.”

  I emptied my teacup, wishing something stronger had been in there. Armi believed that Makke killed Sanna. Why? Makke told me himself he talked with Armi a lot about Sanna. Did he let something slip? Did he just feel responsible, or was he confessing to killing her? I thought back to the bits of conversation Armi’s elderly neighbor had heard coming through the garden gate. What if Armi had been talking to Makke? I remembered the harried eyes juxtaposed with his boyish face, the bulging, veined muscles of his arms. Strangling Armi would have been easy for him.

  Or did Armi mean she was going to call the police on someone else? Forensic analysis had shown liquor and drugs in Sanna’s bloodstream. What if Armi meant that Makke gave Sanna an overdose? Or could Armi have been talking about her own boyfriend, Kimmo?

  “Armi was talking about Sanna’s boyfriend, not her own, right?”

  Sari looked confused and then her brow wrinkled. “I don’t think she was talking about Kimmo. Why would she have been fighting with him?”

  Oh, you have no idea, I felt like saying, but I left it alone. Sari’s story certainly opened up new possibilities—I would have to give Makke a closer look and ask Kimmo about this fight.

  As a tram trundled by, the wind picked up, blowing a yellow plastic bag under the wheels. Women’s skirts tried to make for the sky, where blue-black clouds were gathering in promise of rain. Soon nothing would be left of the cherry blossoms in the yard.

  “You were Armi’s best friends. I only met her once. Can you help me understand: What kind of person was she, really?”

  Again, Sari took the initiative.

  “We were in the same classes all through school. Back then, she was always nice and a little quiet. No offense, Minna, but she was exactly the type who grows up to be a nurse. Always did her homework and came to school with her clothes neatly pressed. I’ve always been a chatterbox, as you can tell.” Sari smiled with apparent self-satisfaction. “And I guess Armi needed someone to stick up for her at school.”