Below the Surface

by Leena Lehtolainen

  “Were you and Andreas having an affair?”

  “I don’t know. I guess.”

  Heli tried to wipe her tears on the sleeve of her coat, so I told her there were paper towels in the glove box. Puustjärvi had talked about the very same thing—infidelity and punishment—while sitting in the same seat a few days earlier.

  “I didn’t want to hurt anyone. I just want everyone to be happy. I’m Sasha’s wife. I stand by his side at the awards ceremonies and the parties. I smile for the photographers and assure the reporters that I trust Sasha even though he’s surrounded by models and movie stars. But I was the one who couldn’t be trusted. Annukka said she wouldn’t tell Sasha yet. She’d let him win the world championship first. After that, everyone could read about how his wife cheated on him.”

  “Who else knows about your relationship?”

  “No one. Who else could we tell? The situation is impossible. I can’t start a new life with Andreas. That’s not possible at the farm. Smedsbo is home for all of us; it’s where we have to live.”

  “How long has this been going on?”

  “Since the spring. Andreas says he’s always loved me. I feel like I’m in a soap opera. Things like this don’t happen in real life. Not to me at least.”

  Now that would be ironic: Sasha offers his brother an alibi so Andreas can get away with killing the only person who knew about his affair with Sasha’s wife. Why hadn’t Ursula, who had read the whole Hackman manuscript, said anything about this? As I’d scanned through the book, I hadn’t seen anything this juicy.

  “Sasha shouldn’t have to suffer. Sasha didn’t do anything wrong! I see you’re wearing a wedding ring. Have you ever fallen in love with anyone besides your husband?”

  I dodged the question: “You can’t do much about your feelings, and Sasha’s accident doesn’t have anything to do with you and Andreas.”

  “Maybe you can’t control your feelings, but you can control your actions. And I’ve ruined everything, and now innocent people are suffering. And do you know what’s worse? I should be promising God to leave Andreas if Sasha survives, but I can’t. I don’t know if I could keep that promise. Police are sworn to secrecy, right? You won’t tell what Annukka’s book says, will you?”

  “I won’t personally, no,” I said. Had Atro Jääskeläinen swindled us and given the police a cleaned-up version of Annukka’s manuscript? If so, where was the complete book?

  “It may take hours for them to get Sasha out of the car. Aren’t burn injuries horribly painful? Oh, Sasha!” Heli said and burst into tears again.

  “I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to fly alone.”

  “Well, I’m not so immoral that I’d take Andreas with me on a trip like this!” Suddenly Heli seemed full of rage and self-loathing. It had started to rain, but the streetlights hadn’t come on yet. The lights of the oncoming cars scattered in the droplets that collected on my windshield; the wipers couldn’t drive them away quickly enough.

  “Annukka thought the country had a right to know everything about Sasha’s life and about mine. It didn’t matter that it would hurt Sasha’s parents and my parents and who knows who else! As if this situation was easy somehow. I didn’t want this to happen and neither did Andreas. And if Sasha dies now . . .”

  I felt helpless in the face of Heli’s mess. Even though it was none of my business, I wished I could help. I drove her to the priority-boarding door since her ticket was business class. Half the world already knew about Sasha’s accident, and Heli would be taken care of. Still it felt bad leaving her to walk alone into the crowded terminal. She looked so delicate and ready to lose her way.

  From the airport, I drove straight to the day care. Seeing the children calmed my mind—both were in good spirits, and Iida proudly showed off the cat she’d made from pipe cleaners and empty paper towel rolls. The day care suffered from a shortage of materials, so we collected empty paper towel rolls at home, and Antti brought paper from work that was blank on one side so the kids could draw. Iida’s future school would also be strapped for funds because the technological paradise of Espoo didn’t have the money to invest in elementary education.

  For a few years Antti had suspected they were just waiting for Nokia and their ilk to found private schools for their employees’ children. He’d gone to an elite school in Tapiola himself, which I hadn’t grown tired of teasing him about. His education had been somewhat different than what I received in the backwoods of Northern Karelia. Now Antti’s old school suffered from serious mold problems, and the classrooms were overcrowded. So much for its reputation.

  Back home, I gave the kids mashed potatoes and fish sticks for dinner. I didn’t join them, since I’d be eating later at the office Christmas party.

  “I assume you’re planning on being hungover tomorrow,” Antti said as I brushed eyeshadow on my eyelids, sipping a gin and tonic and listening to the Rehtorit sing about Friday making them young again. I knew the feeling, although I didn’t have it now. My mind was too full of other people’s problems, and the woman looking back at me in the mirror only had a year and a half until her fortieth birthday. I could accept the wrinkles, but the emotional exhaustion felt overpowering. I knew that alcohol wasn’t the right medicine, but I couldn’t come up with anything else.

  Antti joked about how dreary the next morning would be, and reminded me that his own office Christmas party was next week.

  “That’s a good thing,” he said. “Since they’re not re-upping my contract, I can tell everyone to their faces what I think of them.”

  “Are you holding a lot of grudges?” I asked.

  “Who me? Never. I’m just a nice guy who wants the best for everyone,” Antti replied so bitterly that I was still thinking about it later on the bus. And Antti was nice: even though he hated car racing, he was still genuinely shocked by Sasha Smeds’s accident. I just mentioned in passing that I’d taken Heli to the airport, since I couldn’t talk about work.

  After much consideration we’d chosen the Tapiola Garden Hotel as the venue for our Christmas party in hopes that there might be enough other people in the ballroom to make up for the dearth of female dance partners in our ranks. The party would start with a meeting in a private room, and I would be having my first ham and casseroles of the season. As I waited at the lobby bar for another gin and tonic, Koivu and Puupponen joined me.

  “Puustjärvi called to say he isn’t coming,” Puupponen said. “He’s been at the hospital the whole day staring at the twins. His wife is still in bad shape.”

  Apparently Anu wasn’t coming to the party either, even though we all wanted to see her.

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” I said. “But hopefully we can still have fun without them. How are the Smedses?”

  “The old lady drugged her husband into a coma, and Andreas started drinking hard. He even offered us some vodka,” Koivu said. “We didn’t hang around for long, though. Since Sasha’s condition was unclear, we wanted to give them some space. The news will be on soon, so we can see if there’s been any new developments before we go down.”

  Sasha’s accident was still the top story. He’d been taken to the hospital in critical condition, and his co-driver was currently undergoing skin grafting, but it was doubtful it would work. Heli would no doubt be with her husband soon. On screen, the familiar Citroën raced along the wet road, then the deer ran in front of it. My muscles clenched again, even though I knew what would happen.

  “Did you notice?” asked Koivu. “Sasha didn’t even try to brake. He just drove right at the deer. He probably thought he could survive the crash, but he figured wrong.”

  “No talking about work!” Puupponen said, agitated. “We only have our Christmas party once a year, and I intend to dance with my boss. Come on, Kallio! Let’s turn the dial up to eleven and forget about everything else!”

  The speakers were blasting Prisoners of the Past’s version of “Arctic Wedding,” and for some reason the song’s theme of unhappy endings was
too much for me. I started to cry, but I didn’t want to let Puupponen see. He was telling an endless story about some wino he arrested when he was at the police academy. I’d heard the story before, but I still laughed. Puupponen was right. Turn the dial up to eleven and forget the world.

  After dancing, we headed for the dining room. Next to the plates were elf hats, which we were supposed to put on our heads. Puupponen led by example, and Kettunen from Narcotics followed.

  “Is this seat free?” Taskinen asked, indicating the empty chair next to me.

  “Of course,” I said, and he quickly sat down. “You probably already heard about Sasha Smeds. Sad situation. The co-driver has three small kids.”

  “What makes a person intentionally risk his life in a sport like that?”

  “Asks the cop.”

  “A desk cop who’s shot his gun once in his whole career, and that was twenty years ago,” Taskinen said with a snort.

  “Don’t you start this ‘real men versus pansies’ thing too,” I said and sampled the red wine that had just been poured in my glass.

  It was a light Italian vintage, which paired well with the ham, but for someone like me who preferred strong flavors, it was bland. Still I took another sip. I couldn’t disappoint Antti’s expectation that I’d be hungover tomorrow.

  Ursula’s entrance sent a buzz through the crowd, who’d been concentrating on their starter salads. Kettunen had some wine go down the wrong pipe, and the men at almost every table straightened up in their seats. Ursula was wearing a shiny silver minidress, high-heeled silver sandals, and shimmering panty hose. Her outfit was exactly what rapists liked to call “enticing” or “provocative.” Most of the cops in the Criminal Division had worked a rape case during their career, and there were some among them who blamed the victims because of their behavior and dress. It would be interesting to know what they were thinking right now.

  At about age thirty I accepted the fact that I would never be a tall blond and gave up my inferiority complex, but if someone could revive it, it would be Ursula. Still, I’d sensed some uncertainty underneath her perfect exterior. When I looked at Ursula now, though, sitting between Koivu and Korkeala from Robbery like a newly crowned Miss Universe, I thought I might have been wrong. If she was still in shock over Sasha Smeds’s accident, she knew how to conceal it well. Clearly, she intended to have a good time tonight.

  Taskinen had decided to let it all hang out too, although he did whisper to me in passing that Terttu’s condition was only growing worse. She was filling out her will and the divorce papers at the same time.

  “It’s almost comical in a way, even though it’s cruel to laugh at someone in so much distress,” he murmured in my ear. “But let’s not talk about that anymore. Do you think I’ll have to give a speech at some point?”

  Luckily the Criminal Division enjoyed unanimity in the belief that Finnish cops weren’t going to play elf games or sing Christmas songs at their office holiday party. Eating, drinking, and dancing were more than enough planned programming. Luukkainen from Narcotics did try to get a song going, but when he got to a line about putting out the candles on Christmas Eve, Puupponen yelled that he should put us out of our misery instead. Taskinen did give a speech, but it was only three sentences long:

  “Dear colleagues, we all know the purpose of an office Christmas party is to help us get to know each other and foster a spirit of cooperation between units. But I’m an old-fashioned guy who believes that a spirit of cooperation comes from working together and respecting each other, not from challenge courses and weekend seminars. The purpose of tonight is to have fun, so let’s all raise a glass to us!”

  Despite my criticism of the vintage, I drank another glass of the red wine. My cell phone was on silent, but I checked it now and then, even though Antti wasn’t in the habit of sending me reports about the kids. Koivu had asked Anu to check the TV for any news about Sasha Smeds, so he was checking his phone as well. Ursula was sitting very close to Koivu, and I saw Puupponen staring at them with a crooked smile. I’d thought Puupponen was infatuated with Ursula, but apparently I’d been wrong about that too.

  Once we finished our round of gingerbread coffee, the dance band resumed playing in the ballroom. Puupponen came over and asked me to dance again.

  “Nobody else has a cool-looking boss like me,” he said with a laugh as we moved around the dance floor. “I should take a picture so my mom can see.”

  I’d dug my old leather skirt out of the closet, and while it didn’t quite reach my knees, it was still tame compared to Ursula’s outfit. My black shirt had short sleeves because in anything sleeveless I looked like a drag queen. Dancing in heels was no problem for me. Puupponen had a strange, flailing style, though, with long, loping strides that made it hard for me to keep up.

  “How is Sasha’s wife doing?” he asked between songs. I mumbled something before the band started again, this time with “Besame Mucho.”

  Puupponen bent so close his lips brushed my left ear. “What if Smeds drove off the road on purpose? What if he’s the murderer and thought he didn’t deserve to win the world championship?”

  I laughed. “You’re starting to sound like me,” I said. When the quartet’s keyboard player launched into a painful solo in the middle of the song, I laughed even harder. The bassist sang, but the guitarist mostly just played accompaniment, and the drummer looked sleepy. Their name was Midnight Fire, but, apart from the keyboardist, they were far from fiery.

  After Puupponen, Kettunen from Narcotics asked me to dance, then Autio. Koivu swayed back and forth with Ursula, looking irritated because she had her head on his shoulder. When the band took a break, I went to get a gin and tonic and a bottle of mineral water. The dining room was nearly empty, and I found Taskinen sitting with Lehtovuori in the corner. They were talking about hockey. Taskinen had been a Battle Axes supporter since his days at the police academy in Tampere, while Lehtovuori was from Lappeenranta and over the moon about the Sputniks’ surprise success this year.

  “And the Blues have crashed since their name change,” I said with a sigh as I sat down with them. “Bring back the Espoo Pucks and their game will improve.”

  Lehtovuori subscribed to the sports news on his phone and decided to check if there was anything new on Sasha Smeds. Taskinen disappeared to get another drink.

  “This says he’s in critical condition. Poor guy. Some people get so close to bliss and then fate snatches it away at the last second,” Lehtovuori said.

  Just then Taskinen returned with a cognac. “I went straight to a double,” he announced happily. “We only live once. Maybe it’s high time I realized that too. Cheers, Maria.”

  I’d seen Jyrki drunk precisely once, at a coworker’s going-away party. Now he was on track for a repeat, though. When the band returned to the stage, he bowed and led me to the dance floor.

  Jyrki was a good dancer, and not nearly as tall as Antti. We did the rumba, with him teaching me the steps as we both giggled.

  “Do you remember when we were in this same room for Palo’s funeral? Ström was with us too,” he said suddenly.

  “I remember. Do you still think about them?”

  “I do. They both died for no reason. I’ve been thinking about death a lot lately of course. It’s nice that people are having kids at least, like Puustjärvi. Are you planning on any more?”

  “Doubtful,” I muttered quietly against Jyrki’s shoulder. I could smell his aftershave when I got within arm’s reach, and I liked it, as well as his closeness. We continued dancing after the requisite two songs; perhaps both of us were trying to stay away from the bar. I noticed that my powder had smudged on the breast of Jyrki’s black coat, and I wiped it away with a laugh. I thought of Terttu. I couldn’t say I knew her, although we’d met at various family parties and skating performances. I’d always thought the Taskinens were a happy couple.

  I raised my gaze from Jyrki’s shoulder to see Ursula drag Koivu onto the floor again. Koivu refused the co
uples dance position and instead started swinging solo to the Beatles’ “All My Loving.” Ursula looked at him for a second then left the floor, but Koivu continued dancing unperturbed.

  “Terttu’s always been jealous of you,” Taskinen whispered in my ear. “You’re so gutsy and decisive. To hear her tell it, I should be married to you instead of her . . .”

  “She really said that?” I looked into Jyrki’s eyes. They seemed darker blue than normal and a little hazy. The dance floor probably wasn’t a good place for such a personal conversation, but I didn’t want to stop dancing. Was this how easy it was? You suddenly find yourself aroused by an old friend? Your mind says one thing, but your body says another, with unpredictable consequences? Was that what had happened to Heli and Andreas?

  When the song ended, I excused myself and went to the ladies’ room, where I looked at myself in the mirror and noticed a twinkle in my eye I hadn’t seen in ages. Angrily I slapped my own face, then dabbed on some powder to replace the makeup I’d smeared on Taskinen’s coat. When I left, Koivu was coming out of the men’s room at the same time.

  “Was she in there?” he asked.

  “Who?”

  “Ursula, damn it. She’s been glued to me all night. She’s pretty and all, but I’m not interested. I don’t want an office Christmas party hookup. Come dance and save me.”

  I felt far safer dancing with Koivu than I had with Taskinen. Unfortunately, though, the band was now playing the most appalling rendition of Genesis’s “I Can’t Dance” I’d ever heard. After four songs, I had to get my water, so I left Koivu to try his luck with the civilians.

  Back at the table, Jyrki had just finished his cognac and was staring sadly into the round bottom of the glass. Puupponen was holding forth on Sasha Smeds’s rally career with some guys from Robbery, one of whom claimed he’d gone to school with Juha Kankkunen, a legendary rally driver. I joined in the chatter and, for a while, managed to convince my colleagues that I was a rally expert, but my glory faded when I couldn’t remember what manufacturer Tommi Mäkinen drove for. I did even worse at Formula 1. In vain I tried to change the subject to music. I felt like one more gin and tonic, but I knew that would probably turn tomorrow’s mild headache into divine vengeance. For once I surprised myself by being sensible and opting for more water instead. Taskinen offered to get it for me, since he wanted a beer.