Snow Woman (The Maria Kallio Series Book 4)

by Leena Lehtolainen

  We talked about Malmberg first. Hanninen was angry about what had happened, and I had heard from colleagues that he’d used some pretty strong language about the police in interviews. I wasn’t surprised, knowing he’d genuinely cared what happened to Malmberg, even if he’d unwittingly made the situation worse.

  “Markku was clearly a very disturbed individual,” said Hanninen now. “But do we have the right to just run in and kill people? Even someone like him? All those guns and helicopters . . . Anyone would have gone crazy from that level of intimidation. Not to mention someone with a death wish. What would the situation have been if Markku’s hostage hadn’t been a police officer?”

  “Well, maybe they would have rushed things less,” I agreed. “But really I wanted to talk to you about Niina Kuusinen. Do you mind if we move up to my office?”

  The coffee had given me heartburn, and being around Hanninen felt oppressive. He was permanently connected to Palo and Malmberg in my mind.

  “Theoretically professional ethics don’t allow me to discuss my patients,” Hanninen said once we were sitting in my office. “But maybe I can be a little flexible since you seem to be smarter than the average cop.”

  “You knew Elina Rosberg personally, didn’t you?” I asked.

  “I knew her really well at one point. We even dated for about a year while we were in college—twenty years ago now. I hadn’t thought about it until I heard Elina had died.”

  “I’ve heard rumors of a skirmish between the two of you involving the Psychological Association.”

  Hanninen’s eyebrows went up, and he shifted more comfortably in his chair, stretching his long legs in front of him and clasping his hands behind his head.

  “Is that what this is about?” he asked in amusement. “You don’t really want to talk about Niina; you want to talk about Elina and me. Are you short on suspects, Sergeant Kallio?”

  I didn’t answer. I stared back at Hanninen’s pleasantly wrinkled face, noticing that there were black circles around his eyes, as if he’d been awake for days.

  “I can tell you about Elina Rosberg if you want,” Hanninen said. “Isn’t part of police work doing profiles of suspects and victims? Elina thought she was always right. She looked at the world through a very narrow lens. Usually women are more open than men to new things like astrology. But not Elina. I’m sure she was a perfectly good therapist. I have no beef with that.”

  According to Hanninen, the conflict with the Psychological Association was more a matter of narrow-mindedness on the part of Elina and a few other psychologists than his use of questionable therapeutic methods. As a result of the dust up, KELA, Finland’s public health insurance agency, had reevaluated whether it would reimburse for the therapy Hanninen provided, and a couple of years ago it had removed him from their lists.

  Hanninen must have realized that I would discover the repercussions of his dispute with Elina if I asked the right person. Madman Malmberg had been one of Hanninen’s last state-covered therapy patients. He didn’t hide his pride as he related that Malmberg chose him as his therapist because he hadn’t seemed like a candy-ass.

  It was clear Kari Hanninen loved talking about himself. I wondered if he was as good a listener. He said that after the KELA decision, he’d increasingly focused on his work as an astrologer. People trusted him because he was also a trained psychologist.

  “Astrology unties knots,” he said. “It helps people see things in their lives that they wouldn’t recognize otherwise. I never tell people that the stars demand this or that, or that they don’t have any options.”

  “Why did you tell Malmberg the stars said it wasn’t his time to die yet?” I asked only because this idiotic comment had been bothering me since I’d heard it.

  “It was just a way to get Markku to calm down,” he said. “Even if it was meaningless. I wasn’t—”

  I didn’t want to rehash the hostage situation with Hanninen, so I rudely interrupted him and turned the conversation to Niina Kuusinen. “Kuusinen said she went into therapy after her mother died. I’m sure you can talk about that without breaking confidentiality.”

  “Niina was very attached to her mother. A typical Cancer. She lived a very sheltered life, the only child of a wealthy family and all that. Her mother wanted her to be a pianist, but Niina didn’t have the self-confidence. Because of Niina’s father’s work, the family lived in France for a long time. That’s probably why she felt a little rootless here.”

  “She studied at the Sibelius Academy?” I asked.

  “Yes. She graduated as a music teacher last spring. Hopefully she won’t have to work in a school. Giving private lessons is a much better fit for her.”

  I thought of how shy and jumpy Niina was and wondered whether she might have feelings for Kari Hanninen. And why did Niina really switch from Hanninen to Elina? Hanninen didn’t say anything about brief therapy. Was Niina dissatisfied with him?

  “Kuusinen told me that Elina’s death felt like her mother dying all over again. Could she have been projecting her feelings about her mother onto Elina?”

  Hanninen smiled at me in the way adults smile at children who ask silly but adorable questions. “Police psychology is so quaint! Elina wasn’t even old enough to be a mother figure to Niina. And she wasn’t the right type at all. Niina’s mother was the archetypal old-fashioned housewife, gentle and attentive. Of course it’s true that patients frequently project feelings onto their therapists. It’s actually part of the process.”

  “Did Niina Kuusinen need sedatives? Sleeping pills?” I asked.

  “That definitely crosses over the confidentiality line.”

  I knew I wasn’t going to get much more out of Hanninen if we started skirting the edges of patient privacy. “Why did Niina break off your therapy relationship and start seeing Elina?”

  Again the amused smile that implied Kari Hanninen didn’t think I was nearly as clever as I imagined. “Who told you she broke off our relationship? It just changed form. I still read Niina’s astrological charts, with her, actually, since she’s become so proficient. She does readings herself now to bring in a little extra cash. KELA paid for the psychotherapy she was getting from Elina . . . I’ve heard some criticism of late concerning Elina’s ultrafeminist approach to her group therapy and seminars. What is it they say about glass houses and casting stones?”

  “It sounds like you really hated Elina,” I said. “Did you send Niina Kuusinen to be her patient to spy on her?”

  Now Hanninen laughed out loud. “Don’t you wish! On the contrary, I thought Elina’s approach would be a perfect fit for Niina’s mother issues. But I see what you’re getting at. I’m sure you’ll be delighted to hear that I don’t have an alibi for the night of the twenty-sixth. I was home alone in my apartment.”

  I blushed and saw that Hanninen noticed, which bothered me. As usual, I’d gotten overly excited and run with an idea that was probably ludicrous.

  The department secretary knocked on the door. She had a report on Rosberga’s incoming and outbound calls over the Christmas holidays. I’d asked for it ages ago.

  I wanted to look the report over in peace, which meant getting rid of Kari Hanninen. But he just lounged in the chair across from me giving no indication of leaving.

  “What’s your sign, by the way, Sergeant Kallio?” he asked suddenly. I didn’t like the way he was eying me. “I would guess one of the dualistic signs. Gemini . . . No, maybe Pisces.”

  “Why is that significant?” The last thing I wanted was to admit to Hanninen that he was right. I really was those two fish eternally swimming in different directions.

  “I’d love to do a reading for you sometime. Free of charge of course. Just tell me your precise date and place of birth.”

  I smiled uneasily. What would it hurt? I didn’t believe in any of that nonsense anyway. Or maybe I did. Why else would I care if this man studied
my “celestial nature” or fate? Maybe I was just bothered by the idea that after reading my horoscope he would think he knew me. His teasing smile finally made me give in. I told him the place, time, and date of my birth. Maybe it would get rid of him.

  The strategy worked. He jumped out of the chair and said he’d get right to work and have my birth chart ready by the end of the week. I wondered whether he would bring it to me personally but didn’t ask.

  After Hanninen left, I tore into the phone LUDs. I already knew about most of the calls. Tarja Kivimäki had called her parents in Tuusniemi on Christmas Eve, and Niina Kuusinen had called to announce her arrival on Christmas Day. Joona Kirstilä called several times, from both Hämeenlinna and Helsinki, and his claim about the one o’clock phone call was accurate. But before that call was an absolute bombshell: why had Elina received a call at eleven from Leevi Säntti’s cell phone?

  12

  The rhythmic rocking of the train was a good cradle: I fell asleep within fifteen minutes of departure and didn’t wake up until morning, just a little before we arrived in Oulu. I barely had time to use the bathroom, wash my face, and throw on some makeup.

  The train swayed just as I was putting on my mascara, giving me a nice thick brown streak down my nose. It took some hard scrubbing to get it off because I’d forgotten to bring makeup remover with me. There was a reason I usually didn’t do my makeup until I had some coffee, but I’d have to wait until the Oulu railway station for that.

  Ten years had passed since I’d last been to Oulu, for a rock festival with some friends. I didn’t remember much of the city, but I knew the police station was close to the train depot. An officer there would accompany me out to Karhumaa, Johanna’s village. I’d made the request after learning Leevi Säntti had called Elina’s personal phone from his cell the night she died. I wanted to conduct an official interview.

  The coffee and cheese sandwich I got from the station café were tolerable and helped me clear my head before I found my way to the police station. The desk officer announced my arrival to Officer Rautamaa, and in a few moments a six-foot-tall blond woman about my age dressed in winter uniform coveralls marched over to me.

  “Hi, I’m Minna Rautamaa,” she said, shaking my hand. “Weren’t we at the police academy together for a while?”

  “Yeah, we were,” I said with surprise. “I think you left early to go on maternity leave. But your name wasn’t Rautamaa then, was it? That’s why I didn’t realize I knew someone here.”

  “My maiden name was Alatalo,” she said. “And that baby is already twelve, if you can believe it. Shall we go?”

  I remembered my disappointment when Minna Alatalo’s pregnancy had forced her to drop out of the academy. She was the only other woman in my class, and after she left I felt like an orphan.

  The sun hadn’t fully risen, and a frigid wind kept the city shivering. In many homes Christmas lights still burned even though Epiphany had already passed. Minna drove at a steady fifty-five as she told me about life as a cop and a mother of three. She had an application in for the NCO course. Now that her youngest was in school, she had more time for her career. I briefly related what I’d been doing since the academy and then moved on to explaining why we were meeting with Leevi Säntti.

  “The case was in Nuuksio, right?” Minna asked. “Isn’t that the same place where the hostage incident happened last week? Wasn’t the cop who died from your department?”

  “He was in my unit actually,” I said quickly and then turned back to the Elina Rosberg case. Minna cast me a brief glance but had the sense not to pry.

  “How old is Johanna Säntti?” Minna asked once I’d filled her in.

  “About thirty-three.”

  “She must be the same Johanna Yli-Koivisto who was in my class in high school. She was from Karhumaa and got married to a minister of some kind. I don’t really keep up with religious stuff, but Leevi Säntti’s name is familiar. I think he’s one of the main leaders of the Laestadians around here.”

  “So you knew Johanna in school! Tell me about her.”

  “She was quiet. A really good student who always had perfect grades and got crazy good scores on her college entrance exams. We didn’t run in the same circles though. The Laestadians kind of kept to themselves. I guess they weren’t allowed to spend time with us normals. But I do remember one thing about her. It was probably during our first year in high school. Johanna was pretty even though she tried not to show it by dressing in weird sack dresses and keeping her hair up in a bun all the time. But that didn’t—”

  A logging truck came toward us around a snow-covered curve, and Minna broke off to quickly do an evasive maneuver. The car slid for a while before she got it back under control.

  “Flippin’ heck. That guy was going at least fifteen over!” Minna huffed. “We should go after him, but I’m not really interested in rally racing in this snow.”

  “I hear you,” I said. “When I was younger I had the energy to jump on every little thing. So what was this about Johanna in school?”

  Minna told me about Jari Kinnunen, the class bad boy who had fallen for the beautiful, quiet Johanna Yli-Koivisto during their freshman year. Jari would try to talk to Johanna between classes and he sat next to her in the cafeteria. He even brought her chocolates and wrote her love songs.

  “Do you keep up with rock music?” asked Minna. “Have you heard of a band called Brain Drain? Jari’s their guitarist.”

  I did know Brain Drain. They played a fun brand of retro punk. I had assumed the band members were much younger than me.

  According to Minna, Jari was the last person Johanna would have gone out with. At first she seemed irritated by all the attention. But as the fall wore on, Johanna started to thaw. To everyone’s surprise, she showed up at a Christmas party at Minna’s house, even though her brother made it clear she couldn’t stay long and he would pick her up by ten.

  At school that day, Jari had bragged to his friends that he would finally wake his Sleeping Beauty that night. And that’s exactly what happened. When Johanna’s brother came to pick her up, she wasn’t in the living room, where the rest of the class was chatting and getting drunk.

  “He found them kissing in my little brother’s room, surrounded by all his car tracks and hockey sticks and stuff. Just kissing, mind you. Completely innocent. But Johanna’s brother totally flipped out. First he hit Jari and then Johanna, and the language he used . . . I didn’t think religious people knew swear words like that. In the middle of it, he yelled something about Johanna whoring again. Then he dragged her out to the car. Jari wanted to go after them, but the rest of us convinced him that fighting her brother would just make things worse for her.

  “The next Monday at school, Johanna was quiet and didn’t say a word about what had happened. She wouldn’t talk to Jari at all. The last class of the day was gym, and although Johanna tried to hide in the corner of the dressing room, the other girls saw that she was covered in bruises.

  “In hindsight we should have done something.” Minna sighed. “But we were so used to the religious kids living their own lives, we thought it was best to leave her alone. Then in the spring Jari quit school anyway because he got a spot in a touring tango band. Johanna didn’t participate in prom or our graduation ceremony, and when she came for our college English test, she was wearing an engagement ring. I think she wanted to go to medical school, but instead she got married.”

  We had arrived in the town of Ii, where the road turned east along the Ii River toward Karhumaa and Yli-Ii. In the summer the riverside road would probably be a fun bike ride. Gradually the sun began climbing in the sky. Its slanted rays made the snow sparkle in a kaleidoscope of colors. I looked out at the landscape rather than the road until a wave of nausea hit me so hard that I had to ask Minna to stop the car so I could open the door and puke.

  Of course Minna guessed immediately that I was pregna
nt. With the experience of a mother of three she began sharing nausea prevention tips. I looked for a service station where I could stop to rinse my mouth before we arrived in Karhumaa, but there weren’t any. In the end I asked Minna to stop again about half a mile outside the village. I filled my mouth with snow from the side of the road and waited for it to melt. Just like when I was a kid, at first it tasted fresh and clean, and then oily and gritty.

  The village was small and had only one main road. Our directions were good, and we easily found the Säntti home about a mile past the center of the village, right along the river. Evidently the lot had been lopped off from the land belonging to the farmhouse farther along the bank. The Säntti home, like all of the houses in the village, looked spacious, as if every builder had been preparing for a family of twelve, but it was more attractive than the others: a white brick rambler that had to be more than three thousand square feet. In the driveway stood a classy dark-gray Volvo sedan and a minibus of the same make. Of course a minibus was the only kind of vehicle the Säntti brood could fit in. Cross-country skis and kick sleds stood in the yard in a row. The frilly curtains in the windows looked as if they had been cleaned yesterday. Contrary to my expectations, the house didn’t look the slightest bit dreary. The man who opened the door and stood waiting for us was different from what I expected too.

  Although Leevi Säntti’s voice on the phone had been controlled and pleasant, I had still imagined a short, round man with his greasy hair parted down the middle, 1960s-style glasses, and high-water pants.

  In reality Leevi Säntti was six feet tall with broad shoulders and short, neatly groomed brown hair that had definitely seen some styling product. His facial features were pleasant, and he was wearing dark-blue corduroys and a casual blue-and-brown mottled sweater over a light-blue striped dress shirt. He didn’t look a day older than his age of forty-one.

  He invited us into a roomy entryway with a handsome row of cabinets. From farther inside the house came the sounds of small children. Suddenly a three-foot-tall, towheaded little girl appeared at the end of the hall, pointed at me, and, proud of her newfound skill, said, “Auntie. Auntie.”