Death Spiral (6 page)

I heard Antti sigh on the other side of the line. He hadn’t dared tell me directly that he was afraid of my work since my coworker’s death that winter. Of course he was also afraid for the baby I was carrying. I didn’t quite know what to think about his anxiety. It was true that I often acted impulsively, and it was also true that a pregnant woman had to think about her baby too. But avoiding emotionally taxing jobs at work was entirely different than quitting drinking. I didn’t want anyone mollycoddling me because I was pregnant.

From the Taskinens’ apartment we drove to the parking garage where Noora’s body had been found, following a narrow, winding ramp to the upper level.

According to the patrol officers who responded the night before to the initial call, the upper level had been nearly deserted. Now the afternoon rush was on because people were trying to get their shopping in before
The Bold and the Beautiful
came on. Why our entire country practically shut down at five thirty every day for an American soap opera was beyond me, but it was a reality we frequently had to take into consideration when setting appointments with people. There were only a couple of empty stalls in the low, echoing parking structure. None of them had been cordoned off for the investigation because a search of the area had revealed no evidence of Noora’s murderer or car. The more important thing was interviewing the people who had been in the area.

I asked Koivu whether he’d heard anything new, at which point he realized his phone was turned off.

“Crap . . . sorry . . . Lähde was handling it. I’ll call him. Should I check how it’s going with the video from the surveillance camera?”

“Sure.”

“This damn cell phone doesn’t want to work in here. I’m going to have to go outside. Wait here.”

Koivu climbed out of the car, and I got out to wait in the middle of the crowded, bleak garage. Where did Noora’s murderer get the idea to dump her body here? He must have transported her body here in his car and then noticed that Kati Järvenperä had left her trunk unlocked. But the risk of being seen was so great. The killer’s actions didn’t seem terribly premeditated. Maybe we would find the person we were looking for by interviewing the other people who had used the parking garage the night before. Someone must have seen him.

Then it occurred to me how little attention I had paid to the cars parked around me in the garage, and my mood darkened. Even so, I decided to call the Department of Motor Vehicles and get the license plate numbers of all of Noora’s close acquaintances. A gray Volvo station wagon started up next to me, and it made me wonder how Järvenperä had parked her Mercedes. If she had backed in and the murderer had too, then the raised trunk lids would have mostly sheltered the body transfer from view.

But where was Noora killed? In the forest near her house? If so, how did the killer get the body in his car without anyone noticing? Did he kill Noora in his car? There was no way I was going to get warrants to search all six or seven possible cars without any evidence that the murder was actually committed in one of them.

Koivu returned, and I could tell from his expression there wasn’t any news.

“Lähde and Puupponen are still interviewing the people from the garage last night. They found at least one person who parked on the upper level around seven thirty. But there was no luck with the security camera. The tape was almost black. Come look and you can see why.”

The security camera was located on the lower level above the entrance. Some enterprising person had sprayed the lens with black paint. Probably the same genius who had covered the walls and ceiling with illegible tags. I didn’t usually get too upset about taggers, since they rarely destroyed anything beautiful, but now I was irked.

“When did that happen?”

“Apparently last week. They wash the camera once a month, but the graffiti artists around here always take it out before doing their thing. And the owners have given up caring. Parking here is free, so the cameras are just to protect customers’ cars. Usually there’s enough traffic that break-ins don’t happen anyway.”

“I still don’t understand how the body could have gotten into Järvenperä’s car without anyone noticing! Hopefully she recovers enough to talk to us soon. And Noora’s parents. That’s going to be fun.”

“When are you going on maternity leave, by the way?” Koivu asked.

“At Midsummer. So I have a few weeks left to get this case figured out. Didn’t Järvenperä say there were only a couple of cars here when she came? We need to find them. Put a notice in the papers, and if that doesn’t work, use
Police TV
too, even though I hate that program. What are you laughing at?”

“You’re so worked up about this case. You really are trying to show everyone you’re boss material, aren’t you?”

“Come on, it isn’t that. I . . . I don’t know. You asked whether I’d seen Silja skate. She definitely made an impression, but Noora was the one that really affected me. That girl was something special.”

As a pair, Noora and Janne had started making waves at the European Championships in Sofia, Bulgaria. Janne did fall during a triple toe loop, and the pair’s pirouette was slightly out of sync. Their free skate, set to the soundtrack of the movie
Hair
, went better, despite Janne landing on his backside during a combination jump and Noora coming out of a triple Salchow on two feet. They still placed tenth, which was very good for first-timers coming from outside of one of the figure-skating powerhouse countries. The Eurosport commentators gushed about Noora’s temperament and personality.

The World Championships in Edmonton went even better. Their routines were more polished, with Noora playing a brilliant Snow White in the short program and Janne sticking his triple toe loop, even though his free leg did graze the ice. I thought their free skate was fantastic, although Janne did botch one of his combination jumps again. According to the commentators, the pair’s death spiral was the best of the entire competition. Not all of the judges were thrilled about the
Hair
music or the skaters’ costumes, and their points for artistic presentation hurt their score. Ninth place was still fantastic for Finland, and I had listened almost with tears in my eyes as the commentators from Eurosport hailed Noora as the most promising female pairs skater since Irina Rodnina and Ekaterina Gordeeva. And now she was dead.

“We should have time to stop for coffee before their practice starts. I’ll buy,” Koivu said.

“OK, but make mine half milk. This damn heartburn is killing me,” I said, which seemed to embarrass Koivu. He was clearly having a hard time figuring out how to act naturally around pregnant me. Any deviation from the sweet expectant mother routine totally threw him off, even if it was just a single swearword. He should have known me better than that. One pregnancy wasn’t going to suddenly change somebody’s personality.

At the coffee shop I kicked off my shoes because despite the cool weather, my feet were swollen. Maybe no one would show up at the ice rink and I would get to go home. The coffee was bitter, so I added some sugar cubes, but I still couldn’t get it down. It seemed like the baby didn’t like it either, because it turned from side to side as if offended by the horrible taste being passed through the umbilical cord. I had to drink a big glass of buttermilk to wash away the coffee. We didn’t make it to the ice arena until six thirty. Koivu’s cell phone started ringing at the door, so he stayed outside to talk.

The rink was almost dark without a single light on in the stands. The floodlights focused on the ice. As I walked toward the light, music suddenly started playing: “Aquarius” from
Hair
, the opening of Noora and Janne’s free skate.

Janne came speeding out onto the ice. I had seen their routine enough times that I knew to expect a combination jump. This time Janne landed it upright, with just the slightest stutter coming down out of a double toe loop when the bottom toe pick of one blade grabbed the ice.

Watching Janne skate the routine alone was eerie; he seemed to be constantly looking at an invisible partner. During the first lift, he was clearly bearing someone’s weight, and in the side-by-side solo pirouette, he checked to make sure he was in sync with her. The tune changed to “Hair,” and Janne touched his own free-flowing locks, which really were unusually long for a male skater. He grinned mischievously at the place in the program that had reportedly offended some of the conservative judges at the World Championships. I remembered how Noora had looked during that part, her brown ponytail swinging around her spinning head.
Give me a head with hair, long beautiful hair . . .
Next would have come a double-axel throw, but Janne just glided with arms outstretched until launching off to meet his shadow partner for a series of steps and the transition to the next song. The pain on his face during the death spiral was part of the program, but now it was so genuine that I almost ran out onto the ice to stop him.

“Don’t interrupt him,” a voice whispered behind me. I could barely make out Rami Luoto’s silhouette and thought I saw his hand move as if wiping away a tear. With my eyes glued back on Janne, I could almost see Noora’s skates glinting during the star lift. Janne’s arms lowered the emptiness they held calmly and surely, and then the tempo of the music increased toward the finale, “Let the Sunshine In.”
I had seen Miloš Forman’s film at least four times over the years, and the end always made me bawl. That was probably why I blubbered when I saw Noora and Janne skating to it in competition. Janne’s double axel was flawless, a long glide, a dramatic plunge on the ice like a dying soldier, and then a rise into the vaunted final death spiral, which I only saw as dim motion in the wavering light.

Rami Luoto shifted behind me and then almost ran to the edge of the ice. I wished someone would turn on the lights to break the ethereal mood. I wiped my face on my sleeve, since I didn’t have a handkerchief in my pocket. Then the rink brightened. I saw Koivu weaving through the rows of seats toward me.

“A red Nissan Micra, license plate starting with an
A
, and a white Renault Clio!” Koivu said loudly as he approached, but for a second I didn’t have any idea what he meant.

“Lähde found a guy who was on the upper level of the parking garage at seven forty-five and actually knows something about cars. Those were the ones that were there besides Järvenperä’s!”

“Really? Great! Let’s get to work,” I said, feigning excitement. I would prefer to do anything but see Janne Kivi right now. Even though their relationship had been stormy, after seeing Janne skate, there was no doubt he was out of his mind with grief over Noora’s death.

Janne sat with his head between his hands in the player’s box. He hadn’t even bothered putting guards on his skates, their blades slicing deep gouges in the black rubber flooring. Rami Luoto stood next to him with his hand on Janne’s shoulder, and I got the feeling that seeing us was a relief.

“Sergeant Kallio and Senior Officer Koivu from the Espoo Police. We’ve been trying to reach both of you all day. We’re sorry we had to come and interrupt your practice.”

“We aren’t going to be training today,” Rami said and then extended his hand. “Rami Luoto, Noora and Janne’s coach. How can I help?”

Rami Luoto was about forty-five, and a bit of gray tinged his carefully trimmed black hair and the sideburns that curled beneath surprisingly small ears. He was short, barely five foot seven, and he still had the lithe, muscular frame of a ballet dancer. Once, Rami had been Finland’s top skater, but he never quite managed to win a medal in one of the majors. His skating style had emphasized dance over acrobatics—the speed of his pirouettes was amazing, but he had trouble on the jumping side. My sister Helena, our family’s most enthusiastic skating fan, had a serious crush on Rami back in the day. I’d always thought he was effeminate and not very handsome, but age had narrowed his face, seeming to draw his eyes closer together and adding a nice softness to his lips.

“The police have reason to believe that Noora was killed soon after she left here yesterday. We’re trying to retrace her movements as precisely as possible. Elena Grigorieva said that you two were the last at the rink.”

Rami Luoto listened to me quietly, but then nodded to Janne.

“I don’t think you should try to talk to Janne right now. He should really go home. He just heard about Noora’s death. When no one was here at the rink, he called the Nieminens to see what was going on.”

I remembered that Elena Grigorieva had said something about a ballet class and wondered if Janne was supposed to attend that too, but I didn’t say anything about it now.

“Can you drive home, Janne, or should I drop you off?” Luoto asked. The young man didn’t answer, just sat with his face in his hands. The shoulders under his black T-shirt heaved, but it was hard to tell whether he was crying or breathing heavily after skating.

“Could you still answer a few questions?” I asked. “Did you see Noora leave the rink?”

Luoto nodded.

“I did . . . Let me think . . . It’s the same every day, so remembering what happened when is hard. But yesterday was an unusually difficult training session. I was probably the last one to go because I talked with the custodian. The ice hasn’t been quite how we like it the past few days. I saw Noora go out, though. Didn’t you leave together, Janne?”

No answer.

“Were you driving or walking?” I asked Luoto.

“Me? Walking. I live right near here. The rain started almost immediately, so I had to run the whole way. I still got soaked, though.”

“You said practice yesterday was unusually difficult. Would you mind if we recorded this conversation? You’ll have to repeat the answers you just gave, maybe a little more specifically, and tell us whatever else you remember about yesterday and Noora.”

Luoto nodded and suggested that we go sit in the dressing room because it was warmer. On the outside he appeared calm, but when he touched Janne on the shoulder again, I noticed his hand tremble. Rami Luoto was used to soothing his athletes’ emotional turmoil; maybe taking care of other people forced him to forget his own feelings.