Her Enemy

by Leena Lehtolainen

  Since my sisters hadn’t caught their taxi until just after nine, I was so late to work I didn’t even try to make up time. As I leisurely biked past the shopping center, I noticed that the door of Makke’s store was open, so I decided to drop in. No one was around, just the radio blasting Mauno Kuusisto’s Finnish rendition of “Just Say I Love Her.”

  All of a sudden, Sanna was in my head again. She had been there the one and only time I worked up the courage to sneak into a bar as a teenager; in that case, a seedy dive in our hometown where the management didn’t care how old we were. The rest of the group was already old enough to drink legally, and I just slipped in with them. Sanna had played this same song over and over on the jukebox, which surprised me. I had imagined her more as a heavy-metal or maybe a Dylan type. In my mind’s eye, I could see Sanna’s mocking smile, the glass of beer in her hand, the hair hanging down in front of her beautiful eyes.

  Why had Sanna liked this song?

  “What can I do you for?” Makke came out of some back room with an armload of soccer shoes. “We’ve got good cleats on sale right now.”

  “I haven’t joined the powder-puff league yet, although maybe I should.”

  Makke froze, possibly recognizing the song.

  “Wasn’t this one of Sanna’s favorites?” I asked. When Makke nodded, I continued. “This is the last time, and then I promise I’ll never talk to you about Sanna again unless you want to: What drugs was Sanna using? Weed? Something stronger? Prescription stuff? Where did she get it?”

  Makke brushed his bangs back off his brow. His cheeks were tight, his fingers nervously exploring the spikes on the bottom of the soccer shoes.

  “She didn’t use drugs anymore when we started dating. She drank plenty and took some sedatives—Valium, I think. I don’t know where she got them. But all you have to do is go into a doctor’s office and tell them you are achy, or a little depressed, or can’t quite sleep—they don’t care.”

  “Can you get that sort of thing at the gym? I know stuff moves through there.”

  “Gosh, no one has ever offered me any,” Makke said testily.

  “And Sanna didn’t get the Valium from Armi?”

  Makke looked at me as if I were a half-wit.

  “From Armi? No way was Armi pushing pills. She wasn’t the type.”

  “I’m not sure of anything anymore,” I said, hoping it didn’t sound too dramatic, and then left.

  What if Armi’s and Sanna’s deaths really were two separate crimes and Mallu’s car accident had absolutely nothing to do with either of them?

  Maybe I was imagining things again.

  When I arrived at work, Eki was sitting in the conference room eating a chocolate jellyroll. I kicked myself in the mental ass.

  That was the man I suspected of killing two people?

  “The police called. The Hänninen case is going before the judge again today. New witnesses have come forward, and, in the light of their testimony, it looks unlikely that Hänninen was at Mäenpää’s house at the time of the murder,” Eki rattled off like a man who had never thought anything else.

  “So Teemu Laaksonen has been in touch with Detective Sergeant Ström already. Good. What time is the hearing?”

  “Three. How about I go, since I’m a friend of the family and the head of the firm? I’ll need you to bring me up to speed a little, though.”

  Dumbstruck, I stared at Eki. Are you kidding me? I was the one who did all the work, and now this old man was going to swoop in and take the glory for himself! After kicking myself yet again to keep from exploding, I then told Eki the bare facts, and the bare facts only. No one else was going to get anything more out of me until I was completely certain of what it all meant.

  Still, losing this opportunity was a distressing setback. I had already played through the scene, how I would free Kimmo and then we would walk out of the courthouse arm in arm. How stupid I had been! Eki hadn’t even believed Kimmo was innocent. Maybe I should check the dates of that Kenya trip after all…

  Fortunately, one of my clients called, forcing me to move my mind onto other matters. The case was about the division of an estate involving an illegal concealment of property. I wondered whether my sisters and I would be at such loggerheads divvying up our parents’ effects.

  Which gave me an idea.

  “Hi, it’s Maria Kallio.”

  Mallu’s response to my greeting was less than enthusiastic.

  “Listen, I have to ask you a weird question. Did you ever get any sedatives from Armi without a prescription; maybe she gave you a sample pack or something like that?”

  “Sedatives? Maybe once or twice when I couldn’t sleep. I had a prescription though, and it was just for small amounts. Why would you ask me something like that?”

  “I just thought—”

  “And why did you talk to Teemu about me? What on earth have you been telling him? I never wanted to see him again, and here he showed up today at my door thinking he was some knight in shining armor. I told him to go to hell!”

  “Did Teemu tell you that Kimmo is being released today because of his testimony?”

  “I don’t have time for this bullshit! I have to be at Dr. Hellström’s office in half an hour for a checkup. I’m really looking forward to him telling me—yet again—that I can never, ever have children,” she said sarcastically.

  “Mallu, we have to talk! How about if I come see you later, like around five?”

  “Why? What could we possibly have left to discuss? Oh, yes, because now that Kimmo is getting out, you need someone else to blame for my sister’s murder. Come on over. Having someone accuse me of murder is about all my life is missing right now.”

  Mallu slammed the phone in my ear.

  For the next two hours, I worked like a madwoman, and decided to burn off some excess anger and energy by spending my lunch hour at the gym. Grimacing at the reflection of my legs in the mirror whipping a seventy-five pound stack of weights up and down on the leg abductor, I cursed in rage. Let Eki take all the glory for freeing Kimmo! Let Ström solve the murder case on his own! I would have to come up with some excuse to see Ström so I could gloat over his embarrassment after arresting the wrong person. Although, I had to be careful. I could see where he might turn his sights on me next because I was the first one who had arrived at the scene of the crime. Had the police ever found Armi’s dishwashing gloves or confirmed that the murderer was indeed wearing rubber gloves?

  I closed my eyes, and images flashed through. Seeing Armi splayed on the grass, her face that blotchy purple. Seeing Sanna emptying her bottle of vodka and slipping into the water. Seeing the car that hit Mallu speeding along the glistening black street driven by a blonde girl with a red shawl.

  Start at the beginning, Maria, I said to myself. Start from Armi. Your first assumption was that Armi died because she knew something someone didn’t want her to tell you. What did Armi know? What did she want to ask for advice about?

  The magic of the weight room worked again. An hour after my self-inflicted flogging, my body felt wobbly, but my mind was clear. Back in the office now, I was slurping nonfat cherry yogurt straight from the paper carton and preparing for a court session the next day when a knock came at my door.

  “Maria! Why are you here? Kimmo’s hearing is about to start.” Marita’s voice sounded confused, and I saw Risto peeking curiously around her.

  “Eki went. He doesn’t need me there,” I said bitterly.

  Risto smiled. “I hear they’re going to let Kimmo go. All thanks to you, Maria.”

  For some reason, Risto’s thanks irked me. And forget about me, what were they doing in our law office instead of rushing over to the courthouse to roll out the red carpet for Kimmo and Eki?

  “If Kimmo is innocent, then who did this? Who strangled Armi?” Marita finally asked.

  “Don’t you know? Ask Risto,” I said angrily.

  Suddenly Marita looked scared and confused. Under her ear, the yellow hint of a bruise was
still visible, but thankfully, I didn’t see any new ones. Or were they hidden under her clothing?

  “What am I supposed to know about it?”

  I had never heard so much menace in Risto’s voice as at that moment. I stood up, waved them into the room and closed the door. Martti had a client in his office who didn’t need to overhear this conversation.

  “Armi was murdered because she had information. She knew that someone killed Sanna. And she may have known even more. Maybe Armi and Sanna’s killer had a habit of beating his wife—like you do, Risto. Was it your father who pushed Sanna off the breakwater that night? Was it an accident? They argued over something, and Sanna was drunk? And then, maybe he just watched her sink, and thought, ‘Good riddance.’”

  Marita’s face flushed, and Risto’s face filled with anguish and confusion.

  “Stop bringing Sanna into this! If you think you can wildly accuse people of horrible things without losing your job here, you’re out of your mind!”

  “You aren’t going to hit me though, are you, Risto? Or strangle me, like you strangled Armi?”

  I heard a horrified intake of breath from Marita, who took a step toward me as if seeking protection from Risto. Risto stared at his wife for a second and then realized that she must believe me.

  “Marita! Don’t believe a word she says! What have you been telling Maria?” Risto’s voice was so threatening that I would have been afraid too, if I were Marita.

  “Marita hasn’t said anything to me. I drew my own conclusions from her bruises. Why do you hit her? Does it make you feel better about yourself?”

  “Hit? Everyone has fights sometimes. And our marriage is none of your business, Maria. Not as an attorney or as my brother-in-law’s girlfriend. You aren’t even a part of this family.”

  I looked at Risto’s hands—the hands of a man who worked at a desk. Sparse black hairs grew on their backs, and his wedding band was nearly a quarter of an inch thick. Were those the hands that strangled Armi?

  “Risto, if there is any truth to what Maria is saying, you have to tell me now,” Marita whispered, as if forcing the words out of her mouth only with supreme difficulty. Risto stared at her as Marita withdrew from him and stepped closer to me.

  “I don’t know anything about anything, and I’m not going to stand here listening to either of you. I’m going to go get my brother out of jail!” Risto bellowed before slamming the door open and storming out. Marita collapsed into a chair and didn’t start talking until she heard the screeching of car tires pulling out of the driveway.

  “It isn’t what you think, Maria. Risto doesn’t hit me very often. He’s just been under so much stress lately. Things are going poorly at his company and he’s been on a hair-trigger. He doesn’t mean it, he didn’t mean to hurt me, and I bruise so easily.”

  “Jesus Christ, Marita! You can’t really believe that! You have to get help. You can’t let him get away with hitting you. Does he abuse the boys too?”

  “No! I wouldn’t let him.” The way Marita shook her head reminded me of the same movements Antti made when he was distressed. “You don’t know what it’s like, Maria. Risto is so wonderful most of the time. And then sometimes I get worked up and start nagging him about something, and then he hits me.”

  “Don’t you dare blame yourself! Have you talked to anyone about this?”

  “Well, I tried to get us into family therapy when Sanna died, because Risto was so depressed. He wouldn’t go, though, because he was afraid of having it come out somehow and hurt his reputation. Antti doesn’t know about this, does he?” Marita looked more afraid of that than the prospect that her husband was a murderer.

  “Yes, he knows. And he wants to talk to you about it.”

  “Do Mom and Dad know?” Marita sniffed.

  “No. Did Armi?”

  “Yes.” Marita shook her head, looking like Antti again. “Armi was the one who encouraged me to go to therapy. She said that Risto could…get better…that hitting in a family was like an infectious disease that Risto caught from Henrik. She said that therapy could heal it before it spread to the boys, and that Sanna and Kimmo had their own symptoms. What did Armi mean by that?”

  “Sanna always looked for men like her father, men who would hit her. And Kimmo…Well, we all know about Kimmo now. That was probably what Armi meant. Is Henrik’s abuse the reason he and Annamari live apart? Is that why Annamari is so skittish?”

  Marita nodded. Tears filled her eyes, and dark rivulets of mascara began snaking their way down her pale cheeks. I dug a tissue box out of my desk drawer for her before continuing.

  “I think that Sanna died because she wanted to get better. She wanted to get away from all the anger and humiliation she had been living with. She had finally fallen in love with a man who didn’t want to rule over her or smack her around. But that didn’t fit with someone else’s plans.”

  “Do you mean Risto?”

  “I’m not sure yet, to be honest. In the meantime, Marita, we have to put a stop to this abuse.”

  I thought of Antti and all the pressure he was under because of his dissertation, wondering whether I dared put this load on his shoulders as well. But she was his sister. “Talk to Antti. He’ll help you. Go to our house right now. Usually he takes a break from work around this time.”

  “Maybe I will.” Marita wiped her eyes and stood up, her upright posture determined. “Antti is nice,” she said, sounding like a child. “You be nice to him too.”

  “Tell him I’ll be home by seven at the latest,” I said as she left.

  Still hungry after my workout and needing to get out the door, I sucked the last of the yogurt out of the carton and grabbed the last hunk of chocolate jellyroll from the conference room. Cramming it into my mouth, I hoped I would be able to get some coffee from Mallu.

  At exactly five o’clock, I was at the door of Mallu’s apartment pressing the bell. The yard outside was completely deserted, making the afternoon feel as though time had stopped. The doorbell trilled, echoing hollowly in the apartment. I remembered the bare walls, the unmatched furniture.

  No answer. I pressed the bell again, recalling with a sick feeling how I had rung Armi’s doorbell and no one had answered then either. A wave of fear washed over me as I walked over the lawn. Nothing. I peered in through the kitchen window. No one. I walked around to the backyard to look through the large living-room windows. All I saw was the partial sofa set and the lonely television set. No movement. I rushed to the bedroom window. It was higher than the kitchen window, and I had to half climb onto the sill to see in.

  Lying supine on the bed, her eyes closed and body limp, I saw Mallu surrounded by the classic signs of suicide: pill bottle lying on the floor, half-empty bottle of wine, scrap of paper.

  I ran back to the living room window, grabbed a large stone that was being used as an edge for a flowerbed, and yanked. It pulled out easily and I hurled it straight through the lower pane. Most of the window was gone now, and I pushed the remaining large shards in with the tip of my shoe and crawled inside. Grabbing the phone, which fortunately was cordless, I dialed the emergency number, 112. Before the operator picked up and I ordered an ambulance, I had time to glance at the label on the medicine bottle and feel Mallu’s pulse. Her heart was still beating, but slowly, and her breathing was halting. Trying in vain to wake her, I noticed the piece of paper still lying on the floor. Picking it up using the tail of my shirt, I read Mallu’s tiny, sharply slanted handwriting: I can’t take it anymore. Armi’s death was my fault. Mallu. I considered whether I could rip the second sentence off while leaving the first and the signature but realized it was impossible. So I shoved the note in my pocket. When the paramedics arrived, I immediately gave them Mallu’s parents’ phone number and handed them the pill bottle. Neighbors were beginning to congregate now, curious about the flashing emergency vehicle in the street. Someone promised to call the janitor about the broken window.

  When the men began lifting Mallu carefully onto the s
tretcher, I rushed out the door. Mallu’s suicide note was still in my pocket. I should take it to Ström. But no—I still couldn’t believe that Mallu was the murderer I was looking for.

  I jumped on my bike and rode off without any specific destination in mind. Something red and sticky fell onto my pale-brown sandal. I glanced at my hands. A gash on my left wrist was dripping blood. I must have hurt myself climbing through Mallu’s window, though the cut didn’t hurt much. I would need to find a towel, I thought to myself.

  Surely Mallu knew that one little bottle of mild sedatives and some white wine wasn’t going to kill anyone. What was she doing? And what did her note mean?

  I had to have time to think. Instinctively I rode toward the sea, first through a bicycle and pedestrian tunnel under the West Highway, then along residential streets past a clam-shaped community center, and finally along park paths overgrown with grass to the breakwater.

  Antti once had told me that as a child he had a habit of sitting at the end of the jetty and imagining he was on the bow of a pirate ship, bound for new adventures. But Sanna’s adventures had ended here. How cold and dark that night must have been without any snow or ice illuminating the dreary March landscape. She must have gone numb almost immediately in the frigid water, especially drunk.

  Walking halfway out on the breakwater, I found a small, sheltered recess where I could curl up to think. The ruddy granite was cool under my fingers, and the green moss protruding from the cracks between the roughly quarried boulders was as soft as Einstein’s fur. Out to sea, two or three sailboats were visible along with a lone windsurfer.

  Was Mallu’s suicide note a confession or a hint about Teemu? I dug the paper out of my pocket, but no matter how many times I read the words, it never told me anything more. I can’t take it anymore. Armi’s death was my fault. Mallu. Had someone tried to stage Mallu’s suicide in hopes of covering his tracks? But who?

  I pressed my cheek against the bronze-colored stone with its blooms of lichen, and I thought. Facts streamed through my mind like the patterns of a kaleidoscope. The person with Sanna on the breakwater was tall and wore a black coat. Sanna’s lover. Valium. Herr Enemy from Sanna’s graduate thesis. A blond driver wearing Armi’s scarf. A strangler Armi must have known, or she wouldn’t have offered him a glass of juice. The group of men standing around talking about me at Risto’s birthday party. The warning voice on my telephone.