In the morning, the sky was still gray. The three of us woke up slowly, since skating practice didn’t begin until ten. It was amazing that the club had managed to land such a good ice time for the small skaters, since the hockey teams usually took the best times.
Over coffee I listened to my messages. Koivu had left one saying that some reporter had tried to sneak into the hospital to take pictures of Tero Sulonen, and that one of the tabloids had a long piece about my murder investigation. Apparently the reporter thought it was turning into a catastrophe as the bodies piled up.
Paparazzi just didn’t care about rules. Bare breasts weren’t enough to sell papers anymore, so tabloids always featured stories on adultery or child pornography. Even the local papers were feeling the pressure of increasing competition and had started printing pictures of the bloody corpses of victims of bombings and natural disasters. I had to admit I would welcome any headline that could keep our investigation off the front page.
I buttered bread for the kids to take as a snack to practice. I was glad not to have to wake up Marjatta, since my subordinates seemed to be doing fine without me. For once I could focus on my kids—Iida was worried that she wouldn’t be home in time to see the entire women’s long program in the World Figure Skating Championships. She’d even made a small Finnish flag out of a piece of an old sheet, which she intended to wave for Susanna Pöykiö. Iida jabbered on about how much she loved all of our national team skaters, and it broke her heart that only one Finnish skater had qualified to represent Finland at the world championships.
“But next year we’re sure to get two places since Susanna is tenth after the short. Mom, could we go watch sometime?”
“Once you’re a little bigger and you can sit in an arena for hours on end,” I promised, even though I knew I’d have to answer for that promise later. Iida had an excellent memory for these kinds of things.
Suddenly the door opened. I was surprised—my mother-in-law usually rang the doorbell, and she wasn’t even supposed to come over today. But instead it was Antti.
“Oh, are you home already?”
The children rushed at their father. Taneli grabbed onto Antti’s long legs and Iida threw her arms around his waist.
“Did you fly?” I couldn’t quite bring myself to go kiss him. I wouldn’t fit between him and the kids anyway, I told myself.
“No, I took the first train. It left at five thirty. I’ve been up all night,” Antti said and leaned over the children so he could plant a kiss somewhere around my left ear. His breath smelled sour. “It was a fine party, but I missed home. Virve thought I should talk to you as soon as possible too.”
My hand, still holding the butter knife, froze. Now it’s happening. Antti is leaving me. Even though I’d had my suspicions, I’d never imagined anything this dramatic. My throat clenched, and my hand shook so violently that I smeared butter across the cutting board. Did Antti have to say it in front of the kids? I didn’t want them to see me cry, and I could tell that I was going to cry. I felt like I was going to vomit.
“I was talking to Virve and Jouni about our situation, and Virve said that I would be an idiot to not accept Mom’s offer. I finally saw the light, and we celebrated a bit, even though the party was really for Virve and Jouni’s engagement.”
“Engagement? Virve and . . . who’s Jouni?”
“Virve’s boyfriend. They’ve been together for years. I guess I sort of convinced them it was worth finally tying the knot. They’re planning a summer wedding. Virve actually asked if Iida would want to be a flower girl, since neither of them have any young relatives the right age.”
“Yes!” Iida squealed. I sat down on a kitchen chair. Contradictory thoughts and emotions tumbled through my brain, and I didn’t know whether I should laugh or cry. How did I think I was going to solve a crime if I suspected my own husband of infidelity for no reason?
“How have I never heard about this Jouni before?” I asked.
“Haven’t you? Well, I guess he travels a lot too, so that’s why Virve and I have spent so many evenings moping together. Of course, next they’ll start having babies, and then I’ll get to play babysitter in Vaasa instead of being with my own kids. Because I’m not going to leave this project hanging, even though the travel is a bear. But otherwise I’ll be a good little boy and do as Mother says, take the money and say thank you. Do you have time tomorrow to start looking at houses? Maybe we can find a nice little cramped row house, since I know that’s your favorite.”
Antti sat down next to me and wrapped his arms around me. I leaned against him and wondered whether I should tell him what I’d thought. I decided that I would someday, but not now. Now it was time to enjoy the warm feeling that slowly spread from my body to my mind as Antti first kissed my forehead. And then he kissed my lips.
17
I was sitting on the edge of the rink watching Iida attempt a single axel when my phone began to vibrate in my pocket. I recognized Arto Saarnio’s number. I stood up and walked out to the hallway to talk. My muscles were stiff, and I was frozen to the bone. During the two years of being a figure-skating mom, I still hadn’t gotten used to just how frigid empty ice arenas could be.
“Hello, Detective, this is Arto. Saarnio, I mean. Do you have any news about my wife’s death?”
“The investigation is ongoing. She died of cyanide poisoning, just like Lulu Nightingale. I’d like to ask you to keep that information confidential.”
“Could Riitta have found the bottle of poison used by Lulu Nightingale’s murderer and decided to use it on herself? Where else could she have gotten cyanide? And, I have to ask, isn’t cyanide poisoning a very painful death?”
“Yes, but also quick.” I heard the music change in the arena. Now the children were practicing to the soft rock strains of Antti Tuisku. Iida’s trainers had mostly ignored her requests for some real rock ’n’ roll. They did play Apocalyptica sometimes, because a lot of international-level skaters were using it in their competition programs.
“This may be a complete shot in the dark, but an acquaintance stopped by yesterday to pay his respects. Jaakko Aarnivuori—maybe you know him? He’s an old army buddy, now on the boards of Nokia and Nordea. He dropped some interesting hints about Ilari Länsimies.”
Jaakko Aarnivuori’s name stopped me short. It had been in Lulu’s customer records—apparently Aarnivuori liked being whipped. Ursula and Puupponen had laid bets on how much a tabloid would pay for that information.
“I’m desperate to believe that Riitta was not a murderer, so I may just be grasping at straws here. But I think you should hear this, although not over the phone. Are you at work?”
“No, I’m at the Matinkylä Ice Arena.”
“Can I meet you there? Someplace private? I wouldn’t want my children hearing what Jaakko told me.”
“I’ll be here for another hour. We can talk outside in your car. Call me when you’re in the parking lot, and I’ll come out.”
I was irritated to not have a voice recorder with me, but at least I had a notebook at the bottom of my purse. I hopped in place for a minute to get my blood flowing again, then I returned to the arena. Most of the other mothers were better equipped than me, wearing everything from expensive furs to full ski outfits. In addition to Antti, there were also a few other dads in the stands.
Iida’s group was currently practicing their pirouettes. Next would be Taneli’s turn on the ice, and Iida would head to the dressing room to cool down and stretch. I always got a kick out of watching the under-fives group, since many of the children barely knew how to walk properly, let alone skate. This time, however, I would have to put work ahead of my amusement.
When Arto Saarnio called, I told Antti I had to go. “But tomorrow we’ll go look at houses,” I promised.
Saarnio’s dark-blue CLS-series Mercedes waited at the back of the ice hall parking lot. Saarnio was standing outside of it, and when he saw me he waved. Because of its tinted windows, it was impossible to see insid
e, but I soon saw that out-looking visibility was impeccable. A ride like that would have been fantastic for stakeouts.
Saarnio opened the right rear door for me and then slid in next to me. The car wasn’t running but still felt warm after being in the freezing ice arena. Saarnio shook my hand as if we were beginning a business negotiation, then asked, “How much do you follow politics?”
“Pretty actively.”
“So you know that there are people in the country right now who are concerned about the direction we’re going in. They believe that Finland will become marginalized if we don’t take drastic action. Individual and business taxes have to be lowered significantly, it has to be easier to fire and hire, work needs to be more flexible, and the social support structures have to be dismantled. According to them, we simply don’t have the resources to maintain the welfare state we have now.”
I nodded. I’d heard these ideas before. Saarnio continued:
“In our foreign affairs, Finland has slid in the wrong direction. We have to join NATO immediately, and Finland’s position in the EU has to be strengthened through alliances with the right powers. That’s why we have to have a pro-NATO president come out of the next election.”
Saarnio suddenly glanced at my lap.
“You aren’t taping this, are you?”
“No.”
“Good. The fact that I’m telling you what I know goes against everything I’ve believed my entire life. But maybe it’s time to change my beliefs. So these people are looking for a presidential candidate. Paavo Lipponen would work for some of them, but he’s been ruled out because he’s from the same party as the current president. And they believe that, after twenty-four years of social democratic control, a Finland that focuses on the middle class needs a right-wing president. They want to keep Vanhanen as prime minister, and Aho isn’t going to risk losing again. The National Coalition doesn’t have anyone that can step into President Niinistö’s shoes, if he won’t do it. In the case of Ahtisaari, advancing a candidate without any current political alignment worked perfectly, so now they want to try the same thing. But now they have someone in mind who is much more familiar to the common man . . .”
“Ilari Länsimies?” I said.
Saarnio nodded.
“Ilari has experience in politics and diplomacy. Lately Surprise Guests had been focusing on foreign policy questions and legislative issues—like the prostitution debate. What I hear is that the possibility was put forward half in jest during a sauna discussion about how to undermine the current president’s popularity. Länsimies was positively inclined toward running, and gradually others have warmed to the idea. He performs well in public, and his wife also enjoys the spotlight. And there’s another perspective too,” Saarnio said, embarrassed. “The quote-unquote bitches have had their chance. There’s been a woman as president and as prime minister, and we’ve seen where that led. Now it’s time to return to a normal state of affairs.”
Now I understood why Kaartamo had been so enthusiastic to proclaim Riitta Saarnio or the Russian mafia guilty. He must have friends in high places, and they knew about these plans for Länsimies.
“But Länsimies also has another side. He gets caught up in things. He believes he can do anything and takes on too much. Riitta called him a narcissist. She called me that too, actually.” Saarnio grimaced. “Jaakko was worried that Länsimies was mixed up in Lulu Nightingale’s death. Lulu must have had clients who were involved in this project.”
Saarnio looked into my eyes, obviously expecting me to confirm his theory, but of course I did nothing of the sort.
“Jaakko told me this in private, and now I’m betraying that trust. They didn’t consider me an appropriate member of their little cabal, because I arouse too much ire in the average voter. I think I’m a bit too high up in the competition for most hated man in Finland.” Saarnio tried to smile, but it didn’t work. His lips moved, but the expression of his eyes didn’t change. “I’ve always thought I didn’t care. Dogs bark, but the caravan moves on. But that isn’t quite how it is.”
Saarnio leaned back. Even the back seats of the Mercedes had headrests, and they were covered in the same dark-gray leather as the rest of the car’s interior. Antti’s and my combined yearly income probably wasn’t enough to buy a car like this.
“But why would Länsimies have endangered this entire undertaking by knocking people off? If Lulu Nightingale was dangerous to him in some way, why kill her in a place that would connect the killing to him?” I said more to myself than to Arto Saarnio.
The overall picture was starting to take shape. Now the photoshopped picture of the president and Lulu we’d found made sense. Apparently Länsimies and his supporters had been preparing some truly dirty tricks. Had Lulu become difficult when she found out what her picture was being used for?
“Maybe he thought that the ends justified the means,” Saarnio said. “There are psychological studies that claim the worst psychopaths aren’t in the criminal underworld, they’re in the upper echelons of society. I was called a psychopath after the Copperwood layoffs. People said I didn’t know how to put myself in the shoes of those I was firing and that I only cared about the benefits to the shareholders. And maybe it looked that way, but I doubt my empathy would have been a help to anyone. Crying doesn’t make streamlining a business any easier.”
“Would Länsimies have any real chance of becoming president?”
“Popular opinion has changed before. Remember the last election? The previous fall, it looked like the president would be Riitta Uosukainen. People can be influenced if there’s enough money and media connections at play.”
I thought for a moment and then told Saarnio that I’d heard the same tip the day before. “Now I really believe it. Can you give me any more details?”
“What do you want to know?”
“As much as possible. I promise I won’t reveal my sources. I’ll be interviewing Länsimies today. Officer Honkanen and I will be meeting him at the airport. By the way, did you hire a private investigator to find Oksana?”
“No. It’s probably pointless, since I think she’s dead anyway. And my wife, the woman I loved for two-thirds of my life . . . I never stopped loving Riitta, even when she didn’t want me anymore. That was the worst thing about it. But I loved Oksana too. Can you love two people at the same time?”
Saarnio looked straight into my eyes again. Saarnio hadn’t really loved Oksana, he’d just been infatuated, but over the years I’d learned that there was no objective truth to be found in matters of the heart. There was no one right way to love. You just had to try to love, sometimes against all reason. I couldn’t give him the answer he wanted to hear, so instead I said, “Thank you for your assistance, Arto.”
Saarnio climbed out of the car, and he held the door open for me as I stepped out. We shook hands again, and Saarnio’s grip was firm and steady.
I returned to the ice arena feeling agitated and wondering whether I should call Koivu. No, it was best to see Länsimies first. I’d told Ursula that I’d pick her up at 3:45. My unmarked Saab would be a better fit for a run to the airport.
Taneli looked small out on the ice, and I was amazed at how fast he already dared to skate. After practice, both kids were hungry, and back at home they wolfed down the pasta and meat sauce I prepared for them. Antti called his mother and was on the phone for quite a while. Marjatta would be happy about his decision, and I’d get the glory even though he’d made it himself.
After lunch a text message came from Puustjärvi: Hi! There’s a few seconds of tape showing a man in a black coat and hat. He enters the mall from the theater side door and leaves the same way. His face is covered. That’s all I can do for now—I’m going home. Copies of the tape on your desk.
Puustjärvi had used up his Saturday too, but fortunately he’d finally found what we were looking for. Maybe I’d stop by the office to review the tape on the way back from the airport. That would still leave Saturday evening to spend with
the family. Maybe we could heat the sauna and play a game all together. I started dreaming about how, in our new house, we could have a real sauna instead of the cramped steam closet we had now. And a bathtub if possible. And a music room. Then I remembered that Söderholm’s police punk band would be practicing next Friday. Before then I’d need to really shake the rust off my fingers.
I did some chores around the house, even though my thoughts were stuck on Länsimies. Was he really reckless enough to kill people to achieve his goal? I could sort of understand the reason for Lulu’s murder, but what about the others? How could he have believed he wouldn’t get caught?
I went to watch the last two groups of the women’s long program on TV with Iida and Taneli. Iida waved her Finnish flag and almost burst with joy when Susanna Pöykiö got eighth place. After the competition ended, the television must have remained on, because when I was taking laundry into the kids’ room, I saw a black man rapping on the screen. Black people made up a tiny minority in Finland, and the children were spellbound by the music video. Was I a racist for hating the pimp fashion of so many of the rappers? The man on the video seemed to be selling half-naked women. Maybe rappers were advocating for racial equality, but this song didn’t seem to pay much attention to gender equality. I switched the TV off, despite the kids’ cries of protest, and instead played Uno with them.
I arrived at Ursula’s apartment ten minutes early, but fortunately she was ready to go. Like me she was dressed for business in a dark-blue pantsuit and pale-pink blouse. Her makeup was subdued. I wore my dark pinstripes. I’d always envied the simplicity of a man’s suit and tie. Not that Antti ever wore that outfit—he hated suits and only wore one under extreme duress. The last time he’d done so was at his father’s funeral.
The Nightingale Murder (The Maria Kallio Series Book 9) Page 27