Death Spiral (32 page)

“Yes.”

I didn’t know whether this information was significant, but it meant that the person who had put Noora’s body in Järvenperä’s car probably had to try several trunks before finding one that was unlocked. Maybe it would be worth checking for fingerprints on the other cars that were in the parking garage at the same time. Although it was probably too late now. People washed their cars more often than normal during muddy weather like this. Our technicians hadn’t found any fingerprints to speak of even on Järvenperä’s car. But there was always the possibility that Noora’s killer hadn’t thought of avoiding leaving fingerprints until after finding a place to dump the body.

“Your older son talked about a ‘sneaky rascal’ he saw in the parking garage the night of the murder. How did that go again?”

“Sneaky Rascal is sort of an imaginary character in our family. He’s the one who does things like knocking down sand castles at the playground.”

“Has Jussi ever described him? Does he have any distinguishing features?”

“Well, no . . . or, well, maybe. Once in this toy ad, there was a Ken doll waving a sword, and Jussi thought he was the Sneaky Rascal. But that doesn’t really mean anything. If you have any experience with children, you know their logic can be pretty random.”

“I wouldn’t know much about that. What else could seeing the Sneaky Rascal mean?”

“Jussi thinks the Sneaky Rascal has a white BMW. Once a car like that made a really dangerous pass on the highway. Of course Jussi thought it must be the Sneaky Rascal driving.”

“Would the BMW have to be white? Would gold work?” I asked, remembering Ulrika Weissenberg’s car. But there was no way to turn Ulrika into the Sneaky Rascal if he was supposed to be a man.

“No, I don’t think so. Children can be awfully precise about the craziest things. I really think that Jussi just made up the Sneaky Rascal being in the parking garage after the fact. There had to be some reason for the police coming and how strange all the adults were acting.”

Sometimes I feel as though police work is just repetition. All I could do was ask Järvenperä over and over about what had happened in the parking garage, as if my questions could make her see something that she hadn’t.

When I stepped back out onto the street, it was raining again. There wasn’t any point going home before the birthing class, so I walked a few blocks to the Fazer Café and ordered an ice cream sundae. Pregnant women need their calcium.

Focused on the chocolate syrup, pears, and whipped cream, all I cared about was how good the whole thing tasted. The men at the neighboring table, however, were having a heated discussion about the latest tabloids. Teräsvuori’s killing had sparked complaints about the ineffectiveness of the police. Hanna seemed to have public opinion on her side. The men were also commenting on some bitter statements made by a fifty-year-old woman who had lost her husband to a recent beauty queen.

“I can’t believe these bitches! Sure, it’s fine for them to be dykes or crossdressers or whatever, but if a man wants someone a little younger, not even jail bait, they can’t shut up about it.”

Spotting a free table farther back, I moved my ice cream indulgence there. I got enough of bullies at work. During my free time, I wanted peace and quiet.

I’d brought one of Noora’s diaries from about two years ago. In it I’d found something very interesting, namely a hole. Noora had made regular entries since she was twelve years old, not daily, but at least three times a week. But two years ago in the spring, there was a break of almost three months, from April into June.

At first I hadn’t noticed because I was only giving it a cursory reading, searching for names. Then I had realized that the narrative suddenly jumped from winter to summer, and I checked the dates.

Noora could have just been busy. She didn’t give any explanation for the missing entries. Just before the break Noora had been looking forward to a training camp and writing that Janne was “like, so incredibly hot.” After the break came a dismayed entry about her mother’s boyfriend and plans to leave the family.

I was sure the break was important. What had Noora left out?

Now and then Noora had pasted pictures into her diaries. One of them was right before the break, the photograph likely one of the first of Noora and Janne skating together. Janne had a funny short haircut and was generally more angular than now. Noora was still a child, but she held her head up high, and her eyes sparkled like a champion. I placed my hand on the photo as if it could connect me to Noora.

But it didn’t help. I stood up, used the restroom, and brushed my teeth. Then I started trudging through the endless rain.

18

Covered in blood and sticky whiteness, the head of the baby squeezed out of its mother. Along with a bout of excretions came the mottled body, and the child screamed its first, demanding cry.

“Yuck,” someone said behind me, and someone else giggled nervously. I mostly just wanted to cry, watching the bewildered, happy father and the mother who had just been moaning in pain. Next to me Antti was taking notes about the breathing instructions.

I tried to focus on the information flooding through my ears. Epidurals, birthing positions, episiotomies. Of course I had read the same things in books and noticed how differently the various birthing gurus viewed the simplest of things. Even in the birthing video, the woman lay on her back panting, even though all the active birthing books said there wasn’t any worse position for pushing, except maybe standing on your head. I was already raising my hand to ask why when a raft of completely different questions popped into my mind. I had to talk to Silja as soon as possible. That hole in Noora’s diary might be more important than I had thought.

I had to force myself to listen to the instructions about nursing, even though I knew I was going to need them. Neither the Creature nor I had any previous practice. But concentrating was difficult. Part of me was rushing to the office to check my notes and then to the ice rink to question Silja. Finally the Creature started jostling around in my belly as if to remind me how important it was. That brought me to my senses. For the rest of the hour, I filled my brain with the mysteries of newborn care.

“Is it OK if I drop you off at home and then take care of a couple of work things?” I asked Antti after the class was done.

“More work?” Antti asked in confusion and maybe a little irritation, and then offered to come with me to the ice rink.

“I wouldn’t recommend it. They’re practicing for Noora Nieminen’s memorial service.”

That was all I needed to say. Antti’s best friend, Tommi, had been killed about four years earlier. They had sung in the same choir, and the choir had performed at Tommi’s funeral. That performance and the rehearsals leading up to it had been some of the most trying experiences of Antti’s life. He still had nightmares about Tommi’s drowned body and the killer, who had also been his friend. Watching the practice for Noora’s memorial would probably lead to another sleepless night. The passage of time hadn’t dulled his feeling that he could have prevented Tommi’s death if he had just intervened in time. I didn’t know whether that was true, and I hadn’t performed particularly brilliantly as I solved that case either.

When I pulled into our driveway, I thought about staying. I was so exhausted. But instead, I drove to the ice rink after stopping by the police station to pick up my notes.

Our unit was silent. Maybe whoever was on call had been sent out into the field for some reason. I felt a strange, biting feeling when I thought of my upcoming maternity leave.

I needed a break so badly, and I couldn’t wait for my baby to come, but still . . . how long would I be able to stay at home? My sisters said you never got bored with little kids around. Would that happen to me too? Would I be too exhausted to think about anything but doing laundry and keeping up with the latest soaps? Somehow I didn’t think so.

I opened my office door. Having my own office was an incredible luxury. Whenever the men in the unit were too much to bear, I always had somewhere to retreat, and I could interview people informally without being interrupted constantly. When I came back, I probably wouldn’t have the same level of peace and quiet. I didn’t know whether I could handle working in a unit led by Pertti Ström. And if they made me the unit commander, that would really be the end of any semblance of serenity. Still, I desperately wanted the promotion to lieutenant. I’d never been afraid of new challenges before.

I grabbed my notes and a couple of Noora’s diaries. Then I drove to the now-familiar parking lot of the ice rink and walked in through the concessions entrance. I sat down in the bottom stands of section E, on the opposite of the arena from where the figure skaters usually congregated, because I didn’t feel like climbing over the barriers separating the seating areas.

The arena was almost dark again, with only the emergency exit signs glowing green. Then from the darkness came the swooshing of skates and the first candle flame appeared on the ice. Twenty or so more followed, and a string version of Harry Nilsson’s “Without You” began echoing in the hall. Apparently the Espoo Figure-Skating Association synchronized skating team had adapted their spring competition program for the memorial service.

It was actually quite grotesque: the hall illuminated by candles, the most saccharine possible version of a song that had already been violated by countless third-class singers, and a bunch of little girls with stiff faces trying to get their patterns right on the ice. Fortunately the music stopped frequently, and the voice of the synchronized skating team’s coach brought me back to reality. I doubted whether the performance would have Ulrika Weissenberg’s much-vaunted therapeutic effect on the skaters or the audience.

When the candle procession finally glided off the ice and the lights came up, I saw everyone I’d expected to see over by the entry to the dressing rooms. Wearing a tracksuit and holding her skates, Silja Taskinen stood talking to Elena. Rami Luoto was adjusting Irina Grigorieva’s crooked skating tights. I remembered that she had played Bashful in Snow White and skated her short solo perfectly. Maybe they were putting that in the memorial show too, or did they really intend to make Irina take on Noora’s starring role? Janne lounged in one of the plastic chairs in section A, his legs up on the back of the row in front of him. He wasn’t wearing skates, but Ulrika Weissenberg seemed to be calling him out onto the ice. I started edging closer so I could hear their conversation.

“You could at least say something about Noora if you don’t want to skate.”

“I’ll lay my flowers on her casket in the church, and that’s all. There’s no way I’m taking any part in this farce.”

“We’re doing this for Noora. She would have liked it.”

“Yeah, she would have, the effing little drama queen. But she isn’t here to see it, is she?” Janne stood up and brought his face right up to Weissenberg’s, taking her by the shoulders. For half a second I thought he was going to hug her, but instead he yelled, “She’s dead, Ulrika. She’s dead! Don’t you get that? Noora is dead! Damn your stupid show to hell!”

Janne shook Ulrika, and for a moment it looked as though he meant to shove her down the stairs onto the ice, but then he realized what he was doing, let go of Ulrika, and rushed up into the stands where the lights couldn’t reach him.

Irina Grigorieva skated her solo confidently but without much of the expression she showed in the spring. I wondered why Elena and Rami were going along with Ulrika’s idea of a memorial performance. Even though figure skating was a very disciplined pursuit, it had to be a bit much to ask little children to play happy forest creatures when Snow White had actually been killed. I remembered again Noora’s eyes pleading with the Huntsman for mercy, then little Minni’s body dead in her squalid crib. I closed my eyes. I didn’t want to think about them. I just couldn’t. I forced myself to think about the things the birthing class had taught. Dilation stage, pushing stage, recovery stage. Then something strange happened.

I’d heard of it happening to other people. Someone brooded over a problem for weeks, constantly thinking about it and contemplating various solutions without success. And then suddenly there’s a big flash, and a clear picture emerges from the chaos.

That was exactly what happened to me as I tried to repeat in my mind the stages of giving birth. I realized who had killed Noora Nieminen and why. Even the how started forming in my mind. The answers had been practically crashing into me, crying out for the right questions. It was as if I’d heard them at random from the mouths of chance passersby.

I stood up and walked to the hall. I had to call the Department of Motor Vehicles. They confirmed my suspicion. Next I checked a few details from my notes and Noora’s diaries. In my excitement I nearly couldn’t find the right pages. The joy of knowing did battle in my head with the fury I felt toward Noora’s killer. But I still didn’t quite know what I should do. The person I wanted wasn’t exactly going anywhere, so the arrest could wait until tomorrow. I had to calm down before reentering the arena so I wouldn’t walk up and punch the murderer in the face. A few minutes passed before I was able to go back in.

Now Silja was on the ice. Her violet tights and tracksuit jacket didn’t exactly fit the evil stepmother solo. Her skating was effortless from start to finish. As Silja prepared for her triple Salchow, it was immediately obvious she didn’t have enough speed. Her jump took off low out of the curve, and Silja crashed painfully to the ice. Her ankle ended up strangely under her body, even though skaters at her level usually knew how to fall without injury. And instead of standing up, Silja remained sitting on the ice holding her ankle. Rami was the first to realize what had happened and rushed out onto the ice.

“Turn off the music!” I heard him yell. Helping Silja up, he supported her by the shoulder so she could use her healthy foot to glide back to the stands.

I descended the stairs and heaved myself over the barrier so I could make my way through the upper stands to Silja. Her leg was elevated, and Rami and Elena were bustling about in concern.

“Irina, get some ice from the concessions,” Elena ordered.

“It isn’t broken. Just a sprain. And it doesn’t feel swollen,” Rami said as he inspected the injury. “Does it hurt much?”

“Ow! Don’t do that,” Silja moaned.

“Hi, Silja. Is it bad?” I asked from higher up in the stands.

No one seemed particularly surprised to see me, and Silja almost smiled.

“Hi, Maria! I don’t know. I don’t think I’ll be able to skate tomorrow, though.”

Remembering our conversation that morning, I had to struggle not to grin. Of course Silja had fallen on purpose. Now she could get out of skating in the memorial program.

“You can’t skate?” Ulrika’s voice was suddenly shrill. It was easy to see that the past two weeks had worn her down. I expected her to finally break down, but she managed to compose herself.

Elena Grigorieva took control of the situation and ordered all the forest creatures watching from the passageway back onto the ice. I offered to take Silja home, but she said her mom was coming to get her anyway.

“I’m going to take my driving test when we get back from Canada. Then getting around will be a lot easier,” Silja said.

I sat down next to her and we watched the forest creatures dance, trading a few little comments about the skaters’ technique. The music had woken up my own Creature, who seemed to be trying to swim in time with the tune.

Elena Grigorieva took the group through the practice with astounding energy, given that she must have been exhausted. Tomi Liikanen had been set free, but the investigation into his activities was really just beginning. He was sure to face charges for drug trafficking, and Elena would be questioned about that too.

Eventually the practice ended. The parents picked up their children, and Terttu Taskinen came to fetch Silja, who gave me a wink as she hobbled out of the arena with her mother’s arm around her. In the hallway I ran into the person I had just realized killed Noora. I wasn’t able to keep quiet after all. I wanted to be done with this.

“I have a few things to talk to you about. Do you have a minute?” I was sure my voice sounded hysterical.

“Sure,” he said as if without a clue what was going on. And maybe he didn’t know. Maybe he thought he was beyond suspicion.

Climbing to the upper seats of section A, I sat down on an uncomfortable plastic bench. The Matinkylä Ice Arena was small and homey, but even on a summer night, it could be terribly cold. I pulled my jacket tighter around me and shoved my hands in my pockets.

The janitor closed the six-foot-high iron gate between the stands and the public entrance. He glanced at me in surprise but didn’t say anything. The lights in the arena dimmed. The person I was waiting for returned to the arena and ascended the stairs toward me. Despite still wearing skates, he walked nimbly.

“Can I leave now?” the janitor yelled from the door to the concession area.

“Go ahead,” my companion replied.

“I’m closing this since you have keys!”

The janitor closed the thick glass door.

Suddenly the arena was strangely quiet, with only the air conditioning faintly whirring. What was I doing? Until then the idea that he could be any danger to me hadn’t crossed my mind. Was it wise to be locked into an empty ice rink with him? But the janitor was probably still around, and they couldn’t leave the building completely empty all night. It wasn’t a problem. I’d just ask a couple of questions and go, leaving Noora’s killer to wonder how much I really knew. Unnerving him would probably be the best tactic.

“Do you want to talk here?” he asked, pulling his own coat tighter around himself too. “You aren’t cold, are you?”