Below the Surface

by Leena Lehtolainen

  “What would you like me to say to Andreas?”

  “I can’t even think right now. Maybe I shouldn’t even go back to the farm, but I don’t know where else I’d go . . . Rauha can’t handle the animals herself for long.”

  The lights of downtown Espoo loomed hazy on the horizon as we turned toward Kauniainen. I looked at the back of Koivu’s neck. His hair had grown over his collar, and before long he’d be able to pull it back in a ponytail. His dark-blue corduroy jacket, which he’d been wearing for a few years now, was tight around the shoulders. Thank God at least Koivu was satisfied with his life. That was a comforting thought.

  We dropped Heli off at the Kauniainen taxi station. I gave her my card and told her she could send a message to Andreas just by e-mailing me. Tomorrow I’d have to talk to the public defender assigned to Andreas.

  “What do you think?” I asked Koivu as we drove to his house to drop him off.

  “I don’t think anything. My elbow is bruised from hitting a camera and I need a drink.”

  “I know the feeling. Say hi to Anu,” I said as we pulled up to his place. “Or wait—I’ll come up and say hi myself. I haven’t seen my godson in weeks.”

  Anu was clearly glad to have company. She made tea as she quizzed me about my experience with nursing. We arranged for them to come over in a couple of weeks for a little Christmas get-together, and I told Anu that as a mathematician Antti could calculate exactly how much mulled wine a breastfeeding mother could safely drink. We all laughed at that, and the darkness didn’t seem quite so impenetrable as I walked down the stairs to the car. Just as I was opening the door, Antti called.

  “It’s me. Something really strange just happened. Iida got a big package in the mail, and the package slip says the sender is Jani Väinölä. Wasn’t that the same guy who blew up our mailbox a few years ago? What’s he trying to do now?”

  19

  It took me a few seconds to understand the significance of Antti’s words. A package for Iida. Sent by Jani Väinölä, who a few years earlier had blown up our mailbox. Väinölä knew I had a daughter named Iida. Antti told me that the package was waiting at the Olari post office. A package that was unlikely to be an innocent gift.

  First I called Dispatch. I ordered them to send the nearest patrol car to Olari and also call out the bomb squad. Better an overreaction than risking civilian lives. When had Väinölä been released? I didn’t remember anymore the length of his sentence for his mishmash of crimes. I plugged in my hands-free and started driving toward Olari as I asked Dispatch to look into Väinölä’s status. When they called back, I learned he was in prison in Helsinki again after he’d failed to return from a furlough. While he was out, he’d done some drug dealing, which had increased his sentence further.

  That knowledge calmed my nerves a bit. The chances that Väinölä had managed to send a bomb from prison were slim. Still my hands shook so hard I couldn’t dial the number of the Helsinki prison, which wasn’t in my contacts. Simply driving was hard enough.

  The Olari post office was located on the second floor of a red brick building. A patrol car was already on scene, and the evacuation was underway. A teary-eyed young woman rushed out the door with a baby stroller, and I nearly ran into her. The patrol hadn’t told everyone there was a bomb threat, had they? Ever since the Myyrmanni Mall bombing, people had been hysterical, constantly fearing that death could come at any moment. Personally I’d known for years that no one was ever safe anywhere. Now I felt responsible for the distress of these people fleeing the post office. Maybe that’s why I went inside.

  “I have to get my coat. It’s cold out there!” one of the postal workers yelled at Officer Akkila.

  “Just get out. We have blankets.” Akkila’s expression was tense; he was scared too. The worker was wearing a thin sweater and a short skirt, and she trembled with fear and cold. Akkila grabbed her by the arm.

  “Stay out of here,” he hissed at me. “We’re going to shut the doors and hope the bomb squad gets here before anything happens. What the hell’s going on?”

  “We’ll see.” I tried to call the Helsinki prison again, and managed to reach one of the assistant wardens.

  “Jani Väinölä is in his cell. And of course we check all outgoing packages. There shouldn’t be anything to worry about.” The warden promised to check their log to see who Väinölä had sent mail to. He’d call me back once he had that information.

  The bomb squad arrived in two vehicles with lights flashing. I wondered when the first reporters would show up. What if this turned into a bigger story than Myyrmanni? That would be the thought on their minds. Give us this day our daily catastrophe, that we may sell more newspapers. Praise be to Jani Väinölä, who provided us something to put in our headlines.

  “So we have a possible mail bomb,” the squad leader, a Sergeant Aspholm, said calmly after I’d explained the situation. “Finding the package will be easiest if we know the tracking number. What’s your storage system like?” Aspholm asked the postal worker in the miniskirt, for whom Akkila had gone to get a blanket.

  I called Antti and asked him to look at the tracking number on the package slip.

  “Is there a bomb in the package?” Antti asked. I heard Iida humming something in the background.

  “Don’t know yet. Maybe Väinölä thought about us when he read about the Hackman investigation and figured it was time to get revenge. We’ll see. The bomb squad is headed into the post office now.”

  Gawkers had gathered in the square next to the post office and on a nearby elevated walkway, and a couple more patrol cars showed up to keep order. The bomb squad donned their safety gear, then sent a dog in first.

  I couldn’t see the package storage room through the post office’s windows, so I moved away from the building. If there was an explosion, I didn’t want to be standing anywhere near the glass. I tried to hop in place to stay warm even though it felt stupid. As if I were dancing with death.

  An airplane flew over surprisingly low, as if it were off course. Its rumble made the people gathered in the square shift restlessly. People had appeared in the windows and on the balconies of the nearby buildings, but I still felt alone.

  The fear that my job would hurt my family only grew worse with time. For the two years I’d been out of the policing world, I’d felt safe. And after the bombing of our mailbox, an apartment building had felt like a safe place to live. That was an illusion, of course. Annukka Hackman had carried a pistol, and that pistol had led to her own death.

  A snowflake fell on my nose, followed by another. I walked down to the parking lot and lifted the windshield wipers of my car so they wouldn’t freeze to the glass. I felt like getting in and sitting down, but then I wouldn’t be able to see as well when the bomb squad came out. When the phone rang, I jumped. It was my mother. I didn’t answer, because hiding the truth from her would have taken too much energy. Time stood still as I waited for some sign from the windows of the post office: an alarm, an explosion, an all-clear signal. It felt as if I’d been standing in that square for hours when I finally saw the post office door open, and the bomb dog and Sergeant Aspholm walked out. Aspholm took off his helmet. As I ran over to him, he noticed me and smiled.

  “That’s quite a feat of dollhouse construction, with built-in cabinets and all. There’s a letter too, although the sender isn’t much of a wordsmith. No sign of explosives, though. I think you’re safe to take your daughter her new toy.”

  Aspholm patted the dog, who gave a happy yelp. The patrol officers came over, along with the remaining postal workers. The crowd of onlookers seemed to grumble, as if they were disappointed nothing exciting had happened after all. I walked into the post office, past the front desk, and into the package storage room. Brown wrapping paper and bubble wrap littered the floor. I felt like it was my responsibility to clean up the mess I’d caused.

  The dollhouse was wonderful: two stories, six rooms, and even a little sauna upstairs. The outside was painted red
with a black roof, and the window trim was white. The kitchen and bathroom had fixtures just like a real house. I could still faintly smell the paint from the final touch-ups.

  The letter was on the roof of the dollhouse, in a normal brown envelope, unsealed. I opened it and found a sheet of graph paper with a note written in all caps.

  HI. I MADE ONE OF THESE FOR A FRIEND’S KID AND THOUGHT YOUR LITTLE GIRL MIGHT DIG ONE TOO. GREETINGS FROM THE BIG HOUSE. J. VÄINÖLÄ.

  There had to be something more to this. Was the paint poisonous or was there something dangerous besides a bomb hidden in the cabinets? I sniffed the house like a dog, stroking the surfaces and inspecting every single part. The postal worker watched me, puzzled.

  “We need to have the package slip for that,” she said in irritation. “Since it’s been opened and everything. Is it yours?”

  “I don’t have the package slip,” I said and giggled with pure relief at someone talking about something so mundane. “Of course I can come back and pick it up tomorrow,” I said and started winding the bubble wrap back around the dollhouse. Iida would love it, even though we’d have to cram it into the children’s already-cramped room. I grabbed some string from the counter to tie the bubble wrap, then I collected the brown wrapping paper and threw it away. The postal worker watched the whole time as if she was afraid I might steal something.

  “You can just bring the slip tomorrow,” she finally said. As I carried the package out to the car, I decided to make one more call. I reached the assistant warden of the prison again. He was on the treadmill in the gym. In the background I could hear pop music playing and people grunting.

  “So what’s up with Jani Väinölä?” I asked.

  “Not much. He’s got a couple more months to go.”

  “Did he get religion?”

  The warden laughed. “Not that I know of. He’s the same as he’s always been.”

  “Skinhead and everything?”

  “Well, he has a little hair now, but the ideology seems the same. He hangs out in the wood shop, but there’s not much work in that industry these days.”

  “Does he have a girlfriend?”

  “Nobody visits him but other guys who just happen to be free at the moment. Why do you ask?”

  It was embarrassing, but I went ahead and related the story.

  “Maybe he regrets the bombing,” the assistant warden said. “Damn, I think I just pulled something. I gotta get off.”

  Väinölä sorry? I didn’t know what to think. I’d always tried to believe there was a little good in everyone. That faith was constantly tried, though.

  I drove the few blocks home. The snow had intensified, a coarse, cold precipitation that blew at my windshield from the passing cars and wormed its way under my collar when I got out. An old woman who lived in our building was fighting with the door; a drift had piled up in front of the threshold and she couldn’t pull the door past it. I set down the dollhouse and opened the door for her. The old woman, the dollhouse, and I didn’t fit in the same elevator, so I walked up the stairs to our floor. Soon it would be Taneli’s bedtime.

  Antti came to the door and breathed a sigh of relief when he saw the package.

  “So it really was a false alarm?”

  I shook the snow from my hair, leaving a small pile on the entryway floor, which quickly turned into a puddle.

  “Apparently. Strangest thing. Iida, come look. There’s a package for you!”

  Iida rushed into the living room and started ripping off the wet plastic, with Taneli enthusiastically helping. Iida squealed with joy when she saw what was inside.

  “Did Santa bring it?” she asked.

  “No, just a nice man named Jani. You can write him a thank-you note and send him some gingerbread cookies.”

  “Won’t anyone else make him gingerbread cookies?” Iida asked as she tried to fit her Barbie in the dollhouse living room.

  “I don’t think so. I do have a feeling Santa Claus might bring some furniture for that house, though.”

  Antti had saved me some fish soup from dinner, but I wasn’t hungry. I told him about my conversation with the prison warden while Iida whipped up some temporary furniture made from Legos, with Taneli helping and hindering her in turns. Soon the living room floor was full of toys and packing material, but I didn’t care. No one had tried to blow up Iida. All was well in the White Cube.

  In the morning I cursed when I stepped on a tiny Lego. At first I felt like my ankle was sprained, but it gradually got better. Getting the kids moving was hard; they’d both been up late playing with the new dollhouse. Outside, I saw four inches of snow on the windowsill. The world was as soft as a fluff ball. I packed the kids’ sleds, because the day care’s yard had a small hill. It was negative four degrees Fahrenheit, so the snow wasn’t going away anytime soon. The children shivered in the car while Antti and I dug it out. The previous night I’d been so befuddled by the episode with the dollhouse that I’d forgotten to put the cover on the car. Luckily, I’d had the presence of mind to plug in the engine block heater, though.

  When I got to the station, Koivu had brought the morning papers to the meeting room. “Sasha Returns Home Brokenhearted,” said one. On the cover of another was a picture of Heli and half of my face. “Sasha and Heli—Divorce!” it proclaimed. I didn’t want to read the articles, but I had to skim them at least.

  “Rally racing star Sasha Smeds is facing his greatest challenge. For the second time the world championship slipped through his fingers, this time due to an unfortunate accident. Seriously injured, Smeds also learned recently that his wife is having an affair with his brother, Andreas, who was forced to end his own career on the rally circuit several years ago due to a drunk-driving incident. Fortunately Sasha has the unshakeable support of the Finnish people behind him,” said one article. Another wrote:

  Sasha is a modern-day explorer, a rally vagabond who risks his life so viewers can enjoy the thrill of competition. The role of the good wife keeping the home fires burning isn’t enough for all modern women, and temptations can become overpowering. It’s tragic that Sasha’s disappointment in his wife came just as he needed her support the most.

  A cough behind me interrupted my reading. I looked up to see Ursula’s face, pale with red splotches.

  “Morning. Feeling better?”

  “No. I just came in to submit my sick leave paperwork. I’m staying out until after Christmas for psychological reasons.” Ursula handed me the paper. “The department doctor thinks my depression is being caused by the cover-up of the sexual harassment incident. I need time to recover.” Ursula crossed her arms. She really did look stressed, and her hair had none of its previous shine.

  “Can we speak privately after the meeting? I have something else I’d like to talk about.” I’d have to press Ursula about the leaks.

  “I’m not obligated to stay for the meeting. I’m on sick leave,” Ursula said coldly.

  The rest of the unit started gathering around us, as it was time to start.

  “And I don’t need to meet with you privately,” Ursula continued. “I’d rather speak my mind in front of everyone. I think you’re a shitty boss and you don’t want any other women around threatening your position. You keep too much work for yourself because you don’t trust the rest of us. The Koivu thing was the last straw. Make him investigate all the rapes now! I used to wonder if you were sleeping with him or with Taskinen, but now I think it’s both! Don’t count on me ever coming back here,” Ursula said and turned to leave.

  I knew I was beet red, and I felt like vomiting. Still I had to turn and face the rest of my unit; there was work to do. Puupponen glowered after Ursula, Lähde stared at the tips of his shoes, and Koivu gazed out the window. He was also blushing.

  “OK, Koivu. What do you have to tell us about our hockey star?”

  Koivu turned to look at me. “He says the girl lied and told him she was eighteen. Which is reasonable, since she was in a bar. He denies forcing her to have sex,
but the girl’s bruises say otherwise.”

  The meeting went as it did every morning. Once again I left the Hackman case for last.

  I asked Autio and Lähde to continue questioning Andreas. “We should consider whether the evidence supports continuing to hold him, given Sasha’s testimony,” I said. Of course I would have liked to interrogate Andreas myself, but after what Ursula had said, that felt difficult. And I did trust my subordinates—all of them except Ursula, that is. Getting someone to stand in for her while she was out on sick leave would be impossible, and to make matters worse, Puustjärvi came to see me after the meeting to announce that he wanted to take the next week off as parental leave. The twins had come home, and his wife needed him there. What was I supposed to say to that?

  Fortunately the snow illuminated the world even without the sun. Suddenly I realized there was less than a month to go until Christmas, and we still hadn’t taken that Christmas card picture. Maybe we could shelve that and have Iida draw something instead.

  I was reviewing a final report with Puupponen on a fistfight that had happened in Olari when the phone rang. I didn’t recognize the number, so I answered. The voice seemed strange at first, and the caller didn’t bother to introduce himself.

  “What the hell is this about that slimeball Suuronen having a version of Annukka’s book that I haven’t even seen? Annukka never would have given that loser anything! Did he rob our office? I already have the book at the printers. Am I supposed to pull it back now?”

  “All along we’ve assumed we received the correct—and only—manuscript version from you, Mr. Jääskeläinen. Apparently there’s another version in existence.”