Death Spiral (26 page)

Plugging my bass into the amplifier, I threw the strap over my shoulder and started plucking a lazy boogie woogie. Finding a common rhythm took a few measures, but then the music carried us away.

Blues was a perfect fit for the rainy spring evening. I danced into the entryway to turn off the light—in the darkness I didn’t have to see the cat hair and the fingerprints on the TV screen. In the light of the piano lamp, the room looked like a cave tinged with red, and I could almost imagine a curl of smoke rising from Antti’s lips, even though he never touched tobacco. The piano walked up and down the blues scale as my bass progressions intersected sometimes caressingly, sometimes in dissonance.

Playing together was a lot like making love. A solo could never produce the pleasure that came from finding harmonies together. Improvising together required trust, surrendering to the music. Sometimes we sang too; with the blues scale, improvising lyrics was fairly easy. I probably had seventeen different versions of “The Pertti Ström Blues.” Singing was a surprisingly good way to blow off steam. But this time we just played, and after a while the Creature started dancing in my belly along with the vibrations of the rhythm. With the music we wove ourselves a home, a warm melodic cave that shut the world outside.

14

My home is on the ice. Everywhere else I’m always a stranger. But on the ice I know who I am. Sometimes I wish I could skate alone with Janne with the autumn ice of a newly frozen pond singing mournfully beneath our blades. It would bend ever so slightly but still carry our weight as long as we moved fast enough. I would gaze at our reflection in the clear black surface, not seeing the ugly me that is but who I truly wish to become.

I flipped through Noora’s last complete diary as I tried to call Tomi Liikanen. Noora had read Peter Høeg’s
Smilla’s Sense of Snow
, which got her thinking about her relationship with ice.

Of course at times I fight with the ice. Sometimes it’s far too soft and won’t lift me in the air. At other times I feel how hard it is when I fall. Sometimes I dream that I’m too heavy for its surface. The ice can’t support me, and I sink as laughter erupts all around. The ice consumes me, and no one rushes to my aid. But usually we are one, the ice and I. I grow from the ice, and the ice continues in me.

The handwriting was no longer rounded and childlike. The first lines of the capital letter
m
were still exaggerated, and the descenders of the lowercase letters like
g
and
y
almost went past the next line. The ends of the lines almost took flight, as if Noora had been writing in some sort of ecstasy. I turned to the next page where the handwriting was even more inconsistent.

The ice is unfriendly to Janne more often than me. It doesn’t hold him up and leaves bruises on his knees. Once it slashed a cut in his jaw, and he still bears the scar. Sometimes it dances with him happily, like a third being joining between us. The ice loves Silja, as does everyone else, and I am jealous of my ice. Rami is the same as me. He fears the ice will show everyone how ugly he really is. Elena’s relationship with the ice is the strangest of all. For her it has no personality, is only a tool, important when it has a use. Elena wants to tame everything, including the ice, but the ice has never consented to that.

Ulrika fears the ice. Once I saw her trip when she came to give the awards for a synchronized skating competition, and ever since she always creeps along the side of the ice holding the boards or hanging on to Janne’s arm. Stupid, ridiculous Ulrika!

Then Noora started in again, dissecting Ulrika’s infatuation with Janne as cruelly as any sixteen-year-old who thinks anyone over the age of thirty is on their deathbed.

It’s like Ulrika is trying to suck the youth out of Janne for herself. Rami is the same. I can see that more clearly now. It’s disgusting and dirty. I understand how horrible Janne must feel. If only I could tell him everything. If only I could open up to him. But then he would hate me.

The next page had an opera ticket pasted to it. Ulrika had taken their three star skaters to see
Tosca
and drunk sherry with Janne during intermission, which irritated Noora to no end. I almost felt sympathy for Ulrika Weissenberg. She could be infatuated with whoever she wanted, even if that person was decades younger than her. Hell, if Janne was a girl and Ulrika was a man, no one would have said a thing.

After a couple of pages of enthusiastic slander, Noora returned to the ice theme:

It’s hard imaging that Mom ever had any relationship with the ice. I can sort of imagine her on skates, since she’s the one who taught me when I was little, but she stopped soon after. I can still remember the horrible clunky skates she bought when she was a kid. They’re probably still here at the bottom of some box. She couldn’t bear to throw them away. Thank God she had the sense to buy me good boots and blades right from the beginning.

Mom’s pictures from when she was a girl are funny. The frozen puddle in the yard is supposed to be a rink, and there’s this dumpy girl in a white fur hat doing a crooked arabesque. It isn’t Mom’s doing that I’m fulfilling her dreams. OK, she let me get to know the ice, but it isn’t because of her that the ice accepted me. I did that.

For Sami, the ice is a battlefield. Sticks and pucks are what’s important to him, not the ice. But because he doesn’t understand anything about the ice, he will never be Teemu Selänne. And he’ll never understand why.

The only relationship Dad could have with the ice would be as a Zamboni driver. And he would definitely make the ice too lumpy and rough.

I realized I was lost in Noora’s diaries, even though I was supposed to be dialing the number for Tommy’s Gym. No one had answered at the Liikanen-Grigorieva home number. I was just reaching for the phone when Pihko stuck his head in.

“I’ve checked and rechecked Teräsvuori’s alibi for the night of Noora Nieminen’s murder.” Pihko’s shoulders were tense, his expression conveying frustration.

“Yeah?”

“He definitely didn’t leave the Fishmaid that night. There was a bachelorette party, some sort of student choir, and they started doing karaoke right at six. They told me that the first time but not in as much detail. Usually Wednesday nights are quiet, but this was an exception. I’ve interviewed almost every woman in the choir, Dominatrix or whatever it was—”

“Dominante. They’re from the Helsinki University of Technology.”

“Around nine their leader, who is a man, showed up, and apparently the bride had to practice how to treat her husband properly by singing all the goopiest love songs on the list. Teräsvuori was tired of them, but he was there except for one thirty-second bathroom break. At least that’s what thirty college girls said.”

“Thanks, Pihko. I didn’t ask you to do this because I doubted your competence,” I said, but the last words bounced off a closed door. Pihko’s nose was out of joint. Crap. Maybe working too closely with Ström had affected my interpersonal skills too. Pihko’s summer vacation would be starting any day, and after vacation he would be going to law school full time. It would be a pity if his final memories of me were bitter.

We had to admit once and for all that Vesku Teräsvuori wasn’t Noora’s murderer. The possibility that Teräsvuori had roped someone else into beating up Noora for him, someone like Tomi Liikanen, was a long shot, but we had to check everything. It was time to get Liikanen talking. I reached for the phone, but it rang right as I did so. When I picked up the receiver, Koivu was on the other end, sounding agitated.

“Hi, Maria. I’m outside Teräsvuori’s apartment again. I think he has a visitor. At least I just saw the Nieminen lady, Noora’s mother, go into the stairwell.”

“Hanna Nieminen? Are you positive?”

“I noticed her because she parked her Ford Scorpio over the crosswalk. Her coat was buttoned all wrong and her makeup was smeared, so I thought she was drunk. Then I realized it was Noora’s mother.”

Why would Hanna be visiting Teräsvuori? No, I knew the answer to that. There could only be one reason. I groped for my shoes as I continued talking.

“Did she have anything with her?”

“A duffel bag like hockey players use. She was carrying it kind of carefully like it was heavy, even though it looked almost empty.”

A duffel bag. I remembered the elk rifle on the Nieminens’ living room wall and almost dropped the phone.

“Koivu! Listen very carefully. Call for backup from the nearest Helsinki patrol and then try to get into Teräsvuori’s apartment. He might be in danger. I’ll be right there.”

Pulling my coat on, I grabbed my phone and ran into the hall. Luckily Pihko was in his office.

“Come on. Now! Emergency, I need a driver!” I yelled in a voice that didn’t leave any doubt about the seriousness of the situation. Then I dialed the Motor Pool and told them to get a car ready.

Pihko didn’t ask any questions, and there was no more sign of sulking. As we rushed to the stairs, the elevator happened to arrive and we literally dragged Lähde out to speed things up. When we stepped out of the elevator, frightened by how fast my heart was racing, the Creature kicked me so hard I thought my liver and pancreas might dislodge and come up through my throat. I barely managed to keep from vomiting on Pihko’s freshly laundered brown slacks.

Still, I hopped in the car like in an American cop show and told Pihko to drive. He still hadn’t asked for an explanation, which was good because I had calls to make.

Kauko Nieminen’s office said he was on his way to a business meeting. The secretary didn’t agree to connect me to his cell phone until I started screaming that I was the detective working Noora’s murder case and that another person might be about to die. Thankfully Kauko answered. I cut off his “what’s new” with my own questions.

“The rifle in your living room. Does it work?”

“I hunted with it last fall. Hanna wanted to keep it out in case Teräsvuori made a surprise attack. Why?”

“Do you keep cartridges at home?”

“Yes, a few boxes. In a locked cabinet in the closet in our bedroom. What—”

“Does Hanna have a key?”

“We both have a key. There are other important—”

“Does your wife know how to load a gun?”

“Of course! She asked me to teach her when Teräsvuori was at his worst. Why are you asking this? What happened?”

I tried not to exaggerate, but he must have heard the fear in my voice as I told him what I knew.

“I’m going now!” Kauko Nieminen yelled into the phone and then hung up before I could say anything else. Having him there probably wouldn’t hurt.

Pihko had the sirens going and was driving at least ninety miles per hour. We quickly reached the end of Ring I and were close to the turnoff onto the West Highway. He blasted through the red lights at the intersection and an ancient blue-and-white Corolla barely squeaked past without us hitting it. My heart was skipping beats, but not because of the speed.
Don’t let this be what I think it is,
I pleaded to a god I didn’t even know I believed in.

The sky over the West Highway was a strange color. Threatening violet-gray clouds covered the shores, but the fluffy blanket over the sea was the slate color of a Finnish army uniform. Strips of blue shone through rips in the clouds here and there. Maybe the sun would condescend to make a quick appearance for the first time in days, I thought as Pihko pulled into the bus lane to pass a line of cars.

Outside Teräsvuori’s apartment were two patrol cars, one occupied. Koivu’s unmarked Lada Samara was empty. I identified myself to the Helsinki patrol officers.

“Koivu is in the hallway outside the apartment trying to hear what’s going on inside. Another patrol is downstairs.”

“Has anyone tried Teräsvuori’s phone?” The reply was negative, so I dialed his cell number. No one answered. At the home number, an answering machine picked up.

“Hi, it’s Vesku,” a husky voice began. As I hung up I realized that Teräsvuori had an old-fashioned machine that would echo the message through the apartment. I pressed redial and listened to the same litany again.

“Hi, Vesku. This is Sergeant Maria Kallio from the Espoo Police. And hi, Hanna. We know you’re in there. Listen, Hanna! There’s no way Vesku could have killed Noora. He has an alibi. We checked again. Come out of there, Hanna. I—”

Beep!
went the machine. The time was up. Should I bother trying again? Maybe it would be better to go ring the doorbell.

There didn’t seem to be an elevator. I probably set the world’s record for climbing stairs while seven months pregnant on my way to the third floor. Koivu was waiting by the door looking small and uncertain despite his six feet three inches and almost two hundred and twenty pounds.

“This is my fault, Maria,” he said. “I should have realized I should stop Mrs. Nieminen. Listen!”

The screaming was easy to make out. Hanna’s voice sounded shrill, and Teräsvuori’s piercing cries made it clear he feared for his life.

“Vesku, Hanna, open up! This is the police!” I yelled through the mail slot. “Hanna! Vesku isn’t guilty!”

Neighbors started coming out into the hallway, but Pihko was there to shoo them away.

“Is that the police?” Teräsvuori screamed from somewhere inside the apartment. “Help me! She’s going to kill me!”

“Keys?” I wasn’t sure any sound came out of my throat, but Koivu must have read my lips and nodded. The building manager was on his way, but he was coming from twenty minutes away in East Pasila, where the property management firm had its headquarters.

Koivu and the Helsinki cops talked to the student couple in the neighboring apartment, who agreed to allow them onto their balcony. There was a thin concrete divider between the two balconies, but climbing around it wouldn’t be much of a trick. One of the Helsinki cops offered to do it. Maybe just seeing a police officer would make Hanna give up her plan.

I continued yelling, trying to calm the situation, but it didn’t seem to be working. Hanna’s teary, piping voice kept threatening, and I could almost see the rifle in her hands and the barrel to Teräsvuori’s chest. Why did I have to go and give Hanna the impression that Teräsvuori’s alibi might not have stood up after all? I had driven Hanna to this.