“The sergeant returns. Did you come to look for Elina’s body?” she asked derisively.
Aira recoiled at Milla’s words, as did I, but when I looked closely at Milla, I thought I detected genuine concern.
“Hopefully not,” I said, stepping past Milla into the entryway. Muffled piano music was coming from somewhere. It was the same Satie piece Antti sometimes practiced for fun.
“Let’s go have a look at Elina’s room. Then maybe you’ll understand my concern.” Aira gestured toward the door leading to the kitchen.
“The estate’s rooms are divided so the right side of the downstairs is public space, the dining room, lecture hall, and library. The kitchen is here in the middle, next to the stairs. Upstairs are the guest rooms where we house course participants. Our rooms are on the other side of the kitchen.”
“How many can stay here at one time?”
“Around twenty women. We have eight bedrooms upstairs. Our rooms are here,” Aira said, opening a narrow blue door to the left of the kitchen. “This is my room.”
The room gave the impression of old-fashioned servants’ quarters. The furnishings were spare and plain: a bed, a desk, and a loveseat with a small television facing it on a bookshelf. A second door led directly into the kitchen. Above the bed hung a print of a guardian angel helping a little girl and boy over a bridge. Aira closed the door.
“And these are Elina’s rooms. Although we both use the parlor.” Aira motioned me into the next room, and I swallowed a gasp of surprise. Appointed with romantic flower motifs, lace curtains, and little tables with doilies, the room fit with the pink manor, but I had a hard time connecting it to my picture of Elina Rosberg. I had imagined her room decorated cleanly, full of Artek or Kukkapuro design pieces. Aira must have noticed my confused expression.
“This was my mother’s room—Elina’s grandmother. Mother lived out her last decades here because she couldn’t climb the stairs anymore. And she also liked the view.”
I glanced out the large window, but all I could make out were silhouettes in the darkness. On this side of the house, the ground fell away and the walls surrounding the manor were low enough not to block the view down into the valley. I imagined that the white open space dimly visible in the distance was Lake Pitkäjärvi.
“Elina wanted to preserve this room the way it was. The bedroom is more her own style though.”
Aira opened the room’s other door. I stepped into the bedroom, which also didn’t match my expectations. Although the furniture was modern and simple, the color palette was too bright: red, yellow, and light blue. A double bed dominated the room. The bedspread had been turned down, but no one had slept in the bed since it was last made. Next to the window was an uncomfortable-looking armchair with a triangular ottoman. On the desk was a computer, and on the bookshelf next to it was a collection of psychiatry books. Carefully laid out on the chair in front of the desk were violet corduroy pants, a white blouse, and a sweater in a smoky shade of gray.
“She wore those clothes the day before yesterday, but she usually wears the same ones several days in a row unless they’re dirty. And if she left those clothes on the chair instead of putting them in the dirty hamper, then . . .” Aira went silent. “She kept her nightgown on her pillow, but there’s nothing here. Her robe is usually in the bathroom, but I can’t find it,” Aira said finally.
“Are her winter coat and boots here?”
“She keeps them in the side entry so they won’t get mixed up with course participants’. Follow me.”
Aira went back into the entry and from there to a side entrance that led from the kitchen to the backyard. A collection of women’s coats hung on a row of hooks.
“These are mine,” Aira said, pointing to an old-fashioned Persian lamb coat and a dark-blue, hip-length blazer. The shearling coat I’d seen Elina wearing hung next to them, as did a shorter purple quilted jacket that was more appropriate for taking a walk. A smart dark-gray Ulster coat was carefully hung on a wooden hanger.
“Elina doesn’t have any winter coats besides these. And all her shoes are here too. Winter boots, rubber boots, and hiking shoes.”
“Could she have borrowed something from one of the other women?”
“You’d have to ask them. No one has mentioned anything missing. But let’s go back to Elina’s room. The most important sign that things aren’t right is in her bathroom.”
The bathroom attached to Elina’s bedroom had been carefully restored. There was a claw-foot bathtub and a toilet with a wooden lid. A small dressing table full of bottles and tins also fit into the room. On the wall hung an electric toothbrush.
“Elina takes very good care of her face, but all of her cleansing gels and creams are here.”
I carefully examined the expensive skin care products.
“Couldn’t she have used travel sizes? A lot of brands offer those. And it’s easy enough to buy new bottles of whatever you forget.”
“But she wouldn’t have left her antibiotics! Elina had an upper respiratory infection, and she only started her course of medicine the day before yesterday. She had a bad cough and almost lost her voice. The bottle is right here, look!”
On the edge of the dressing table was a small white plastic bottle that said “Erasis 400 Mg.” The label instructed Elina Rosberg to take one pill three times a day for ten days. I opened the bottle, which still contained a few dozen tablets.
“Strange. But she could get more of these too. Elina must know a lot of doctors.”
Although Aira seemed very sure that there was something suspicious about Elina’s disappearance and clearly wanted us to open an official investigation, I had the feeling she wasn’t telling me everything she knew.
“When did you last see Elina?”
“On Boxing Day, around ten o’clock that night. She was just coming in from a walk. I thought she was foolish to go out in the cold when she was sick, but she said she wanted some time alone. I made her a cup of tea afterward, and she took it to her room. She seemed perfectly normal other than being tired because her cough had been keeping her up at night. There was no sign that she was going out again.”
“Was she alone on her walk?”
Aira seemed to consider this. “I think she was with Joona, but I can’t be sure. She never asks him in when they meet. We don’t allow men here at Rosberga, as you know.”
“Where do they meet then?”
Although Elina’s ban on allowing even her own boyfriend onto the grounds seemed logical, I was certain it caused them a number of practical difficulties.
“Usually at Joona’s apartment.” Aira’s voice betrayed her disapproval of Elina’s relationship with Joona Kirstilä. “And in the little house.”
“Little house? What’s that?”
“The old sauna building on the west side of the estate,” Aira said a little uneasily. “Elina had a power line run out to it a few years ago. I think she meets Joona there sometimes, even though theoretically no men are allowed inside the walls at all.”
“I’d like to see that. But let’s continue here. You’re sure you didn’t hear Elina go out again?”
Aira looked embarrassed, even guilty. “I’d been sleeping poorly too because of Elina’s coughing. I took a sleeping pill and put in earplugs. I didn’t wake up until nine o’clock when Niina started clattering around in the kitchen making breakfast.”
I asked to interview the other women on the premises. Hopefully someone would be able to tell me more. Aira said that Tarja Kivimäki, Elina’s friend, had already left the estate for Tapiola because this was a workday for her.
Tarja Kivimäki . . . Where did I know that name from?
“I hear Niina playing piano in the library,” Aira said. “Would you like to speak with her?”
Aira led me through the dining room, and I asked her whether Johanna had contacted the lawyer I�
��d mentioned on my first visit. I’d remembered to call the police in Johanna’s home county that morning too, but unfortunately nothing had come of it: I didn’t know anyone in the department there.
“Johanna has been terribly depressed,” Aira said. “Spending Christmas away from her children . . . I know Elina spoke with a lawyer, but I think she’s mostly been focused on helping Johanna cope with her guilt.”
“Guilt? Over the abortion?”
“And leaving the children.”
We went into the library, where a Chopin etude was being played furiously. The pianist was obviously good. Antti wasn’t a beginner by any means, yet he never made it through the piece’s tricky middle passages that well.
The young woman playing the piano was so engrossed in her music that she didn’t notice our arrival. At first I could only see her back. Her straight brown hair extended to her waist and swayed with the rhythm of the music. A blue-and-white-striped shirt covered her slender back, and she was wearing jeans and combat boots. From the rear, Niina Kuusinen looked almost like a teenager, somehow too delicate and frail for the dark tones of the room. With its heavy furniture and walls of books, the 1920s feel of the space was broken only by the television in one corner.
“Niina!” Aira said loudly when the etude ended. “This is Sergeant Kallio from the Espoo Police. She’d like to ask you some questions.”
Niina turned on the piano stool so quickly that her sheet music flew to the floor and the piano lid banged shut. From the front, she seemed older than from the back. Her startled almond-shaped eyes and small mouth did seem childlike, but her nose was long and narrow, giving her otherwise doll-like face an adult appearance. I guessed Niina was around twenty-four.
“Have you heard anything new from Elina?” Niina asked anxiously. Her long fingers, which were adorned with several silver Kalevala rings, nervously twisted the tips of her hair.
“No. That’s why I wanted to chat. But this isn’t a formal interview. When did you see her last?”
“At dinner on Boxing Day . . . around eight o’clock. When the rest of us came in here to watch a movie on TV, Elina insisted on going for a walk. After that, I didn’t see her again.”
Niina looked distressed, and she turned her eyes away from me as if to block out the possibility that something had happened to Elina. I imagined that as a police officer I represented a threat because law enforcement didn’t generally intervene in people’s lives when things were peaceful.
“You must have known Elina well since you were here for Christmas?”
Niina flinched, and I realized I’d used the past tense in referring to Elina. I didn’t correct myself though.
“Well, not really. I attended a couple of her courses, and I started therapy with her at the beginning of the month. I didn’t have anyone else to spend Christmas with. My mom is dead, my dad lives in France, and I don’t have any siblings.” Her voice trembled.
“Do you have any idea where Elina might have gone?”
“I tried looking at her chart, but I couldn’t quite make anything out,” said Niina.
“Chart, what chart?”
“Astrology chart. There are pretty strong influences from Saturn and Pluto, which would indicate self-destructiveness. And conflict with someone close to her, like a family member . . .” Niina glanced quickly at Aira.
Every once in a while during tricky cases we got calls at the station from astrologers, fortune-tellers, and clairvoyants offering to help. I always refused to take them seriously, and if the call reached me, I ended the conversation as quickly as possible with a few deprecating remarks. I didn’t actually know anything about astrology other than that my sign was Pisces, which meant I was supposed to be sensitive, emotional, changeable, and creative. Although newspaper horoscopes were amusing to read, I had a hard time seeing myself in them. Most of my boyfriends, including Antti, had been the same sign—Sagittarius. Perhaps that meant something after all?
I asked Niina for her contact information in case I needed to ask any follow-up questions. She didn’t know how much longer she’d be staying at Rosberga but gave me her address and phone number. I thought I detected relief in her expression when we left the library in search of the other women.
Milla was sitting in the lecture hall playing computer solitaire. Black and red cards swarmed on the screen, bouncing on top of each other as the mouse clicked furiously. I was glad my work computer didn’t have any games. I definitely would have turned into an addict. When I addressed Milla, she lifted her eyes from the screen in irritation and then shut down the machine with a sigh.
“Is it time for the third degree already? And I can’t even fucking smoke in here!” Milla sounded surprisingly similar to my colleague Ström—although both definitely would have taken umbrage at the comparison. Amused by this observation, I found myself softening toward her.
“You don’t have to answer my questions. This isn’t a formal interview. But if you liked Elina enough to want to spend Christmas with her, I’m sure you’ll want to help find her.”
“Blah, blah, blah! I don’t know anything about Elina. I wasn’t even here the night before last,” said Milla.
Aira seemed surprised. “Where were you then? There isn’t any way out of here at night.”
“No shit!” replied Milla. “I slogged through the snow and goddamn freezing cold to the road and hitched a ride into the city. I caught the first bus back in the morning. Everyone was still asleep except Johanna. I saw her in the hall, but she’s so afraid of me she didn’t dare ask where I’d been.”
Milla’s look was a challenge. Her eye makeup was, if possible, even thicker and blacker than the first time I’d seen her, and her lips were orange.
“What the hell are you staring at? I can leave, can’t I? This isn’t a prison camp.”
“Why did you want to go to Helsinki?” Aira’s voice was like a boarding school headmistress’s interrogating a problem child.
“I was starting to miss men and booze. And speaking of men, I did see Elina as I was wading toward the road. She was walking down the hill with that poet boyfriend of hers.”
“At what time? What was Elina wearing?” I asked.
“I guess it was sometime after nine. I wasn’t really paying attention.”
“And you didn’t come back until the next morning?”
“Yep. I was at this guy’s apartment in Kulosaari. I didn’t ask his name, but if I really tried, I might be able to remember where he lives. He wasn’t the kind of guy you’d want to have your morning coffee with, but he had money.”
“Nothing’s happened here that anyone needs an alibi for yet. But where can I get hold of you if we find a reason to follow up?” I said.
“I’m supposed to be at work tonight. Fanny Hill on Helsinginkatu. We put on a nice show. You should come watch. I live right next to the club on the corner.”
Milla added, “I can guess what happened to Elina though. She was going to dump her poet boy, and he couldn’t take it, so he lured her over to his place and then killed her and himself. Probably thought that would put him in the history books with all the other great poets. A little like Sid Vicious, you know?”
From the look on Aira’s face, the punk legend’s name was a total mystery to her, but Milla’s theory almost made me laugh.
“As far as we know, Joona Kirstilä is still alive. Where is Johanna, by the way?” I asked.
Aira was quiet for a second and then asked that I not interview Johanna quite yet, adding that she was sure Johanna hadn’t seen Elina after Boxing Day. I agreed, recalling how fragile Johanna had seemed the first time I met her. It would be kinder not to confront her unless I had a reason to.
But there were still two people I needed to find who might know something about Elina’s whereabouts. Tarja Kivimäki was the last of the women who had been at the house, and Aira had given me her phone
number and address in Tapiola. I’d also have to track down the boyfriend. Aira had called him yesterday, but having a chat with him myself might prove more productive.
The old wooden sauna building was a grayish-rose color. It seemed to crouch near the wall to the west of the manor. Aira had said the key would be in the door. Aira had already been out to check it, so I didn’t expect to find Elina there—but maybe there was something else.
The air inside was rank with stale cigarette smoke. Maybe Milla had been coming here to escape the cold while she smoked. Inside, the dressing room was perhaps sixty degrees, but the sauna proper was only a few degrees above freezing. Apparently only part of the building had been wired for electricity. The furnishing was sparse, just a single chair and a small, cloth-covered table with an empty flower vase, a couple of wine glasses, and a half-full ashtray. There were also a narrow bed with just enough space that two lovers could manage to sleep the odd night away, a washed-out blue terry cloth bathrobe and a few towels hung over the chair, and in the drawers under the table I found a couple of toothbrushes, a tube of face cream, and an unopened bottle of red wine. The bed was clumsily made. I peeked under the blanket and found a single black hair on one of the pillows.
Maybe along with smoking here, Milla used the space to take naps.
After my brief inspection of the sauna, I returned to Elina’s room, where I looked at the calendar on her desk. The only meeting for next week was an entry marked “RFT,” which had been crossed out. I had heard of radical feminist therapy, but I didn’t really know what it entailed. I wondered whether to take the calendar and address book with me, but decided to leave them. Elina might return at any moment, and then this whole thing would seem like an embarrassing overreaction.
The dark road back to the highway was slick. The temperature had risen again. I decided to call the station from the car and ask someone to check the passenger lists for any flights or ships that had left the county, although the idea of Elina taking a sudden trip still didn’t seem very plausible. I thought of the old police rule of thumb: the longer a person was missing, the more unlikely it was they would be found alive.
Snow Woman (The Maria Kallio Series Book 4) Page 4