Deep as Death

by Katja Ivar

  After discussing the case during our morning briefing – Arne spent that time helping Tarja water the plants – Inspector Pinchus summed up the situation: “Either it’s random, or it’s not. In either case, God help us.”

  “There’s also Anita’s attacker,” I said. “The brothel is only a stone’s throw away from where she ran into me. Inspector Pinchus, would you look into that?”

  Pinchus rolled his eyes. “Just a coincidence. Some drunk. We’ll never find him.”

  “I strongly suggest you try,” I said through clenched teeth. Some days, I felt like nothing ever got done unless I insisted. And even then, it was not done properly.

  “All right,” Pinchus glared.

  Jokela glanced at his watch, started drumming his fingers on the table. He had a lunch appointment with Dr Palmu, and he was afraid he’d be late. Pinchus got the hint and started to get up, but just then I surprised them by saying that it would be a good idea to involve Interpol.

  “They’ve been asking for a sample file from us,” I said. “This could be it. We’ll provide them with what we have on Nellie and now Klara Nylund. Maybe they’ll be able to come up with something useful.”

  Jokela drew on his cigarette; his nostrils flared. “Are you sure,” he said, looking at me, “that this is a good idea? What if the case is never solved? What would they think of us?”

  I had hesitated for a long time before making the suggestion; I was not going to back off now. “I hope the case will be solved,” I said. “To everyone’s satisfaction. And anyway, this is not about our egos. In a situation like this, where we may be dealing with a mass murderer, we need all the help we can get.”

  Jokela glared at Pinchus, who had been following this conversation with an amused expression on his long, emaciated face. If Pinchus hadn’t been there to witness the exchange, Jokela would have vetoed the suggestion, but now he couldn’t do so without raising suspicion. In the end, Jokela gave a reluctant nod. “If you must,” he said. “But bear in mind your priorities.”

  “The priority,” I told Pinchus as we left Jokela’s office, “is to locate the madam’s little black book. All the girls know of its existence; none have been able to say where it is now.” As for me, I had a pretty good idea of its current location – Mauzer must have got hold of it somehow – but no idea how to retrieve it.

  “What if it was just a random attack?” Pinchus said, hunching forward like a heron. “We’d never get to the bottom of it. Unless, of course, we got lucky.”

  Thinking of luck, and by extension lucky escapes, made me realize that I still hadn’t spoken to Anita about what had happened two days before. It was my responsibility as Jokela’s deputy to make sure my officers were safe.

  “Anita!” I called out. “Could you please come over?”

  She stood up, smoothing her skirt. That girl looked like a ripe piece of fruit, a peach or an apricot; she made you think of summertime, of fancy cocktails and flimsy silk dresses.

  I closed the door of my office behind her, offered her a cigarette.

  “Thank you.” She took one and smiled at me. “Arne is a lovely little boy.”

  “My wife and I hope our second child will be just like him,” I said in a carefully controlled voice. I sat down behind my desk and faced her. “Anita, I need to talk to you about the other night. When you bumped into Jon and me in front of the bar.”

  “Yes?”

  “Did Miss Mauzer ask you to help out with her investigation?”

  “No,” Anita said, startled. “No, she didn’t. It was my idea. I didn’t realize it could be so dangerous, I really thought that —”

  I leaned forward. “Anita, are you telling me the truth?” The girl nodded energetically, the cigarette swaying between her long fingers; I held up my hand to stop her. “You must realize that Miss Mauzer is not like us. She is … impulsive. She doesn’t follow basic safety procedures. I don’t know whether she told you, but that was the reason she got expelled from the Helsinki homicide squad in the first place. Because she created a dangerous situation and one of the persons involved lost his life.”

  I let that sink in. “Now, Anita, you certainly understand that we don’t want to lose you. So be friends with Miss Mauzer all you like but please, please be careful. Don’t put yourself in danger. It’s not worth it.”

  “Of course,” Anita murmured, stubbing out her cigarette. She was blushing. “Of course. It was stupid of me to do what I did. I’ll be careful from now on.”

  There was a knock on my door and Tarja stuck her head inside. “Are you busy, Chief Inspector? I have a person here from the Port Authority who says you called for him, and another visitor” – Tarja paused, dropping her voice to a whisper – “Miss Hella Mauzer.”

  “Speak of the Devil,” I smiled. “But can you please ask Miss Mauzer to wait? I need to see the representative of the Port Authority first.”

  33

  Hella

  Tarja had colourless hair plaited in a ring loaf and dreamy wet eyes that looked with doting approval on everything and everyone except me.

  “Are you enjoying yourself, Miss Mauzer?” she asked as we stood together in the reception area waiting for Mustonen. “Doing a man’s work, being on your own?”

  “Thank you, Tarja. Never been better. I know you lamented my departure.”

  The secretary pursed her lips and I pointed at Anita, waltzing out of Mustonen’s office down the corridor. “Aren’t you happy seeing another bright young woman joining the squad?”

  “She’s not the same,” Tarja said, her pale eyebrows knitted in annoyance. “Anita knows her place, knows she can never replace a man. You are the only one who seems to think you’re worth as much as any male officer.”

  Or maybe Anita’s just better at fooling you, I thought. Because she knows the sort of person you are. Of all the woman-haters on the squad, Tarja, the only woman besides me, was also the most dangerous. As she turned and left without so much as a backward glance, I waved for Anita to join me.

  My roommate looked different here: pulled together, sharp. In a moving picture, cast in the role of a promising young officer, a sole woman among weathered detectives, she would have been convincing. “What are you doing here?” she whispered.

  I showed her the little parcel I was carrying. “First of all, I wanted to say sorry for yelling at you yesterday. And also, I brought the madam’s little black book.”

  “You changed your mind?”

  “Elena is alive and kicking. Apart from a highly suspicious potential client who showed up this morning promising heaps of gold, I have no reason to believe Mustonen is tampering with the investigation. So here I am. Being a good citizen.”

  Anita brought her platinum ponytail forward and started twisting it around her index finger. “I think you were wrong to suspect Mustonen. You know who the man in his office is?”

  “No.”

  “Someone from the Port Authority. Mustonen is requesting their assistance to trawl the seabed. He’s hoping to find evidence.” Anita looked away, frowning. “Or maybe other drowned girls.”

  “Did he look into Ahti’s alibi?”

  “I suppose so,” Anita said scathingly. “Just out of curiosity, is there some personal reason why you resent Mustonen as much as you do? Are you jealous of what he’s become?”

  “No!” I said, but the tips of my ears started to burn with shame when I realized that was what everybody would think. “I just want to be sure he’s doing all that is necessary.”

  “OK,” Anita sighed. “You still don’t trust him, do you? I’ll try to find out about Virtanen’s alibi.”

  The words rushed out before I had time to check myself. “No! You should be careful.”

  “Be careful? That’s funny,” Anita said, though she didn’t smile. “He said the same thing about you.”

  Ten minutes later, the Port Authority representative left and Tarja came to fetch me from the waiting area. A little blonde boy was clinging to her skirt.

>   “That’s the chief inspector’s eldest,” she said by way of an explanation. They both watched me as I made my way towards Mustonen’s office.

  The air in the room was grey with smoke. In a heartbeat, I was thrown back in time. Nothing had changed; I could close my eyes and still know that the umbrella stand leaned to one side, that the desk lamp’s green shade was chipped, that the wall to the left of me displayed two pictures painted by Mustonen: a snowy landscape featuring an ice-frosted lake, and a horse drawing a sleigh piled high with wood. But I knew it was just an illusion. Here, too, time had not stood still.

  “I didn’t know you had a child,” I said. “Congratulations.”

  Mustonen was standing in front of the open window. He turned to face me as I came in. “Thank you. The second one is due soon.” He nodded towards the little parcel I was holding. “Is that what I think it is?”

  I started to unwrap it. “Klara Nylund’s little black book. All yours now.”

  He didn’t look at it. He looked at me instead, his expression benign and inscrutable. “Anything interesting in it?”

  “I wouldn’t know.”

  “Stop it, Mauzer!” Suddenly, Mustonen was leaning on his desk, his face mere inches from mine. He looked paler than before, dark shadows under his eyes, his hairline receding ever so slightly, but otherwise it was the same man: handsome and fit and ruthless. “Don’t you play games with me! This thing is evidence you stole from a crime scene. You could go to jail for that.”

  “Then prove it! She gave it to me herself. And there’s one more thing.” I took a breath, willing myself to remain steady, to keep staring into those cold blue eyes. “The so-called client you sent me this morning. Do you think I’m stupid?”

  Mustonen was the first to back off. I could practically see the tension seeping from his shoulders. “What client?” he said.

  “As if you don’t know.”

  He sat down, rubbing his face with both hands. “Trust me, Hella, I don’t. On the life of my son, I didn’t send you anyone. Who did the client say sent him? You must have asked.”

  “He said it was you.”

  “Then,” said Mustonen, and there was a dark look on his face, “he lied. I’ll ask around, try to find out who that might be.” He picked up the madam’s book, slid it into an envelope. “You have to believe me, Hella, I’m just trying to do my job. And it’s not always easy.”

  “What about the Port Authority?” I asked. “Are they helping you?”

  He looked me in the eye. “The weather is too turbulent, apparently. Storm alerts. But as soon as it’s possible, yes, they’ll start trawling.”

  “All right.” I got to my feet. “Thank you for the information. If you need anything, you know where to find me.”

  “I do.” Mustonen hesitated. “And … be careful, Hella, OK? The police are not ready to charge anyone – yet – but we’re dealing with an extremely deranged person here. You watch your step.”

  34

  Hella

  The court’s letter was on the windowsill, where I had put it the previous day. I had circled the deadline for payment in red ink: Thursday, 5 March. There was no mention of what would happen to me if I didn’t pay on time. Maybe it won’t be so terrible, I thought as I took down the letter and dropped it into the wastepaper basket. Maybe they’ll forget about me for a while. Part of me, the part that specialized in wishful thinking and which had grown out of proportion following my affair with Steve, almost managed to make it sound plausible.

  I pushed the thought away and tried to concentrate on the task at hand. My visit to Mustonen had left me plagued by shame. Before my conversation with Elena, I had seen him as the evil spirit at the heart of this mystery, as the opposite of what a police officer should be. Turned out I was wrong. The man I had accused of pulling strings was playing a dangerous game, but deep down he was still an efficient and diligent police officer and perhaps even a decent human being.

  But then again, that shouldn’t have come as a surprise, and this was what bothered me most.

  It was hard to believe it now, but we had almost been friends once, when I was new on the homicide squad. At that time, Mustonen had been the only one who didn’t ignore me, the only one to treat me as his equal. Then he got married and his priorities changed. He had a family to support, a father-in-law to impress. By conscious choice, he had settled for just one facial expression: that of benign but purposeful detachment. He was there to do his job, rid the Earth of scum and rise quickly through the ranks. The rest didn’t matter.

  “Follow his example,” Jokela used to tell me. “You cannot be so involved, little Hella. Keep your distance. Do your job, do it well, then go home to your family.” There, Jokela usually stopped, remembering too late that I no longer had any family to come home to. A young girl fresh out of training, I was nodding away, trying to convince myself that my boss was right. Then we’d get called out on a new case, and I would snap again. Until that fateful December afternoon when I had shot a murder suspect at close range. That day had marked the end of my career, and the first promotion for Mustonen. Since then I hadn’t stopped plummeting, while he had climbed the ranks and collected awards with disconcerting ease. Seeing him today made me realize how far he had come over the last three years. The realization was anything but comfortable.

  Maybe, I thought, I had accused him because I was jealous of his success. Apart from Egg’s insinuation that he had done Elena in – which turned out to be spectacularly false – what proof did I have that Mustonen had been meddling with the investigation, covering for Ahti? It could have been Jokela all along. Or even someone else, such as Ahti’s family. But if my motives, even unconsciously, had been that low, what did that say about me? Was I a bad person? The only thing that had kept me afloat over the last few days, as I struggled to cope with the rejection, the hopelessness and the lack of self-esteem, was this: I was one of the good guys. I was fighting evil. All it had taken was a few harsh words, screamed at me by a pretty dark-haired stranger, to shatter that image I had of myself. What was I but a hysterical, middle-aged, delusional spinster tilting at windmills while the real investigation continued elsewhere? While people I deemed unworthy did good in silent, unobtrusive ways?

  I felt an overwhelming need to talk about this with someone who would understand. I needed Irja and Timo, their undivided attention, their impartiality, their kindness and trust in me. But Irja and Timo were too far away, in their secluded village in Lapland. They were busy, too, with the new baby and now with Maria, whom I’d sent to stay with them. But maybe I could still go, sometime during the spring. I was staring at the calendar, trying to make up my mind, when I heard a noise coming from the staircase. I turned to look: a thin white envelope had just been slipped under my door. My name was on it, nothing else.

  I swung the door open and heard retreating footsteps. “Hey,” I called out. “I’m here. Come and talk to me.”

  No answer. The footsteps gained speed. A moment later, I heard the heavy oak door leading to the street screech open then slam shut.

  I slid a finger under the flap of the envelope, tore it open. The letter was just one page, covered in an angry scrawl:

  Miss Mauzer, as Klara Nylund’s successor, I wish to inform you that your assignment with us is terminated. Please avoid being seen in the vicinity of our establishment.

  There was no signature.

  I stared at the letter. So it was over. I had failed, it was as simple as that. There were things I hadn’t done yet – like trying to find out who had really sent the latest prospective client to me – but I didn’t feel it was worth it. I was out of the game, and I didn’t even care. Suddenly, I knew what I had to do: go back home, put my things in order. Then, the following day or the day after, I would board a train to Ivalo.

  35

  Chief Inspector Mustonen

  The man sitting across the desk from me, puffing on an expensive Cuban cigar, looked even smaller than I remembered.

 
“Is that your son over there in the squad room?” the diminutive man asked. “The cute little blonde boy?”

  I was tempted to say no, but if Virtanen was asking the question, it meant he already knew the answer.

  “Yes,” I said. “Why don’t we get down to business? How can I help you?”

  The fact that Ahti’s father had chosen to come and see me at the office meant our relationship had just reached a wholly different level. I was now required to publicly take sides, tacitly admit I was corrupt. I could feel cold sweat gathering between my shoulder blades, my heart rate picking up.

  There was a silence during which Virtanen stretched, shook his cigar into the overflowing ashtray on my desk and flicked a tiny speck of dust from the sleeve of the camel-hair coat that he hadn’t bothered to take off. I waited.

  “I was assured by your boss that you were smarter than that,” Virtanen said at last. “Apparently, he was wrong.”

  “I thought you were pretty smart too,” I countered. “Looks like we were both mistaken.”

  Virtanen stared at me.

  “The so-called new client visiting Miss Mauzer on my behalf,” I said. “It was someone you sent, wasn’t it? I’ve checked with Jokela and he’s adamant he wasn’t the one who set it up.”

  “And what if it was me? The factory exists; my friend is ready to give her that job and pay her well. What’s the harm?”

  “Mauzer doesn’t operate like that,” I said. “Trust me, I know. The moment she realized someone was trying to take her attention away from the madam’s murder, her antennae went up.” I tilted my chair back, adopting the nonchalant attitude of my visitor, showing him I was not afraid. “Mauzer’s like a bulldog. Once she sinks her teeth into something, she doesn’t give up. All you managed to achieve is getting her to distrust me.”