ALSO BY LEENA LEHTOLAINEN
My First Murder
Her Enemy
Copper Heart
Snow Woman
Death Spiral
Fatal Headwind
Before I Go
Beneath the Surface
The Nightingale Murder
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Text copyright © 2008 by Leena Lehtolainen
Translation copyright © 2018 by Owen F. Witesman
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.
Previously published as Väärän jäljillä by Tammi in Finland in 2008. Translated from Finnish by Owen F. Witesman. First published in English by AmazonCrossing in 2018.
Published by AmazonCrossing, Seattle
www.apub.com
Amazon, the Amazon logo, and AmazonCrossing are trademarks of Amazon.com, Inc., or its affiliates.
ISBN-13: 9781503904491
ISBN-10: 1503904490
Cover design by Ray Lundgren
For Otso
CONTENTS
CAST OF CHARACTERS
PROLOGUE
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
ABOUT THE TRANSLATOR
CAST OF CHARACTERS
THE LAW
Akkila: .......... Patrol officer, Espoo PD
Autio, Gideon: .......... Detective, Espoo Violent Crime Unit
Grotenfelt, Kirsti: .......... Forensic pathologist
Honkanen, Ursula: .......... Detective, Espoo VCU
Jarkko: .......... Criminologist, Ministry of the Interior
Kaartamo: .......... Assistant chief of police, Espoo PD
Kallio, Maria: .......... Criminologist, Ministry of the Interior; Detective Lieutenant, Espoo VCU
Koivu, Pekka: .......... Detective, Espoo VCU, Wang’s husband
Kuusimäki, Anni: .......... Commander, Espoo VCU
Montonen: .......... Patrol officer, Helsinki PD
Outi: .......... Criminologist, Ministry of the Interior
Perävaara: .......... Commander, Helsinki VCU
Puupponen, Ville: .......... Detective, Espoo VCU
Puustjärvi, Petri: .......... Detective, Espoo VCU
Rajakoski, Mikko: .......... Senior inspector, Ministry of the Interior
Rasilainen, Liisa: .......... Patrol officer, Espoo PD
Reponen, Katri: .......... District prosecutor
Söderholm, Kaide: .......... Ballistics expert
Ström, Pertti: .......... Detective, Espoo VCU, deceased
Taskinen, Jyrki: .......... Director, Espoo Criminal Division
Wang-Koivu, Anu: .......... Juvenile Unit, Koivu’s wife
THE SPORTS WORLD
Harju, Miikka: .......... Office assistant, Adaptive Sports Association
Häkkinen, Satu: .......... Secretary, MobAbility
Koskelo, Ilpo: .......... Toni Väärä’s coach
Litmanen, Hillevi: .......... Secretary, Adaptive Sports Association
Ristiluoma, Tapani: .......... CEO, MobAbility
Salo, Eero: .......... Discus thrower
Särkikoski, Jutta: .......... Freelance sports journalist
Terävä, Sami: .......... Discus thrower
Väärä, Toni: .......... Middle-distance runner
Vainikainen, Merja: .......... Director, Adaptive Sports Association
Vainikainen, Pentti: .......... Head of Social Affairs, Finnish Athletics Federation
Vainio, Anneli: .......... Accountant, MobAbility
SUPPORTING CAST
Eeva: .......... Maria’s sister
The Groke: .......... Tove Jansson character, used here as a pseudonym for an abuser
Heikkinen, Eija: .......... Tapani Ristiluoma’s ex-girlfriend
Hemulen: .......... Tove Jansson character, used here as a pseudonym for an abuser’s partner
Juice (Juhani Leskinen): .......... Finnish singer-songwriter
Leonardo: .......... An anonymous abuse victim
Linnakangas, Jari: .......... Mona’s father, Merja’s ex-husband
Linnakangas, Mona: .......... Merja Vainikainen’s daughter
Litmanen, Jouni: .......... Hillevi’s ex-husband
Ljungberg, Kristian: .......... Attorney, Ursula’s boyfriend
Marita: .......... Antti’s sister
Sarkela, Antti: .......... Maria’s husband
Sarkela, Iida: .......... Maria’s daughter
Sarkela, Taneli: .......... Maria’s son
Siudek, Przemyslaw: .......... Building cleaner
The Snork Maiden: .......... Tove Jansson character, used here as a pseudonym for an abuse victim
Virtanen-Ruotsi, Leena: .......... Maria’s friend
Väinölä, Jani: .......... Convict
PROLOGUE
The road from Salo to Inkoo was dark, and “Moose Crossing” signs flashed ominously along the shoulder. Freelance sports reporter Jutta Särkikoski drove as slowly as she dared, given the man sitting next to her was in a hurry to get to Helsinki. Jutta had already dropped off the freelance photographer at his home in Kisko, which was why they were taking this route, instead of the freeway, from Turku to Helsinki.
Jutta had been in Turku interviewing the middle-distance runner Toni Väärä and his coach, Ilpo Koskelo, about the young man’s incredible breakthrough that summer. Väärä’s most successful season to date had just concluded with a win in the 800 meter at an international meet between Sweden and Finland. With a finish time of 1:44:13, he’d launched himself to fifteenth in the world, which had caused quite a sensation.
Everyone wanted to know the secrets behind his sudden success, and so Jutta Särkikoski had successfully pitched an in-depth profile of Väärä to a general-interest magazine. The meeting in Turku, where Väärä currently lived and trained, was just the beginning of her research.
Rain began to beat more violently on the car windows. Jutta didn’t waste any time trying to chitchat with Toni Väärä. He was known for being taciturn, like the athletes of bygone eras who responded to reporters’ questions humorlessly and as briefly as possible. Landing the interview with Väärä had taken a good deal of effort. Since he had yet to hire a manager, Jutta had been forced to call the Athletics Federation over and over to get his contact information. Jutta would have preferred to interview the runner one-on-one, but Coach Koskelo wouldn’t allow it. Then, after all that, they’d canceled and rescheduled several times before meeting.
As luck would have it, Väärä needed a ride to an event one of his sponsors was hosting in Helsinki, and so Jutta volunteered to drive him. Once they dropped off the photographer in Kisko, Jutta hoped that she and Väärä might finally be able to have a private conversation.
In the sporting world, attitudes toward Jutta Särkikoski were mixed. The previous winter, she’d received a hot tip about two promising national-level discus throwers employing fitness-enhancing methods not approved by the antidoping regime. Rumor had it that not only were
they using anabolic steroids, they were also dealing. Jutta had checked and rechecked her facts before selling her exposé to one of the tabloids. Despite not revealing her sources, her article was taken seriously. The discus throwers in question—Eero Salo and Sami Terävä—were subsequently caught by a surprise drug test. Their B-samples confirmed the use of banned steroids, and a police raid uncovered a quantity of drugs that indicated an intent to distribute. In addition to being barred from competing, the two athletes were charged with possession of illegal substances and trafficking, though the trafficking indictment was eventually dropped for lack of witnesses.
Jutta received more than just praise for her revelations. Promising track-and-field athletes were few and far between in Finland, and to many, Jutta was a traitor who had cut short two bright careers. The athletes’ supporters claimed that everyone was doping—some just had money for drugs that didn’t show up in tests. Those who’d heard about the Väärä interview beforehand took it as a sign that his success might be attributed to illegal doping, and his coach’s protectiveness did nothing to dispel their doubts.
Suddenly a dark figure appeared in the gloom. A moose? Jutta flinched, and the car made a small swerve. But it was just a person, some fanatic out for a run in the rain. Presumably a kindred spirit of Toni Väärä, who claimed that his success was merely a result of hard training. He hadn’t missed a single session in years, regardless of what was falling from the sky. Jutta gave the runner as wide a berth as possible, almost pulling into the left shoulder. The glow of a headlight flashed in the rearview mirror. At the top of the next hill was another “Moose Crossing” sign. Jutta preferred to drive these kinds of roads in the slipstream of a semi, close enough that a moose couldn’t get between her car and the truck. Now the road was empty.
Another light appeared in Jutta’s rearview mirror, flickering through the rain. As it got closer, Jutta could make out a van approaching at incredible speed. It swerved once, but then the driver regained control. Just let them pass, Jutta thought, slowing down to make it as easy as possible for the reckless driver to get by. Only a trace of the solid yellow centerline was visible, but the van stayed to the right of it, slowing down behind Jutta’s Renault.
Bam! The van barely tapped the car, but Jutta nearly lost control.
“Oh my God!” she screamed. Toni Väärä turned to look back, but he couldn’t see anything beyond the dark-colored vehicle riding their tail. Jutta tried to speed up, but the van kept pace. Then it sped up, pulling up next to them but not passing. Instead, its right-front corner crashed into the left side of the Renault.
“What is this maniac doing?” Jutta screamed, and Toni yelled something too, but they couldn’t hear each other because the van had hit them again, sending them careening toward the guardrail. Jutta’s attempts to brake were in vain.
Just before losing consciousness, she saw her blood mixing with the gout spurting from Toni’s femoral artery.
1
Over the past few months, I’d been having a lot of nightmares. I saw everything I’d experienced in my life: the muzzle of a moose rifle points at my chest, and when it disappears, a mailbox explodes, launching my daughter, Iida, into the air. In some of the dreams it’s dark, and I’m climbing a ladder away from the explosion that’s about to happen in the mine shaft below. The worst nightmare is the one where a syringe full of cyanide is about to be thrust into my carotid artery, and I can’t breathe . . .
That was usually when I woke up, but it took a while before I realized it was only a dream, just memories from my old job, embellished by my imagination. Sometimes I wondered why the nightmares hadn’t started until after I’d left policing. Was my psyche not ready to face what could still happen on any given day? It was only in hindsight that I realized I’d been far too deep inside the cases I investigated. As a lead investigator, I should have kept my distance from suspects and instead focused on the big picture. But I’d liked doing interviews and working with people. Maybe the lieutenant and unit commander jobs had been wrong for me from the start. Or maybe I’d been the wrong person for the jobs. Now I felt like I was where I belonged.
The early fall morning I woke up to was sunny. It was ten past six, and the alarm wasn’t set to go off until seven thirty. I closed my eyes and tried to relax, but images from the dream continued to flash through my mind. That’s all behind me, I repeated to myself. I don’t have to do that anymore.
A few years had passed since I’d resigned from my position in the Espoo Police Department Violent Crime Unit. At the time, my plans for the future had been clear: my friend from law school Leena Virtanen-Ruotsi had received an inheritance from her aunt, and we intended to start a law firm specializing in assisting people with limited means. Leena was a member of the bar, and so I planned to handle all the jobs that didn’t require membership. I was slowly recovering from an assault I’d experienced during a murder investigation—I hadn’t quite realized what poor shape I was in until after I resigned.
A change of professions seemed like the best possible solution. Once we’d made our decision, Leena and I had been over the moon, and we spent the whole spring and early summer making plans. That all came to a sudden halt when life presented yet another unpleasant surprise.
On the weekend after the Midsummer holiday, Leena was driving to her brother’s cabin south of Turku. The rest of the family had gone ahead by bus, but Leena and I had been at a concert, and so she didn’t leave Helsinki until nearly midnight. A man who had drained most of a bottle of Koskenkorva vodka before getting behind the wheel had happened to be coming from the opposite direction. Even though Leena tried to swerve, the cars collided. The drunk driver was killed instantly, but Leena lived. That was cold comfort, however. The lower half of my friend’s body was paralyzed, necessitating a years-long course of surgeries. From the beginning, she begged me not to build my life around the uncertainty of her recovery. So I was out of a job.
Because I’d left my position voluntarily, I had to wait for my unemployment benefits to kick in, but I had no intention of remaining idle. Soon after the accident, my former boss, Jyrki Taskinen, contacted me. Could he lure me back to the Espoo Police Department, he wanted to know? There was a position open in White-Collar Crime. I laughed at him, good-naturedly of course. I didn’t have the qualifications for that kind of investigative work, though I’d gone to law school. And Jyrki should have known that.
Word of our misfortune reached other law school classmates. Expressions of sympathy streamed in for Leena, and I received a call from Mikko Rajakoski, a senior inspector in the Ministry of the Interior, who had started law school the same time we had.
“Hi, Maria. I was just playing squash with Lasse and Kristian.”
“Getting the old gang back together, eh?” Lasse Nordström and Kristian Ljungberg had also been my classmates, and I’d even dated Kristian for a while.
“Yep. I hear you’re a free woman at the moment. Not working, I mean.”
“Yes. Not everyone has the career-ladder climbing skills of Kristian.”
“Or Kristian’s connections. But it’s connections I’m calling you about, because you’re exactly the person I need. You worked a lot of domestic violence cases in Espoo, right?”
“Unfortunately.”
“Well, the ministry is starting a domestic violence research project. The idea is to study its different forms and then look for effective prevention measures,” Mikko said, and then went on for fifteen minutes about how openly talking about violence against children, especially when it is perpetrated by mothers, is socially taboo. Unfortunately, I knew he was right. The investigation of domestic violence had become politicized, sometimes being used by feminist organizations or, alternately, the men’s rights activists, specifically when women were the ones who carried it out.
I was well aware of all of this, but I let Mikko talk. For a while I’d been thinking about going back to school for a licentiate degree, and this could provide me with the research data I would
need. I asked Mikko if I’d be able to use the results academically, and he didn’t see any reason why not. Doing this sort of study now seemed sensible, since domestic violence prevention efforts had only started to gain traction in the late nineties.
So, after being unemployed for just a little while, I went back into service at the Ministry of the Interior, this time as a scientific researcher. I’d be collaborating with a social worker and a psychologist, and we’d be working with the Police University College, the most recent iteration of the old police academy. At the PUC, I was assigned to teach courses on recognizing intimate-partner violence, some for recently graduated cops and some as in-service training for officers further along in their careers. Though the school had changed since my time at the academy, the cafeteria still employed the world’s most pleasant cashier, who remembered me too, even after twenty years. To hear others tell it, she remembered all the academy’s past students and knew where each had been assigned after graduating.
“I understand you’ve spent time pursuing other opportunities,” she said as she handed me my plate of veggie pasta. “In police work, you shouldn’t worry too much. You just have to solve the crimes. It seems you let the stress get to you.”
When I gave a confused smile, the cashier said she’d followed my career carefully. As I ate my pasta, I thought about what she’d said. She was probably right. A police detective couldn’t stay entirely unemotional, but she had to be impartial, and that was where I’d slipped up far too often. But now my task was to search for patterns in human behavior like any other rigorous scientist. I wouldn’t need to interfere in my research subjects’ lives; I just had to listen calmly and record data. Still, my old life continued to return to me through nightmares, as if to remind me that I would carry the weight of everything I had experienced for the rest of my life.
My husband, Antti, was still working as a mathematics researcher, having received a three-year fellowship from the Academy of Finland. His current project continued in the same vein of mathematical utopianism he’d pursued in his globalization project at the University of Vaasa. For the academy, he was working on a multidisciplinary project examining how shifting focus from income taxes to environmental and consumption taxes would affect the Finnish economy. Antti was excited about it.
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