Her Enemy (5 page)

“Our sex life. I like dressing up in rubber, and I thought making love in it sometimes would be nice, but Armi didn’t want to. We agreed a long time ago that I can do whatever I want by myself so long as I don’t get Armi involved. This morning, I just wanted to make love, but she got mad at me for breaking our agreement. We were talking about what we were going to do about it after we were married, but we couldn’t agree on anything. Then we both felt like it would be better for me to go home. That was about twelve fifteen.”

I glanced at the guard, who was listening with open interest. Professional confidentiality or not, it was a sure bet that half of Espoo would soon know about Kimmo Hänninen’s curious sexual proclivities. He’d gotten himself into a real bind. Every new
thing he told me just made his situation seem worse. I wished I could talk to him alone, because I was going to have to make him reveal more about his sexual interests.

“So you weren’t actually fighting?”

“Well, no. We’ve talked about this so many times; it didn’t go that far.”

“And then you went home?”

“Yeah. Mom was going into the city with the twins, and since I was left home alone…”

“You put the rubber suit back on and browsed through some of the…uh…appropriate magazines.” For some reason I was blushing too.

“Yeah. And I didn’t hear anything. Maybe the police rang the doorbell, but I guess Mom left the door open, and suddenly a crowd of guys was standing at my bedroom door and I…”

“And they arrested you, just like that?”

“At first, they didn’t even say why they had barged into the house. They just started going through my magazines and digging around in the closets. Then someone told me that Armi was dead. Then they brought me here. I still don’t completely understand. When we got here, they asked if I wanted a lawyer, and I remembered you.”

“Well, they did a hell of a job! Listen, Kimmo, I don’t think there is any conclusive evidence here. Legally they can’t hold you here any longer than forty-eight hours. I know this is a nightmare for you, with Armi gone and you accused of a murder you didn’t commit. But just try to hold on, and you’ll be a free man again soon.”

I could hear how empty that cliché sounded. Things would never go back to the way they had been. Armi was dead, there would be no fall wedding, and soon the courts and the media
would publicly be discussing the most intimate aspects of Kimmo’s personal life. Right now, I couldn’t do anything but let the guard take him back to his holding cell.

Ström was still hanging around. Obviously, he wanted to continue Kimmo’s interrogation. I tried to adopt a friendlier posture as I walked over to talk to him.

“I’ve heard Hänninen’s version of events now. Could you tell me your own? Why did you charge in like that?”

“What right do you have to ask?”

“Ström. We can make this whole thing very uncomfortable for each other. You can yell at me, and I can yell back and file complaints. But isn’t it in both of our interests to catch the real perpetrator as fast as we can?”

“You don’t think Hänninen is guilty?”

“How about instead you tell me why you think he is guilty.”

“Well, first off, he was the last person who saw the victim alive. We’re interviewing the neighbors right now. Who knows, maybe someone saw Hänninen leave and then saw the girl alive afterward. That wouldn’t prevent Hänninen from having gone back, though. But if one of the neighbors did see someone else going there, and we find evidence on someone else that’s just as good as what we have compiled on Hänninen, then we’ll reconsider.”

I stared Ström straight in the eye, even though I had to crane my neck to do so. With broad shoulders that rose toward slightly protruding ears, his heavy frame seemed tense. His washed-out brown eyes avoided my gaze as sweat began to emerge from the large pores in the skin of his face.

“And second, you know just as well as I do that these sorts of homicides are usually the work of someone close to the victim. And who was closer to her than her fiancé? Seems pretty straightforward to me.”

“Each man kills the thing he loves,” I muttered.

“What?”

“Oh, nothing.” I didn’t think Ström would know a line from an Oscar Wilde poem or have seen Fassbinder’s
Querelle
. “But this is all circumstantial evidence.”

“Whoever strangled Mäenpää was wearing rubber gloves. Hänninen was wearing rubber gloves when we showed up. They’re in the lab right now. The rubber suit had Mäenpää’s fingerprints on it. A piece ripped from it was under Mäenpää’s leg on the lawn. Mäenpää fought against her attacker, and she had pretty long nails. Maybe she was able to rip a piece off of the suit with them.”

“Are there scratches on Hänninen’s thigh?”

“There was some kind of scrape.”

“Have a doctor look at it.”

“We just have to wait for the lab results on the gloves. If the gloves are a match, then this case is closed.”

“I don’t think rubber leaves a mark that easily,” I countered.

“And besides, there was all the stuff Hänninen had in his room. Rubber clothing, chains, ropes. Handcuffs. A whip. And look at these magazines!” Ström slapped down a stack of English-and German-language magazines with names like
Skin Two
,
«O»
, and
Bondage
. Each featured stylized pictures of beautiful women in rubber or leather clothing, with chains or without, bound or laid out for whipping. Looking at them with Ström so close was embarrassing, because for me many of the pictures were more than a little intriguing.

“He’s clearly a pervert. This is the same as that Marquis de Sade stuff, and in those books, they hanged and strangled women all the time. The whole thing makes my stomach turn. Someone should put all these S&M freaks out of their misery. If you had
seen what he was doing when we went in there, you would be just as convinced he’s guilty.”

“Why did you storm into the house?”

“Think about it. We’re going to find a dead woman’s partner, automatically a prime suspect. No one answers the door, but it’s open and there are noises coming from upstairs. Who wouldn’t think he might try to kill himself once he realized what he had done?”

“OK. So what was he really doing when you went in?”

“Well, he was covered head to toe in rubber, he’d put handcuffs on himself, he was looking at those magazines and…gratifying himself.”

“Easy collar since he already had cuffs on,” I said, but for some reason Ström wasn’t amused.

“So there are materials in the lab, Armi’s body is with the medical examiner, and your boys are interviewing the neighbors,” I continued. “Have you notified Armi’s parents?”

“What kind of idiots do you take us for? We had to call a damn doctor to calm down her mother. Some of the neighbors left for their summer cottages for the weekend, so their interviews will have to wait until Monday. So yeah, the wheels are turning even without your supervision.”

“I don’t doubt it. Do you still want to interview Hänninen? Because you’re not questioning him without me present.”

“I’m going to eat now and then go back to the crime scene. Come back at eight, and we’ll continue then.”

We talked for a minute more about practical matters: how long they were going to hold Kimmo, and what legal requirements had to be met. Ström was adamant that the evidence was sufficient to keep Kimmo in custody indefinitely. I disagreed. I
decided to go to the Hänninens’ house to check in with them. I’d call my boss from there.

As I walked along the familiar birch-lined lane, I considered why I didn’t believe Kimmo was the murderer. It wasn’t because I liked him—I had liked murderers before. Something just seemed off. And I intended to find out what.

A strange quiet hung over the Hänninen residence. The yard was spotless, as if a cleaning company had come with a giant vacuum to suck up all traces of the previous day’s festivities. Risto answered the door wearing an expression of exhaustion and grief. The others were sitting in the large living room. Annamari Hänninen was drinking cognac, with Marita’s arm wrapped around her. Antti stood next to the picture of Sanna on the mantle. He didn’t even say hello.

Annamari lifted her eyes from her glass.

“Oh, Maria, how is my Kimmo holding up? When will they release him? I’ve been trying to call Eki Henttonen to ask him to help too, but…”

“Eki is out sailing and probably just isn’t answering his phone. Don’t worry; he’ll be back by tomorrow night. Kimmo is doing just fine given the circumstances, and they can’t hold him for more than forty-eight hours. Where are the kids?”

Marita explained, “My parents took them to Inkoo. They left about half an hour ago and took Einstein too. We thought it would be best if they left for a while. Sanna’s death was such a terrible shock for the boys, and I don’t know how they’re going to take losing Armi now too.”

Was wearing a long-sleeved black outfit on a hot summer day normal for her, or had she put it on out of respect for Armi? In her dress, Marita was a thin black line, drawn with a slightly trembling brush down the pale blue wall of the Hänninens’ living room. Like Antti, Marita was naturally thin, but what on Antti was muscle, on Marita was only tendons.

I gave an abbreviated account of both my discovery of Armi’s body and Kimmo’s story. Talking about the rubber suit and S&M magazines was difficult, despite their essential role in the evidence the police had gathered so far. Apparently Annamari was not aware of her son’s sexual tendencies—what parents ever are?—because she began to shake uncontrollably.

“Oh my God, what am I going to tell Henrik? I have to call Ecuador. What does this mean about Kimmo if he was doing that? Weren’t things good for him with Armi?”

During my first year in high school, Annamari had been my French teacher. A frail, nervous type, she had never been able to control the class even by screaming. Usually I was the one to finally yell “Shut up!” for her and actually get results. I received an A in her class but was still relieved when she moved away a year later to follow her husband’s new job. Her successor was a total wet blanket, but at least I didn’t have to be embarrassed for my teacher anymore.

Now Annamari seemed to be losing all physical control. Her head bounced around restlessly; her body was in constant motion. Her brittle, shrieky voice rose.

“How can the police think that Kimmo would murder someone? My child…At least his own mother should be able to see him! Can I come with you, Maria?”

“Annamari, you should try to rest a little,” Risto said firmly. The use of her first name grated in my ears, feeling disrespectful
even though I knew that Annamari was only Risto’s stepmother, not mother. “Let’s go to the boys’ room and you can lie down. It will be quiet in there.”

His head bowed, Risto pressed almost affectionately against Annamari’s shoulders as he guided her from the room.

“Hopefully Risto has the sense to give her a sedative,” Marita observed dryly. “Do we have anything left or should we call Dr. Hellström to ask for a prescription?”

“Do gynecologists write prescriptions for tranquilizers?” I asked.

“He also does some family practice,” Marita explained. “Not everyone likes him, of course. I guess mom got angry with him over something and changed doctors. He is a bit of a gossip, but when you need help, he just asks when and where.” Marita swept back her hair in a familiar gesture; I realized that Antti did the same thing when he was nervous or upset. Under her hair, I caught a glimpse of a large, fresh-looking bruise on her neck.

“If Hellström is such a talker, I guess I should interview him too. I have to find grounds for Kimmo’s release.”

“So you still don’t believe Kimmo did it?” Antti asked, uttering his first words since I arrived.

“No. I admit I’m basing that more on a feeling than anything I know for sure, but no, I don’t believe it. Convincing the police of that is going to require facts. What did you know about Armi? What kind of person was she?”

Neither seemed interested in answering. As I waited, I mentally tallied what I knew about her: she was sweet, talkative, meddlesome, curious, determined.

“Armi was like an angel from heaven for Kimmo, even if Annamari didn’t much care for her,” Marita finally said. “And Armi was a bit…common, although of course in Annamari’s
mind no one was good enough for her children. Makke certainly got a taste of that medicine, as all of Sanna’s boyfriends did.”

“Are you trying to suggest that Annamari killed Armi?” Maria asked.

“No, oh God no! Armi just said what she thought, and that isn’t the Hänninen way. At last Christmas dinner, for example, she asked why Henrik and Annamari don’t get divorced, since for all intents and purposes Henrik doesn’t have anything to do with his family. You don’t ask questions like that if you want to be a Hänninen.”

Outwardly immaculate, Marita had always seemed like just another Hänninen trying to maintain the façade, and finding out there was something more under the surface was comforting. Getting to know Antti’s family had been exhausting, and the social scene that came along with our move to Espoo was oppressive. Now I was just becoming more and more tangled in the strange knots of their lives.