The Nightingale Murder (The Maria Kallio Series Book 9)

by Leena Lehtolainen

  “During our previous meeting you said that you didn’t know Lulu Nightingale, but you met her while you were preparing for the show. Would you like to change your testimony now?”

  “There isn’t anything to change! I didn’t know Lulu.”

  “Did you know about your husband’s relationship with a prostitute named Oksana Petrenko?”

  “No, I didn’t. I mean I didn’t know who the woman was, but I suspected Arto had a relationship with someone. He would stare off into space and looked like a lost sheep. Men always look like idiots when they’re in love, or at least Arto does. I haven’t forgotten how he looked when we started dating.”

  Riitta Saarnio clearly had to struggle to maintain her self-control. She tried to hold onto the table, but her hands wouldn’t comply. I thought of my aunt who had Parkinson’s disease.

  “I don’t know what I’m more shocked about, the fact that Arto was seeing a prostitute or that he thinks I had something to do with that other whore’s death. How could he do that to me after thirty years or marriage! ‘Riitta dear, I know this will come as a shock to you even though you gave me permission. I’ve had a long-term customer relationship with an escort. Or did you already know? You just suspected the wrong woman, right?’ I’ve never heard anything so outrageous in all my life! And then he goes on to say, ‘You have to tell the police everything. If you’re guilty, I’ll do everything I can to help you. Because I’m guilty too.’” Riitta Saarnio suddenly began to laugh without a trace of mirth.

  When the conference room door opened, the laughter broke off.

  “Riitta?” Ilari Länsimies’s head appeared in the door, followed by the rest of him. “Oh, you aren’t alone. I’m sorry. Hello, Detective Kallio and . . . was it Koivu?”

  “Ilari, would you mind leaving? This is a private conversation.”

  “Ah, another official interrogation. Your investigation seems to be moving quite slowly. Have you even made any arrests?” Länsimies tried to sound relaxed, but his voice had a sharp undertone. “Once you catch the murderer, I’d love to invite you on the show, Detective Kallio. This Friday’s ratings will probably set another record, but I doubt I’ll be able to offer quite such a sensational climax as last time. Good day to you all!” Ilari Länsimies turned and closed the door behind him. His footsteps echoed in the hallway for a moment. When their sound disappeared, Riitta Saarnio continued.

  “I imagine my husband told you that I gave him permission to handle his sexual needs just so long as it didn’t become public. What else could I do? But I still believe that he respected me, that he wouldn’t . . . or at least that he would be too afraid of ruining his social standing. All he has is work, work, work. He golfs and reads just so that he can say he has hobbies. He thinks that reading a novel instead of work documents on a plane softens his otherwise hard image. And the golf course is the perfect place to network and make business deals. That’s why I play with other women instead of him.”

  “Did you—” I tried but failed to interrupt Saarnio’s flood of words.

  “Maybe I should be thankful Arto chose whores instead of mistresses so I don’t have to endure what happened to my friend Raila, whose husband traded her in for a younger model. He’s just like Arto, a man whose mind only has room for work. Raila raised the kids alone, took care of the house. She ran the whole show. Then her husband started having kids with his new wife and, just imagine it, wrote a book about the joys of fatherhood at age sixty! Because now he knows how to appreciate it! Guess how Raila and Raila’s children feel about that!” Saarnio looked at Koivu’s hands, which were tapping away at his computer, and then at my left ring finger. “Both of you are married. God help you.”

  “I’ve already experienced what you’re talking about,” Koivu said suddenly. “It was just a girlfriend, but it still hurt. You can get over it. It might not feel like it right now, but you’ll recover.”

  Koivu didn’t have a habit of sharing his personal life with suspects, but this helped calm Saarnio, even if tears did well up in her eyes. “Yes, I know I’m not alone in any of this, and now Arto’s slut has disappeared too. But there are always more where she came from.”

  Apparently Arto Saarnio hadn’t told his wife how attached he’d become to Oksana, probably thinking that a casual relationship was easier to forgive. Once again, I remembered Antti’s flirtatious tone on the telephone and felt empty inside.

  “A couple of questions related to that night’s show. Lulu came to the studio in her own car. Do you know how the other guests arrived?”

  Riitta Saarnio took a moment to think. “Usually I’m the one who gets the travel reimbursement requests, but we never got to that this time. We’ll have to take care of it at some point, since everyone has to be paid! Thank you for reminding me. Let me think . . . the priest, Terhi Pihlaja, came by bus because she had an easy connection. Anna-Maija and Nordström came by taxi . . .”

  “Do you know Anna-Maija Mustajoki?”

  “Only as well as one can during a night course in French conversation at the community college. We’re just acquaintances. Hytönen also came in his own car.”

  “What kind of car?”

  “I don’t know. I let him in, but I wasn’t paying much attention.”

  “Where were you last Wednesday night, on the ninth of this month?”

  Riitta Saarnio didn’t reply immediately, clearly thinking about what I was asking.

  “Last Wednesday . . . that’s easy. I was at the French conversation class I just mentioned. It goes from six to seven thirty. Afterward I drove Raila home—she’s in it too—and stayed for a cup of tea. Raila’s been having a really hard time, and she needed a friend. Is that the same night Arto’s little girlfriend was attacked? I know what you’re thinking!” Saarnio’s voice rose again, and she looked at me with eyes full of hatred. Koivu intervened.

  “We have to ask these questions. We’ll also need the phone numbers of the friend you mentioned and the teacher of the French conversation class.” Koivu smiled in a way that he usually reserved for children, but it worked on Riitta Saarnio too, and Koivu got the contact information.

  “How long did it take you?” Saarnio asked Koivu as we collected our things. “Getting over the shock of being cheated on, I mean.”

  “The first six months were the worst,” Koivu said and shook Saarnio’s hand. After a moment’s hesitation, she also shook my hand, but she let go quickly as if my hand were ice cold.

  As we started walking down the hall toward the front door, Ilari Länsimies came to meet us. Maybe he’d been waiting for our conversation to end. He was his calm, smiling self again, and the agitation he’d had on the day we questioned him was gone.

  “You haven’t been doing a very good job of keeping the media apprised of the progress of your investigation,” he said. “The people have a right to know, and all of us mixed up in this need to have our reputations cleared. You’ve got us on tenterhooks. As I said, our ratings next time are sure to set a record. We’re going to have to shorten the conversation because so much ad space has been sold. But if the price of that is that we’re all under suspicion, it’s too much to pay.”

  “And what is the topic of the next show?” I asked. I hadn’t had a chance to read the TV guide.

  “Finland’s relationship with the superpowers, Russia and the United States. And I’ll sell you a state secret, Maria: one of the guests is the director of the Institute of International Affairs. I can trust the police with that kind of information, right?” Now Länsimies’s smile contained some flirtation, and although I knew he was intentionally using his charisma on me, I had to concentrate to keep it from working. Länsimies knew he was good, and I’d always liked men who knew their business, whether it was guitar playing, sailing, or wooing the public.

  “That’s a big topic,” I replied. “But can you be sure I won’t leak it online, Ilari?” I couldn’t help smiling, and I used his first name since he’d used mine.

  “I can’t. But what woul
d life be without some risk? And why would we attack little issues when only the big ones matter? There’s already enough pointless drivel on television.” Länsimies snorted and pointed to one side. The door to the studio was open, and I saw the set for a cooking show: a gas stove, an electric stove, and a hot plate with a perky chef couple conjuring up a festive version and a light version of the same dish. I’d never seen the program because it came on at Taneli’s bedtime. The aroma of curry and coriander wafted in from the studio, but the spotlights were off and the cameras rested under their covers. Had the cooking show used Fernet Branca recently? Or had there been a bottle in the program’s storage space waiting for use?

  “One question, off the record,” I said and moved closer to Länsimies, as if we were friends. “How did Riitta Saarnio act when you met with Lulu Nightingale?”

  Länsimies snorted. “Sad to say, she wasn’t very professional. A producer shouldn’t let it show when she doesn’t like a guest. That’s why I decided to leave her out of the second meeting. Riitta didn’t complain at all. She was negative about the whole prostitution topic, but it’s my program.”

  I nodded. We still couldn’t eliminate Saarnio from our list of suspects. Then something else came to mind.

  “Did you see Mauri Hytönen’s car?”

  “Oh, you mean the van with the name of his company plastered across it in giant letters? I saw it when I went outside for some fresh air before the broadcast. It pissed me off. Hytönen’s HVAC company probably wouldn’t mean anything to our other guests, but there was still the chance. After the fact, I read in the paper that Lulu knew him. That was quite a coincidence. It probably would have meant an interesting discussion . . . But let’s follow up on the idea of you coming on the show after you’ve solved Lulu’s murder. I can count on you, right?”

  Länsimies extended his hand to make it a deal, and I didn’t have much choice but to take it. Then he escorted us out, walking so close to me that I could feel the heat from his body and smell the clove scent of his aftershave. He opened the door for us. Outside the sun was shining, and it blinded me for a few seconds. The sunlight felt good, but I couldn’t linger. We had to keep moving.

  “You drive. I have a couple of calls to make,” I said to Koivu as I opened the car door.

  “Maria, you were flirting with him!” Koivu exclaimed.

  “With whom?”

  “With whom! What, you think I mean Riitta Saarnio?”

  “No, you were the one who was being more than sympathetic to her! Let’s just let Länsimies believe I’m helpless against his charm. Then he’ll think he has one up on us when he doesn’t.” I gave Koivu a wink, but he didn’t reply.

  I called our investigative secretary to ask her to check on the schedule for flights to Kuopio. Then I checked with my mother-in-law to make sure she was free the next day. I kept the call brief because I wanted to hear from Antti himself about what he’d arranged with his mother.

  “Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned,” Koivu said contemplatively as we turned onto the Ring II beltway.

  “Except the fury of a scorned man, as we’ve learned,” I replied. Koivu snorted. An elderly man skied along the edge of a field, and I thought I recognized him as one of our neighbors from our previous house. He and Antti had broken the trail to Central Park together each winter. Now the man’s kicks were sluggish, as if his skis weren’t sliding properly. He disappeared behind an embankment.

  I hesitated for a moment before speaking my next words. Koivu was one of my best friends, and he’d stood by me when I’d freaked out over my high school crush, Johnny, while investigating a murder and then later over one of our suspects, Mikke Sjöberg. Koivu knew Antti, but his loyalty was to me. “Pekka, do you think Antti could cheat on me?”

  Koivu was so startled that he jerked the steering wheel and had to quickly correct to keep us in our lane.

  “Why would you ask something like that?”

  “Well, because . . .” I felt stupid explaining my suspicions. In the bright light of day everything felt differently than it had the previous night.

  “No, I’ve never thought Antti was the type of guy to screw around. He was probably just flirting. Everyone does it. You should just ask him directly. You two have always been able to talk. Men hate being spied on, and they hate beating around the bush. Should we stop at a café? I need a snack. Or no, let’s go straight to lunch.”

  I had to get my presentation finished before the funeral and talk to Puupponen about the job in Kuopio the next day. Puupponen could make sure Hytönen would be in town. I’d let our friend from Vesanto slip out of my grasp far too easily. But even with all this to do, I agreed to catch a quick bite with Koivu in the cafeteria. For me that meant a turkey salad, and for Koivu it was pork chops and baked potatoes.

  “I could lay money on Arto Saarnio being our poisoner,” Koivu said through a mouthful of meat and gravy.

  “Why? He wasn’t even at the studio.”

  “This morning we talked about the killer’s profile. A risk-taker. Saarnio is definitely that.”

  “On the contrary—he’s a cold, calculating corporate raider. There isn’t any risk in what he does. He helps businesses ‘recover’ by firing people. When Saarnio is done, you always have the same thing: a company with a good balance sheet and a bunch of people with no jobs and their lives in ruins. He doesn’t take any risks himself. But think about Riitta Saarnio. She sensed that her husband had found someone new. What if Lulu Nightingale said the wrong thing before the broadcast, something that made Mrs. Saarnio think that Lulu was her husband’s lover? And if Oksana knew Lulu, she might have told Lulu about her relationship with Arto Saarnio.”

  “But Lulu would never reveal something like that to Mrs. Saarnio. Lulu was a professional!”

  “Yes, she was, but what if she suspected Riitta Saarnio was the person who cut up Oksana?” I realized I was talking too loudly, and the passport officials sitting at the next table were staring. “Damn it. We just don’t know enough about Lulu! Hopefully Ursula’s had success with Sulonen today. Who truly knew Lulu? Who knew what she really wanted?”

  “Who knows anyone, really? I never would have guessed that you’d suspect Antti of unfaithfulness,” Koivu said. I couldn’t think of a sufficiently witty retort.

  Back upstairs, I conferred with Ursula about Sulonen. According to her, they’d found out all kinds of dirt about Lulu’s clients, and she would be happy to go interview some of the more important ones. We both agreed we should let Sulonen go. When one of the tabloid reporters called, I had to confirm that we had made an arrest but that it hadn’t led anywhere.

  After throwing together the rest of my presentation, I changed my violet sweater for a black blazer and a silk polo shirt that matched my pants. I tightened my bun and made sure my lipstick was appropriately subdued. Katri Reponen had arranged for flowers from both of us. We were going to the funeral more to support Leena than for Aunt Allu, but flowers seemed appropriate for honoring the memory of such a unique woman.

  Katri was already waiting by my car by the time I got there. Even though we worked in the same building, we saw each other with distressing infrequency. Sometimes Antti’s mom joked that she mostly saw her friends at funerals, and now I seemed to be in the same situation.

  We talked about work while we drove. The prosecution for Lulu’s murder was probably going to fall to Katri. That is, as soon as I found someone for her to prosecute.

  Leena was in the church lobby welcoming everyone as they arrived, and we shared a long hug. There was already a lot of gray in her dark hair, and it looked good on her. The youngest of Leena’s children was now in middle school, so her life seemed much freer than my own.

  “I’m surprised you’re having the service for Allu in a church. I thought she was an atheist. That’s why I bought such bright-red roses.” Katri showed the bouquet, which easily could have been for a wedding. I thought it fit Allu perfectly.

  “She rejoined the church when the Es
poo Diocese got its first female bishop. The church had changed enough for Allu to be willing to associate with it again. According to Allu, a person could change her mind just so long as her heart stayed where it belonged. Are you coming to the reception after the service?” Leena asked, turning to me.

  “For a while. Antti left for Vaasa, so I’ll need to relieve his mom since I’m going to need her tomorrow too.”

  Katri and I sat at the back of the chapel. As the organist began the prelude, I felt someone approach. When I turned, I saw that it was Anna-Maija Mustajoki. We greeted each other awkwardly, although it shouldn’t have been a surprise that Anna-Maija was here too. Allu had once sat on the board of the Finnish Feminist Association.

  After the prelude, Pastor Terhi Pihlaja approached the altar. I was curious to hear what she would say. I abhorred priests who spouted empty words and hollow comfort, and the ones who couldn’t defend their own views and just hid behind verses from the Bible. Sometimes my pique amused me, because it laid bare the fact that I still had feelings about the clergy speaking well.

  Eulogies had the same initial routine as interrogations, which have to be carried out before the pastor could move on to her own words.

  “Aila Viitanen was a woman who walked her own road. She had the courage to do things that others didn’t dare try. She didn’t care about what society thought. Yet she was not indifferent to the individual. She was a warm and caring person, who was loved and will be missed. I had the pleasure of getting to know Aila Viitanen the year before last when she called me to ask to rejoin the church, which she had left in the 1950s. But she wanted to talk to me before she made her final decision. That conversation led to a correspondence that was both fruitful and challenging for me, and I hope for her. Aila did not shrink from offering criticism or admitting her uncertainty, but she still had the courage to return to the bosom of the church she had been baptized into.”