Deep as Death

by Katja Ivar

  “How? When?”

  I should have realized that Egg was about to con me. He never looked people in the eye unless he was lying to them. “Tell me that, at least,” I urged him.

  He threw a smooth glance at my wallet. I turned it over, letting the remaining five markka tumble to the floor.

  “OK,” he sighed, “but only because I haven’t done my good deed of the day yet. No one knows why Elena left. But here’s something that you might find interesting: your friend Inspector M went to see her this morning.”

  “And?”

  Egg winked at me. “And just after that, she vanished.”

  17

  Hella

  There was not much I could do after Egg shut his door on me. The city around me was sleeping, blanketed in heavy snow. If I tried to see Elena’s neighbours at this hour, they probably wouldn’t even open up. Even when you came as the police, lots of people were tight-lipped; a PI, in the middle of the night, badgering them about some prostitute? No way anyone would bother.

  I trudged back to my apartment, still reeling from the discovery that I had missed the mark. I hoped Anita was asleep already. But as I rounded the corner of my street, I saw the two windows on the fourth floor shining with electric light.

  When I finally hauled myself up the stairs, the door to my apartment was wide open. There were voices coming from my bedroom. I couldn’t hear what they were saying, but it sounded like an argument. I recognized Anita’s angry chattering. The other voice – male – sounded familiar too.

  “Anita?” I called out. “Is everything OK?”

  The voices stopped at once. A moment later, Anita’s tousled head peered out. “Hi! Thank God you’re back.”

  She stepped out of the room, followed by our late-night guest. It was Ranta, Anita’s cousin and my former colleague from the Ivalo police station. I owed him, so I stifled a curse and smiled instead, a strained smile that he didn’t reciprocate. I was wondering what he had been doing in my bedroom, and if I’d find some of my things missing when he was gone. With Ranta, there usually were.

  “I came to check up on the dumb blonde,” he said, “see if she’s doing OK, because you can’t really trust her to make the right decisions. Young girls like her fall in with the wrong crowd, or get themselves pregnant, and good luck dealing with the consequences.” For such a small, crooked, unprepossessing man, Ranta had an exceptionally beautiful opera-singer’s voice. He strolled towards me, his hands in his pockets. As usual, he smelled like a garbage bin. Must be his rotting teeth, or the things he ate, or both. I held my breath as he got closer.

  “So how are you, pariah?” he asked. “Bumbling along?”

  Pariah was what Ranta had used to call me in Ivalo, because, deep down, that’s what I was. Now it looked like the nickname had followed me to Helsinki.

  “She’s on a case,” Anita told him, arms folded across her chest. “She’s investigating a murder!”

  Ranta sneered. “Good for you. Then I’d better leave you to your detective work, Mauzer. I only hope you aren’t too busy to watch over her!” He almost stabbed Anita’s forehead with a dirty finger. “Otherwise, she’d need to come back and stay with me.”

  “No way,” Anita said, her voice rising. “You’ll spend your time spying on me, threatening —”

  I walked towards the front door. My intention was to indicate to Ranta that he was not welcome here. But when I opened the door, I discovered the school caretaker’s son standing on the landing, out of breath.

  “A call for you, Ms Mauzer.” He glanced at a slip of paper he was holding. “Mr Steve Collins. About a new case.”

  In the living room, Anita and Ranta were still screaming at each other. I stared at the boy, my heart beating too fast, then fumbled for some change before remembering I didn’t have any. Steve had probably left something behind, I thought, before checking myself. No, that couldn’t be it. Steve never called if it wasn’t serious. He wouldn’t have called about a forgotten sock.

  “Ms Mauzer?” the boy said tentatively, dancing from foot to foot.

  A call about a case was just an excuse, I decided. Steve wanted to come back. But I couldn’t talk to him right then, I needed to think about it first, on what conditions I’d take him back, and it was impossible to focus with all the noise. Besides, it looked like Ranta was about to break something.

  “I’ll call Mr Collins back,” I said to the boy, snapping my bag shut. “In ten minutes. Did he give you his number? I need to settle something here first.”

  The boy gave me the slip of paper with the number scribbled on it, then, after one last longing glance at my bag, ran down the stairs.

  As soon as the door clicked shut, I screamed: “Stop it!”

  “What?” Ranta was unfazed. “We’re just talking.” Still, he let go of the sobbing Anita and thrust his hands into his pockets.

  “No,” I said. “You were just leaving. Now!”

  I threw the door open again.

  “OK, OK, pariah!” Ranta mumbled. “I’m going.” Slowly, he picked up his coat and hat. I was hoping to see the last of him but he paused on the doorstep. “I know what you’re like when you follow a lead,” he said. “No snowflake left unturned. But that case you’re working on, you need to watch your step. Could be dangerous.”

  “Are you threatening me?”

  His tiny eyes skipped over my shoulder and settled on Anita, their expression hard to read. “No. It’s a warning.” He turned and started down the steps, leaving me standing there, wondering.

  “Ugh,” Anita said. “He probably doesn’t know anything, just wants to look important. Don’t pay him any attention.” She reached up and started pulling at the pins in her complicated hairdo, sending her blonde curls tumbling down her back. “Who was that at the door?”

  I hesitated. If Steve wanted to come back, I needed to get rid of Anita first. No way was I bringing him home if she was around. Steve was a good guy and he loved me, I was sure of that, but that girl… He’d just sit around, goggling like a moron. “It was a phone call from a new client,” I said at last. “They want me to find someone for them.”

  “Oh,” Anita said. “I thought it might be Steve. You were blushing when you talked to that boy.” She winked at me. “Are you going to call him back? Your new client?”

  “I’m going to do it right now.”

  The telephone was downstairs, in a booth that the school caretaker locked for the night; I had to knock on the boy’s window to get the key. He glared at me – I should have asked Anita for some spare change to pay him for his efforts – but gave it to me in the end. By that time, my heart was banging so loudly against my ribcage, I wondered if the boy could hear it.

  I dialled Steve’s number, twisting the cord around my finger while the phone rang. I thought I’d ask my friend Esteri if Anita could stay in her apartment for a while. I knew Esteri was going on a cruise with her granddaughter the following week, a tour of the Mediterranean, so her apartment was going to be empty for quite some time. And then —

  Steve picked up on the third ring. “Hello, Mauzer.”

  I hesitated. Steve didn’t sound lovestruck, but maybe he was playing it cool. I decided to match him. “Hello, yourself. What’s up?”

  There was a silence. Just as I started to wonder if I should invite him round, Steve said: “Actually, I’m sorry I bothered you. One of the guys I work with said he needed to hire a PI because he’s being blackmailed, so I thought I’d recommend you. But he just told me he changed his mind.”

  “Oh.” I didn’t believe him for a second, but then, I didn’t want to believe him. “And how’s everything with you? Your daughter?”

  “She’s fine. Completely fine. We all are.”

  “Well, in that case, I’d better go.”

  “Yeah,” Steve said. “Sorry if I woke you.”

  “That’s OK. I wasn’t sleeping.” But he had already hung up.

  I stayed in the telephone booth until the caretaker’s son los
t his patience. “Hey, Ms Mauzer,” the boy called. “Are you done? I need to lock up.”

  “Yes.”

  The staircase was in darkness. My apartment, too. That was why I didn’t see Anita until I was almost at the top of the stairs.

  “It was him,” I said. “My new client.” My voice faltered.

  “Sure.”

  She thrust a glass into my hands. Even without bringing it to my lips, I knew what it was. Vodka. Then Anita went into the bedroom and shut the door behind her.

  I downed the glass and then poured myself another one, but I still couldn’t sleep. Too many thoughts were running through my head, about the dead girl, and the fact that, at twenty-nine, I was officially older than the median age of the Finnish population. I also thought about my life back in Lapland, about Käärmelä and its log houses with their ornately carved windows, its ancient church, all of it now buried under three feet of snow. About my friends Irja and Timo and their adopted son Kalle, and my god-daughter Margarita, now two months old. How I longed to see them. I almost decided that I should move back to Lapland; the only thing stopping me was the realization I couldn’t trust Mustonen to do the right thing.

  At some point, I dozed off. When I opened my eyes again, grey shadows were dancing on the walls and my feet were frozen, but my mind was clear. I knew what I needed to do.

  18

  Chief Inspector Mustonen

  “How did it go yesterday?”

  Startled, I glanced at Jokela and then at the back of the man walking in front of us. Not someone I knew, but that didn’t mean a thing. I had no intention of telling my story in front of anyone.

  “Huh?” Jokela said again, who either didn’t realize we were within earshot, or didn’t care.

  I shook my head. “Later.”

  It was nine in the morning. I had bumped into Jokela in the lobby of Headquarters, and we were striding together towards the stairs. I was carrying an umbrella dripping with melted snow. Jokela’s hands were free and his coat dry: he had a car and a driver waiting for him every morning. I knew that I’d have a car too – I was going to ask for the white Studebaker – the moment I got Jokela’s job, but some days it seemed like an impossible dream. More likely than not, I thought, I’d go down in flames while my boss continued to rise.

  When we reached the third floor, I followed Jokela into his office, shutting the door behind us.

  “No problems at all with the girl,” I said. “She left Helsinki, by the way.”

  Jokela’s eyebrows shot up.

  “Oh? Did you” – he hesitated – “help her disappear in any way?”

  There were a lot of things I could have said. That I didn’t appreciate the insinuation. That I didn’t enjoy doing the dirty work. That I had a family to support and that Jokela’s shenanigans ran the risk of costing me my career. But, like it or not, Jokela was still my boss.

  “She’s gone,” I said. “That’s all you need to know. And the witness who saw the accident in the port has a bad case of amnesia.”

  Jokela brightened. “Good. Good job, old boy.”

  “There’s still a problem,” I said.

  “What?” Jokela was taking off his coat. He stopped mid-movement.

  “Mauzer. She’s snooping around. You sent the madam to see her, remember? It’s just a matter of time before she finds out about Ahti. If she hasn’t already.”

  Jokela looked at me scornfully. “She’s a woman, for Christ’s sake. You’re not afraid of a woman, are you?”

  “She’s good at what she does.”

  “Is she? Can’t say I’ve noticed. Anyway, she’d be easy to stop.”

  “You don’t expect me to threaten her, do you?” I said. “There are limits to what I would do to help your friends.”

  My boss frowned. He’d rather forget I was doing what I was doing at his request. “No,” Jokela said slowly. “Of course not. But I happen to know that she has a court-imposed fine to pay.” He shrugged. “There could be something in that. Think about it.”

  He reminded me of Sofia’s father. A smug, cynical, unfeeling bastard. He made me sick. Out loud, I said: “Right. But there’s another problem.”

  “Oh?”

  “One of the madam’s girls was attacked last night.”

  “Dead?”

  “No, she was lucky. A neighbour intervened and saved her.”

  “She see her attacker?”

  “She says no.”

  “So what makes you think —”

  “Remember when we recommended that Virtanen keep his boy locked up at home for his own good? Do you think he complied?”

  Jokela started rubbing his face. Even for him, this was getting to be a bit much.

  “No,” I said, when I realized Jokela wasn’t going to answer. “He didn’t. Your young protégé was spotted in Punavuori around the time of the attack. I don’t like this, Jon. I really don’t.”

  19

  Hella

  The morning was damp and cold – the thermometer indicated –10° Fahrenheit – and my sleep-deprived, hungover body spent it shivering uncontrollably. By noon, I knew as much as I was ever likely to find out. Maria’s suspected attacker was a boy called Ahti Virtanen, and his father was a very big fish in the ruling party pond. Rumour had it that Ahti was responsible for the prostitutes’ murders as well. The boy was young, just nineteen. Not that it wasn’t possible – after all, the world’s youngest multiple killer, Jesse Pomeroy, had been caught at fourteen. But I was not convinced yet.

  There were no witnesses; Elena had vanished without a trace. As to the man who had seen the accident in the port, he was refusing to talk. He’d probably been offered a lot of money, or threatened, or both. I went to the madam’s establishment, tried to arrange a meeting with her. A languid girl with her mouth full of chewing gum told me that the madam was busy. She’d contact me when she had the time. I scribbled a message, even though I was convinced that the girl would bin it as soon as I turned my back.

  To say that I was depressed when I got back to my apartment a little before one would have been an understatement. I was almost – but not quite – longing for the depressing tranquillity of the Ivalo police station, with its charts, quarterly reports and impeccable filing system. At least back then I’d had a job, and a landlady who liked to cook. Ever since coming to Helsinki, I had been trying to reproduce some of her recipes, but the results always fell short. And now I didn’t even have any money or coupons to buy food. A thorough search of the cupboard produced a packet of crackers and two raw onions. Better than nothing, I supposed.

  At 1 p.m. sharp I was downstairs, the bag of crackers in my hand, waiting for a phone call I had arranged that morning. It came right on time.

  I didn’t know where Anita was calling from, but she was panting.

  “There’s a file,” she said gleefully, “on Mustonen’s desk, marked Nellie Ritvanen. I caught a glimpse of it when I was talking to him this morning, but he locks his office door every time he goes out, so I couldn’t see what was inside.”

  “Don’t be too obvious about it,” I said. “You’ll get into trouble.”

  Anita’s voice was muffled. “I won’t.”

  “And it’s all right if you don’t get to see what’s in the file. I suppose the important thing is that he’s still working on it.”

  I could almost hear the triumphant smile in her voice. She didn’t want to believe that her new boss was a bastard who would threaten a poor girl and chase her out of the city, or worse. But I wasn’t so sure. In the past, Mustonen had been a good cop, diligent and smart, but even then his primary preoccupation had been his career. So no matter what I had just told Anita, the fact that he had a file on his desk didn’t mean a thing.

  “Anything else?” Anita asked.

  “Yes. Do you think we can ask Ranta to look up if there have been similar cases in other parts of the country? One of the people I talked to this morning told me Ahti’s family has a log cabin in Tuusula.”

  “
Really?” Anita said. “Ranta has a cabin near Tuusula too. But I don’t know. I was rather hoping not to talk to him unless it was absolutely necessary.”

  “It’s necessary. Just ask him to look into it, all right?”

  Anita sighed. “All right.”

  Come to think of it, her relationship with Ranta was weird. The man behaved like she belonged to him. I tried to imagine them together – Snow White and her favourite dwarf, Esmeralda and Quasimodo – but the image wouldn’t stick. Maybe he was in love with her. That, certainly, was possible.

  I fished in the bag for the last of the crackers. It was a little damp, so I held it up to the light, checking for mould.

  “Hella?” Anita’s voice quivered a little.

  “Huh?”

  “I was wondering if I could help you in a different way. Maybe I could pretend to be one of Klara Nylund’s girls. You know, catch the guy red-handed.”

  I almost dropped the cracker. “What?”

  “Well, I’m not proposing to actually, um, service the clients,” Anita said lamely. “I could just —”

  “Forget it.”

  “But Hella —”

  “I said forget it. That’s the stupidest idea I’ve ever heard.” My voice was unnecessarily harsh, but I was scared. I’d seen the photos of the dead girl – and Anita looked the type. I didn’t want her death on my conscience.

  “All right,” she mumbled miserably. I could almost hear her wince.

  “I’ll see you tonight,” I said, and put the receiver down.

  When I came out of the booth, the caretaker’s son was standing by the front door. Next to him was an officer from the court.

  “Miss Mauzer?”