Before I Go

by Leena Lehtolainen

  “I don’t want to get involved, other than to say that if you’re going to live together, you shouldn’t also work together. Even if your relationship hasn’t interfered with your work up to this point . . .”

  “Oh, hasn’t it?” Koivu said. “That interview just now went to shit because we were both just thinking how we would feel in the same situation. We slept maybe an hour last night because we were up rehashing this. You can bet your ass it’s affecting our work!” Koivu closed his eyes, and he really did look like he could fall asleep right there on the couch. Wang pursed her lips and looked at me as if to say we should just ignore him because he was being an idiot.

  “We’ll stick to the way things are for now, but think about it. If you decide to move in together, maybe we could pair Wang with Puustjärvi and Koivu with Puupponen. Or would it be better the other way around? Puupponen has been here almost eight years, but Puustjärvi hasn’t been here much longer than you, Wang.”

  “I’d go crazy if I had to listen to Puupponen’s corny jokes all day long,” Wang said. “Let’s go, Pekka.”

  “Kallio, have you thought about getting a wiretap warrant for Seppälä’s phone?” Koivu muttered, his eyes still closed. “Sooner or later he’s going to call his wife.”

  “Let’s wait for the test results. If the Huovinen case file is ready for the prosecutor, go home and get some sleep. Both of you have at least twenty hours of overtime already, and next week we’re going to have the joys of May Day to deal with.”

  Wang and Koivu left me to wonder whether I was running a couples’ therapy clinic or a violent crime unit, and whether I was any good at leading anything at all. The police academy had requested a preliminary evaluation of Mela’s field training, which I would have to write up with Lähde. The light on my answering machine was blinking insistently, so I pressed the button to listen. The first message was from Kirsti Jensen:

  Tommi Laitinen isn’t coming to our May Day party. He can’t stand the idea of being around drunk people, so you can go ahead and come. I tried to call Antti but couldn’t reach him. Anyway, see you tomorrow!

  After a beep came the next message.

  Hello, this is Reijo Rahnasto. I was appalled to hear that you’re wasting taxpayer money questioning innocent people like my daughter. Were your assurances that the Ilveskivi investigation is proceeding just a lie? I’d like an explanation for this double-dealing. Call me.

  The he rattled off his work number. After another beep I heard Rahnasto’s voice again:

  This is Reijo Rahnasto again. I expect to hear from you as soon as possible.

  I sneered at the answering machine. Luckily the final message was calmer:

  Hi, it’s Jyrki. I know you’re in an interview. What’s the deal with questioning Rahnasto’s daughter? I just got an angry call from Rahnasto complaining that you weren’t returning his calls. Call me before you call him.

  There was a knock at my door, and for a second I was sure it was Rahnasto, come to skin me alive. I must have looked relieved when Eija Hirvonen walked in. She was bringing the new DNA results that had just been faxed over.

  “I think you were waiting for these,” Eija said, misinterpreting my expression.

  “Yes. Would you please get in touch with the switchboard and ask them not to connect any calls to me for the next hour? I’m going to have a meeting with myself.”

  Eija laughed and disappeared into the hallway. The DNA report was the usual indecipherable laboratory jargon, but at least one thing was clear: the cells under Ilveskivi’s fingernails had both X and Y chromosomes. So the attacker had been a man. We would have wait for Monday to get Seppälä’s DNA results.

  Taskinen’s office was on the top floor. I didn’t bother to check that he was in before jogging up the stairs and ringing his buzzer. The green light illuminated immediately, and I was glad to find him alone in his office.

  “Thanks for coming,” he said tiredly. “The chairman of the City Planning Commission called me half an hour ago to complain about you. He was totally pissed off. Why did you question his daughter?”

  “Rahnasto definitely doesn’t want to hear the real reason.” Then I sat down and told Taskinen about Kim Kajanus and his affair with Ilveskivi. Taskinen seemed to become more and more uneasy as I spoke, and he ran his slender fingers through his graying blond hair.

  “So the DNA test eliminated Eriikka Rahnasto?” asked Taskinen.

  “Exactly, assuming that the skin cells under Ilveskivi’s fingernails were from the attack and not some passionate sexual encounter,” I said.

  “And what if Rahnasto knew about the relationship between Ilveskivi and his potential son-in-law, even though his daughter didn’t? That would explain his interest in the case.”

  “Too melodramatic.”

  “I didn’t mean that he attacked Ilveskivi or ordered the attack, but what if he knew?” Taskinen asked.

  “I don’t see why that would matter to us. I’ll call him and tell him how many motorcycles we’ve looked into, but before that I need some food. Would it be too much pampering for you to go to lunch with me two days in a row?” I asked.

  “Far too much. Shall we go now?”

  The spicy veggie casserole and a little flirtation perked me right up, so when I got back to my office, I had the energy to dial Rahnasto’s number. His assistant answered; Rahnasto was still at lunch. I got his cell number, but his phone was off. So I resorted to the second most common form of communication in Finland after text messaging—leaving a voice mail.

  At two I had a meeting with a district prosecutor, having promised to give statements on two restraining-order cases. Katri Reponen had been my tutor in law school, and I was delighted when she had moved over to the Espoo circuit court prosecutor’s office. The meeting went long, since we kept taking detours. Working with friends wasn’t without its problems, but with Katri I didn’t have any conflicts of interest or differences of opinion.

  Since she had come to Espoo, violent crime sentences had stiffened. And she was especially intense about rapes and domestic violence cases. Some male colleagues claimed that Katri’s law books were missing the entire concept of “mild rape,” but I thought she was more right than the majority of Parliament.

  My phone rang just as we were finishing, and I steeled myself to hear Reijo Rahnasto’s scratchy voice. But the caller was Eriikka Rahnasto.

  “I tried to reach the other detectives, but neither of them were around. I just wanted to say that I really was at aerobics last Tuesday. The instructor remembers me being there. And now I’m handing the phone to my boyfriend. He can tell you I was with him for the rest of the night.”

  The phone crackled a bit, and then an agitated voice said, “Hello, this is Kim Kajanus. I’m Eriikka’s boyfriend. Eriikka was with me at dinner on the night you’re asking about. And we have other witnesses.”

  “Thank you. That clears things up. We won’t need to bother your girlfriend anymore,” I said seriously, hoping that Kim understood what I was saying. I wanted to laugh, or at least kick a chair, but work was work.

  The plaster-cast analysis came back the next day. It erased Eriikka Rahnasto from our list of suspects once and for all, because her motorcycle tires were ten millimeters too wide. Based on the patterns, the forensic technicians had been able to determine that the Metzeler ME 99 tire in question was the 120-millimeter model. So now we had exactly one name on our list. Since I had forgotten to ask Katri about it, I spent some time reviewing the relevant laws on wiretapping. I hoped that the holiday would drive Seppälä back to his family. Too bad we hadn’t been able to spare anyone to surveil their house 24/7. And Patrol definitely wasn’t going to have any extra hands over May Day.

  Koivu and Wang went to question Hannu Jarkola, who was already drunk by ten a.m. in honor of the holiday and managed to act stupider than he usually did. Yes, he was friends with Marko Seppälä and Jani Väinölä, but he didn’t have a clue whether the two knew each other.

  We considere
d whether we should bring him in to dry out, but thankfully Koivu was in a more relaxed mood than he had been yesterday. Ultimately Koivu decided to let him be. “We can visit him again on Monday if we need to. By then he’ll be hung over and might talk just to get rid of us.”

  The temperature had fallen overnight to almost freezing, and the sleet was only coming down more as I left work. I drove to the liquor store to buy champagne. I had thought the worst rush would be around five and that by now people would be at home getting dressed for their parties, but I was wrong. The checkout lines wound down the aisles, and over the whiskey shelf I happened to spot Kim Kajanus’s ruddy brown curls. I glanced around to make sure the coast was clear: no sign of Eriikka Rahnasto.

  “Hi, Kim!” I said.

  He nearly dropped his bottle of cognac when he saw me.

  Just then the line started moving, so Kim yelled, “Can you wait outside? I have something to tell you!”

  Antti had gone to pick up Iida, so I wasn’t in any rush. I waited outside with all the teenagers and winos who usually sat outside no matter the weather. Ten minutes later, Kim came out with his shopping bag clinking cheerily, but his face was downcast.

  “Thanks for yesterday,” he said. “What did you mean when you said that you wouldn’t be bothering Eriikka anymore?”

  When I told him, his face relaxed. I guess I hadn’t realized how strongly he suspected her.

  “Now that you’ve said that, I’m starting to feel like I might actually be able to celebrate tonight,” he said, attempting a smile. “I’m afraid to drink in case I let something slip, and I’m afraid not to drink because I feel so bad sober.”

  I felt like saying I knew the feeling, but I didn’t. Kim’s car was in the same parking structure as mine, so we walked together, talking about our plans for the night. Near a bowling alley we ran into Eila Honkavuori. I sensed Kim tense next to me. Apparently he knew that Eila and Petri had been best friends, but Eila only said hello to me. She did glance at Kim curiously, as anyone would who understood something about male beauty.

  “Do you know anything about Petri’s funeral?” Kim asked as we were climbing the stairs to the top floor.

  “His body has been released, and I believe the services are scheduled for next Saturday.”

  That would be a good deadline for solving the case. All we would need was the DNA to be Seppälä’s and for him to confess.

  “Maybe I’ll have my own funeral for him,” Kim said and then feebly wished me a happy May Day. On the way home, a group of kids carrying shopping bags full of beer bottles stumbled down the middle of the road, and the tires of the Saab in front of me squealed as it braked to avoid hitting them. The only response to the ensuing honking were raised middle fingers. Hopefully none of them would end up with hypothermia.

  There would be about thirty people at the Jensens’ party, partial acquaintances and strangers, adults and children. I affixed an old “Anarchy in the UK” pin onto my white-and-black student cap and wriggled into my old leather miniskirt. Laine from Organized Crime was the lieutenant on duty for the holiday, so I figured I could forget my phone and my cares. I did my makeup completely differently from how I wore it to work, and I mixed myself a stiff anise vodka to get myself in the partying mood. Iida had a new flowery party dress and fairy clips in her dark curls.

  We had planned to ride to the Jensens’, but Lauri called and offered to pick us up.

  “If you can’t get a taxi, you can just stay the night,” he said cheerfully. We decided to take a risk and left our toothbrushes home.

  “I’m going to ask this now and then shut up about it for the rest of the night,” Lauri said just before we arrived at the party. “Is there anything new about Petri?”

  I said that we were 80 percent sure we knew who the killer was. Lauri had agreed to act as a pallbearer. Petri Ilveskivi’s mother had asked Tommi Laitinen to be the head pallbearer and to choose the others. That much Petri’s father had been willing to budge.

  The Jensens’ four children had decorated the porch. The colorful balloons and streamers provided a nice contrast to the gray sleet outside. The porch had been designated as the smoking lounge, and Antti warned me that I was likely to have a man that tasted like cigars in my bed that night. He rarely smoked, but Kirsti Jensen, who was a cigar enthusiast, had succeeded in drawing Antti in.

  The children were sent over to Lauri and Jukka’s side of the house, where the golden retrievers were playing babysitter. The stereo was blaring music appropriate to the occasion, currently a choir of Young Pioneers praising “Uncle” Lenin. I staked out a spot next to the snack table. A thirty-something guy who looked like a bodybuilder came over to pilfer the pistachios and stopped to talk to me about the current state of Finnish rock music. He was a former semiprofessional musician who had toured some with his band in the late eighties and worked for a record company without much success.

  Even though I had decided to get only mildly drunk, my punch glass always seemed empty. Juuso, the musician, stuck to my side, even though he must have noticed my ring and surely realized that Antti was my husband. We succeeded in getting into a heated argument over Popeda, who some called the Finnish Rolling Stones. Juuso claimed he had never met an adult woman who liked the band in question.

  “You must hang out with the wrong women,” I said with a laugh.

  “Apparently my friends are too highbrow. By the way, what do you do for work?” Juuso said, sitting down casually on the arm of my chair. His aftershave smelled of bergamot and leather.

  “I’m a cop.”

  “For real?” My conversation partner was visibly shocked. “What kind of cop?”

  “A detective lieutenant. Head of the Espoo Violent Crime Unit.”

  Juuso looked at me for a few seconds, and then a smile formed on his angular face. “You almost had me there. What do you really do?”

  “I’m not kidding. Ask the Jensens.”

  Juuso stood up and placed himself before me as if to challenge.

  “So you’re a police big shot. Do you enjoy putting men in handcuffs or something?”

  “I don’t really get a chance to do that much these days,” I replied, but without the flirtatious tone I had been using. When Juuso started prying about what cases I was working on, I was done. The last thing I wanted to do was talk about work. Fortunately, just at that moment I heard Iida crying in the kids’ room and was able to slip away.

  Iida wasn’t in any danger. Her disagreement with Kerkko Jensen had only been momentary. Juri, who was nine, was playing teacher to the smaller children, and Iida was diligently studying her letters. Another guest was nursing in Kanerva Jensen’s room, and a melancholy feeling came over me as I listened to the gentle suckling sounds and caught a whiff of mother’s milk.

  “Here you are. I was starting to think you’d run off with that musician,” Antti said and then wrapped his arms around me from behind.

  “I don’t want to run off with anyone.”

  “Not even with me downstairs to the sauna? There’s a lock on the door.” Antti laughed, and there was more in his eyes than his buzz. We stumbled down the stairs, locked the sauna door behind us, and went at it. I remembered the time in school when a boy named Kristian and I had blocked the door to the student union’s club room with chairs, and our contract law adjunct professor had tried in vain to get in to retrieve his wallet. Taking off Antti’s shirt, I inspected the valley between his chest muscles, the trail of hair leading down from his belly button, and the rise of his back that led to his buttocks. My nipples hardened, waiting to be touched, as my mouth moved over Antti’s skin, eventually taking in his flushed penis. Finally I pushed Antti to the floor and got on top of him, then watched the changing expressions on my beloved’s face, the twisting of his mouth and the fluttering of his eyelids, his obliviousness to the existence of anything else in the world.

  Giggling, we rejoined the party, and Eva cast us an amused glance. Apparently she had noticed our absence. But after a
second her attention turned—it was time to pop the champagne. Drinking it washed the taste of Antti from my lips, but I knew I could taste him again any time I wanted.

  We spent almost no time together the rest of the night, but the memory of making love hovered between us the whole time. We didn’t even need to touch each other. Knowing was enough. The sleet had finally let up by the time the party started to wind down, and we took a taxi home around midnight, drunk on wine, good company, and each other.

  On the Sunday after May Day, we went on an outing to Central Park. The weather was warmer again, and a darting fly buzzed along the sunny hillside while the first stiffly moving ants plodded along the border of their hill. The grass was still a bit wild, but it had dried out enough that we could sit without having to worry about getting wet.

  Lilies of the valley rose from the ground in tight brown rolls, a small green tip protruding from the end of each. They stood on the south-facing hillside like a company of tiny brave soldiers. One more week and their tightly wrapped leaves would start to unfurl. The swordlike leaves would relax and reveal the slumbering, fragrant strings of bells inside. Antti and I picked some leaves and tickled each other with them while Iida watched a lesser spotted woodpecker raising a riot in a nearby dead tree. But she got bored when the overgrown coltsfoot wouldn’t bend enough for her to weave a garland. At home in the yard, Einstein was waiting proudly to display an emaciated field mouse he had caught.

  On Monday I had no interest in going to work. However, our case list was shorter than I had feared: one beating, one attempted rape, and one fight in a taxi line. Delegating them was no trouble. Lähde and I were filling out Mela’s training evaluation paperwork when my phone rang.

  “Hi, this is Liisa Rasilainen. Hopefully you’ve had time to recover from the weekend, because I’ve got a job for you. Someone just found a body at the dump out on the E18.”