Her Enemy (23 page)

“I promise to wear it to your wedding. So how does it sound?”

“No talking about weddings before I’ve actually even proposed to Anita. I don’t want to jinx anything.”

“I mean my theory, fathead! Does it seem possible that the same person who murdered Armi also murdered Sanna—and do you think my boss could be that person?”

“It’s pretty far-fetched, but you know what, I’ve seen way stranger things in this job,” Koivu said. “I’ve stopped making assumptions. So a couple of things come to mind. What about Armi’s brother-in-law? If he really thought Armi was driving that car that almost ran them down and led to his wife’s miscarriage, then he had motive. And then there are Sanna’s abortions.
You should find out who the father or fathers were of those babies. Who would know that?”

At the memory that Eki had been the one to enlighten me about Sanna’s abortions, I felt like vomiting. Was Sanna’s final pregnancy Eki’s handiwork?

“Sanna was Dr. Hellström’s patient, so in a way she was also Armi’s patient, because Armi had access to all her records and dealt with her at her appointments. That must be it: Armi knew who murdered Sanna because he was the father of her child! Koivu, you’re a goddamn gem, you know that? I’ll have to revisit that awful Hellström first thing tomorrow, although I don’t fancy talking to the greasy letch about anything having to do with sex. Guess what I heard him say about me!” I told Koivu about the conversation I’d overheard at Risto’s birthday party and my own intrusion. Koivu laughed so hard he almost inhaled his beer.

“I really miss you down at the station, especially when the boss man comes around stinking up my office with his cigar.”

From the billiards side of the bar came a louder ruckus than usual, but we just ignored it. We started talking about his upcoming vacation.

“Anita and I are going to Greece for a week, to Skopelos. Then I’ve been thinking—”

An even louder bellow interrupted Koivu’s sentence, followed by a crash and shouts. Over the general commotion came a bellow of, “Oh, so you think you’re a big man, do you!”

I also heard a waitress clearly say to another, “He’s got a knife. We should call the police.”

Koivu and I weren’t about to let this situation disintegrate. One beer wasn’t enough to dull our edge. Giving each other a
look, we rose at the same time. Koivu waved his badge at the bartender but still ordered him to call and request a patrol car immediately.

In the back room, we found the center of the floor empty, with people standing in a ring along the walls and next to the pool tables as if watching a boxing match. But no, this would be even less civilized: a good old Finnish knife fight. In the middle of the circle, a man lay bent over a table with the back of his head against the felt. A big, ugly man held him in place with one arm, while in the other hand glinted a sinister-looking jackknife pressed against the first man’s throat. Just a tiny motion of the large man’s hand and that throat would open up in a textbook butcher-shop cut. The men could have been brothers—the same robust, beer-infused physique, the same bloodshot drinker’s eyes.

“This is the police. Put the knife away,” Koivu said with calm authority. We’re not both the police, I thought, but I could feel him tense next to me like a bear catching the scent of its prey, and I wasn’t about to volunteer my actual career status to the crowd at that moment.

“This fucker cheated me at eightball!” The man with the knife spat in the face of his victim, who didn’t dare move a muscle.

“I want you to calm down and put away the knife,” I said, taking a few steps to the side and then two forward so the knife-wielder would be sure to see me. Usually troublemakers calmed down more easily when a woman was giving the orders. However, this time my attempt seemed unsuccessful. The man was obviously intoxicated, and drunks are way more unpredictable than other people are.

At least that was what they taught us at the police academy.

“If you come one step closer,” he snarled at me, “I’m gonna cut this turkey’s throat open!”

Sweat and tears of fear mixed with spit on the alleged cheater’s face. Disregarding the threat, I took several more steps forward, extending my hand invitingly and trying to lock eyes with the attacker. At the same time, I saw that Koivu was slipping behind him. He didn’t mean to rush him, did he? Given the likelihood of injuring the victim and himself, the risk was far too great. Persuasion was a much better tactic.

“I want everyone else out of here!” I yelled. “Clear the bar!” The crowd would probably just goad the knife-wielder into doing something even stupider than he already was doing, but with only a few people present, he would have an easier time giving up without losing face.

Although only a few dozen seconds passed, I had time to ponder how long the patrol car might take to arrive and how on earth someone could manage to cheat at pool. I mean, you knock the balls into the pockets, and everyone watches.

Of course, the curious crowd of onlookers had no desire to disperse. Why should they miss the free entertainment? They might even get to see live and in person how corpses got made. I heard someone whisper that this was just like a movie. Maybe they thought the guy lying on his back on the table had ketchup running through his arteries.

By now, I was close and began slowly circling the pool table, trying to keep all of the man’s attention on me so Koivu could more easily slip behind him. For a big, muscular dude, Koivu moved silently—more like a giant cat than a bear.

“Fuck, girl, are you supposed to be a cop?” For the first time, the man with the knife turned his eyes straight toward
me. “Do you have a gun? Are you gonna shoot me?” He was trying to sound sarcastic, but his tone contained a hint of uncertainty.

“If you do as I say, put the knife on the table, and let that guy go, then nothing will happen to you,” I said, staring the man directly in the eyes like a snake charmer. I saw Koivu behind him now, poised to attack: as soon as the man let go of the knife, Koivu would tackle him.

The man holding the knife stared at me for a moment. Then came a sudden move of his hand, and the knife sank into the green felt of the table eight inches away from me. Giving in must have been a serious blow to his pride. I snatched the knife, tossing it out of reach and then rushing to Koivu’s aid as he wrestled the man to the floor. We didn’t have handcuffs or any other restraints, but between the two of us, we managed to keep him down for the two minutes until the patrol car arrived.

“What were your names again?” one of the patrol officers asked after getting the assailant buttoned up in the back of the cruiser.

“Officer Pekka Koivu and Maria Kallio, inactive reserve detective,” Koivu answered briskly. “I work in Violent Crime—the switchboard can find me if you need any more information.”

“So you intervened, even though you were off duty?” the other patrol officer asked with a hint of disbelief. Apparently, he hadn’t listened closely enough to my “title” to notice the part about me being an ex-cop.

“Should we have stood by and watched while that other guy got a knife in the throat?” I asked, although I had clearly acted without authority.

The patrol officers thanked us coolly for the assistance, and we returned to the bar.

“Hey, Koivu, Red! The rest of the night is on the house,” the bartender yelled.

“Great! You got Dom Pérignon? Well, OK, a bottle of Guinness if you’re all out,” I replied.

Koivu took a large bottle of domestic Karjala. Adrenalin was still coursing through my veins, making my whole body feel electrified. We cracked a few jokes with the servers, but the rest of the patrons in the bar wouldn’t stop staring at us. I felt like a zoo exhibit. Perhaps police were like some sort of exotic, repugnant creatures to them—a police officer wasn’t supposed to look like a normal person, at least not one having a beer in their bar. I wondered whether we should change taverns, but on the other hand, drinking here was going to be cheap.

Koivu raised his glass to me.

“Here’s to teamwork.” We clinked beer glasses, in complete violation of proper Finnish toasting etiquette. “Listen, Maria…I wish you were still my partner. Are you sure you don’t want to be a cop anymore? You weren’t afraid staring down that clown. I knew I could count on you.”

“I was afraid. I was so damn afraid that other guy was going to end up as meat on a slab.”

“But it doesn’t alter your judgment. Take Saarinen and Savukoski. You know how they are; sometimes they’re so weak at the knees I can barely get them out of the car, and Saarinen is so decrepit he can barely run. With your legal education, you could go far on the force.”

“Why are you on this all of a sudden?”

I was bewildered. Too many people had voiced doubts about my choice of profession during the past few days. First Ström, whom I didn’t much care about, and now Koivu. And I had to admit that sometimes I even did.

“You’re one of the best cops I’ve ever met. And working with you was always fun.” This was all so un-Koivu-like that I was starting to wonder where it was coming from.

“Are you taking some American-style self-improvement class that tells you to try to build up at least one other person a day? Twelve-step program? Emotional Intimacy 101?”

Koivu blushed adorably. “Well, since we’re both dating someone now, I can compliment you without you thinking I’m trying to hit on you.”

We continued talking about summer plans and agreed that he and Anita would come out to Tapiola for a sauna night sometime after their trip. Even though moving on to harder drinks would have been free, we decided to head home. I was tired from my short night’s sleep in the tent, and my adrenaline crash was coming in the form of a pounding headache.

The evening was still light, so instead of walking to the bus stop, I continued past it to the main Helsinki city cemetery. I wanted to visit Sanna’s grave. Based on what Antti had told me, I knew that Sanna had been buried in her mother’s family’s plot, in the older part of the cemetery. Although I found an appropriate grouping of Hallmanns, none of the surrounding stones bore Sanna’s name. Of course not. The Hänninens didn’t even want to remember Sanna’s existence on a gravestone, I thought angrily as the stabbing pain worsened.

When I arrived home, Antti was playing the piano. The Scarlatti sonata calmed me in spite of the headache. I downed two ibuprofen, took a shower, and then read through Otso Hakala’s and Sanna’s criminal records, which Koivu had given me. Neither contained any stunning revelations, although Hakala’s was even more impressive than I expected. Drugs, larceny, assault and battery. In a Dorothy L. Sayers mystery, he
would have escaped without anyone noticing in order to kill Sanna and Armi and then cunningly returned himself to prison after committing his crimes. Or someone else entirely would be sitting in prison in his place, while the real Hakala was walking around having shaved his beard and dyed his hair. Disguised as Makke Ruosteenoja.

Antti opened the kitchen door just as I was making some chamomile tea I had found in his mother’s amply stocked health-food cupboard.

“Teemu Laaksonen called—Mallu’s husband. He said he was coming to Helsinki tomorrow and could meet with you then. How was tonight?”

Antti looked worried as I recounted the evening’s excitement.

“Is it just me, or does your life seems more dangerous now than when you were a cop?”

“A leopard can’t change her spots. I’m lucky enough to be trained to handle dangerous situations when I encounter them—it’s not like I’m seeking them out.”

“I don’t want to lose you, Maria. Seriously. You could be a tad more careful, if only for my sake.” As Antti looked me in the eyes, I could still see the warmth of our morning together in them. I didn’t want to fight. Instead, I pressed up against him like a tame kitty cat.

“I’m going to see my advisor tomorrow to deliver another couple of chapters of my dissertation for him to look at,” Antti said. “Unless he finds something big that still needs work, I can probably defend in November.”

“Will you go back to the university after Christmas then?”

“I don’t know. I’ll still have a year and a half of fellowship funding left. In the beginning my plan was to go for a postdoc
overseas, to the States or Denmark. My advisor and I are going to be talking about that tomorrow too.”

“When would you leave? January?” I didn’t want to put this conversation off, even though I wasn’t ready and my head was still throbbing.

“Yeah, or the next fall semester. It depends a little on you. I meant to bring this up yesterday, and then this morning, but we were having such a good time I was scared to ruin the mood. If I go, what would you do? Would you come with me? Would you wait for me here? If I leave, does that mean it’s the end of this?”

I didn’t know how to answer. Up until now, we had been living without any particular plans, even moving in together practically by accident. I loved Antti, but how much was I willing to tie myself to him? And do you do that one day at a time, over and over, or once and for all?

“I just started a new job, so I’m not planning on going anywhere immediately,” I said, not bothering to add that if Eki was indeed a murderer, I would be out of a job sooner rather than later. “Of course, at some point I still want to do my court internship. I can’t just drop everything and follow you across the planet. And what do you mean by waiting? That you go gallivanting across the United States while I sit here hoping I’ll still be good enough for you when you get back?” I regretted that last sentence before it was all the way out of my mouth.

“Don’t be a jerk, I didn’t mean that! I was just thinking…OK, maybe this isn’t the time, since you’re obviously in a bad mood.”

“I’m sorry. My head just hurts.”

We drank our tea in silence. I tried to think about something else other than our future.

“How well do you know Mallu’s husband?” I asked after finishing my first cup.

“I’ve met him a few times. Why?”

“What kind of a person is he?”

“I don’t know. Pretty normal. Nice, a little reserved. Like Kimmo. Or me. Not the murdering type. Is that what you’re getting at? Is everyone a murderer to you this week?”