Snow Woman (The Maria Kallio Series Book 4)

by Leena Lehtolainen

  “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” she repeated mechanically as she dried her eyes. I mumbled an attempt at something consoling. Ström pushed his chair back with a clatter and said he would get Aira another glass of water. At that point, I turned off the recorder. I tried not to watch as Aira forced herself to calm down. When I asked, she said haltingly that she would prefer to end the interview unless it was imperative we continue.

  “Someone can bring Johanna back to Rosberga if you’d like to go home now,” I said.

  “I think I’ll take a little walk while I wait for her. I don’t think I should be driving in this state.” In a couple of quick gulps, Aira drank the water Ström brought. Her hands were shaking.

  I sent Ström to fetch Johanna for her interview. I watched as the women exchanged a few words in the hallway. It was almost twelve, and Milla was supposed to be at the station by one. I was never going to have time to eat between interviews, let alone stop at the pharmacy. Crap.

  Johanna removed her coat and scarf. The dress she revealed was so outdated that in a few years it would be back in style. A couple of curls were trying to escape her drab blond bun, which wasn’t pulled as tight today. I had heard that natural curls usually straightened after a woman had a baby, but nine pregnancies had done nothing to tame Johanna’s.

  Again I started the interview by asking for personal information. Johanna’s birth date made me swallow; she really was only a year and a half older than me.

  “You were eighteen when you had your oldest child?” I asked.

  “I was nineteen. Leevi and I got married two weeks after I graduated from high school. Johannes came the next March.”

  “Have you been in contact with your children recently?”

  For a moment joy flashed in Johanna’s eyes, its light washing away the deep furrows in her face.

  “Anna, my oldest daughter, called me yesterday. She ran away and called from the phone booth in the village. She said they all miss me, except, of course, Johannes, who only listens to his father.” Her face seemed to shrivel again, but her voice remained strong and warm.

  “Anna is a good girl. Only thirteen but so independent. The poor thing has always had to help me with her younger siblings and the house, and now she’s taking care of so much with me gone. Leevi’s mother doesn’t have much energy anymore.”

  Ström shifted restlessly. I knew he thought I was wasting time on small talk. But I wanted to get Johanna to relax before I brought up the subject of Elina. Besides, her life story interested me. It was unbelievable that a man could seriously believe that his wife, the mother of his nine children, dying in childbirth was the will of God. Didn’t that sort of thing happen only in faraway places where women wore veils and didn’t even own their own bodies? This was Finland!

  “How did you end up at Rosberga Institute? Did you already know Elina?” I asked.

  “Where would I have met a person like her in my little village? I gave birth to Maria, my youngest, here in Helsinki, at the Women’s Hospital. It was a high-risk pregnancy too. They had a magazine there with an interview with Elina, and then one night I was watching television—” Johanna blushed as if revealing a transgression, and I remembered that fundamentalist Laestadians considered television sinful. “Elina was on a talk show. She was so . . . so calm and safe, and she said that every woman had the right to control her own body.”

  A snort came from Ström’s direction. I knew he was anxious for me to get to the point.

  “Actually it was Elina who gave me the courage to terminate my pregnancy,” continued Johanna softly. “I looked up her phone number and asked her for advice. She invited me to Rosberga if I needed a place to rest after the . . . procedure.”

  To my horror I heard Ström actually clearing his throat.

  “Did you go to Rosberga right after the abortion?” I glared at Ström, who opened his mouth but then closed it when he saw the look in my eyes.

  “No. I went home. But Leevi knew what I had done and hit me . . . pretty hard. He told the children I was a murderer.”

  As Johanna struggled with her tears, rage welled inside me. I caught myself grinding my teeth. Ström was the one who opened his mouth first.

  “You filed a police report about him hitting you, right?” he asked.

  The question so surprised Johanna that she was able to swallow her sobs. “I committed a sin. Hitting me was a just punishment.”

  “Are you a goddamn Muslim or something?” Ström’s roar made Johanna shrink back in her chair. She looked quickly at the floor.

  “Mrs. Säntti is a Laestadian,” I said. “Her husband is a preacher.” I hoped Ström would hear the unspoken “shut your trap” in my words. But then I realized in irritation that I was doing the same thing Elina and Aira had, speaking on Johanna’s behalf. I wanted to teach Johanna to fight, not silence her.

  “And after that beating you went to Rosberga?” I said.

  “Leevi ordered me to leave. He gave me some money for a train ticket because I used all my savings from my allowance on the trip to the hospital.”

  I could hardly believe my ears. An allowance? With nine children, Johanna had to be receiving thousands in benefits from the government. Where was that going? Into Leevi Säntti’s pockets, I presumed.

  “Elina picked me up at the train station. She said not to worry, together we could get the children away from Leevi. And Elina would have done it. She knew the right people. That was probably why Leevi killed her.”

  “What?” I didn’t know which of us yelled this louder, me or Ström.

  “Leevi said on the phone to Elina that God would punish her because she encouraged me to commit infanticide and she was trying to take his children away. And Leevi considers himself an instrument in God’s hands. He killed Elina. I know it.”

  5

  When Johanna finally left, Ström and I stared at each other in amazement. Johanna had stated over and over that her husband had killed Elina. She’d even claimed it was Leevi, not Joona Kirstilä, who’d been walking with Elina the night of her disappearance. However, Johanna had offered no real evidence for her allegation. It seemed more like wishful thinking. If her husband killed Elina, Johanna would get the kids.

  Kids . . . That reminded me I hadn’t asked Aira Rosberg whether Elina had ever been pregnant or had gynecological surgery that might not have shown up in her medical records. I had been too thrown by the suicide note. I would have to remember to ask about that.

  “Let’s go eat,” Ström finally said. I glanced at the clock. Quarter to one.

  “No time. Marttila will be here at one.”

  “Then she can goddamn wait!”

  My stomach was growling so loud you could have heard it fifteen feet away.

  I was about to give in when the phone rang. It was Haikala from Patrol, calling from Helsinki. Milla Marttila wasn’t home. At least, she hadn’t answered her door or picked up the phone.

  “What do we do now?” Haikala sounded irritated. He thought pickups were a waste of time when there wasn’t an arrest involved.

  “Is there a super?” I asked.

  “There’s a number for a maintenance man hanging on the wall downstairs, but we don’t have a search warrant.”

  “No, you don’t. But . . . Hang out there a little while. Didn’t you tell her you’d be there to get her at twenty till? Maybe she just ran out for a few minutes.”

  Suddenly the hollowness in my stomach wasn’t just hunger. First Elina had disappeared and now Milla. Or could she have fled? Maybe Milla had killed Elina, dragging her through the woods before leaving the house, and now she had fled.

  And then done something to herself.

  “I’m not going to hang around waiting for anyone,” Ström growled. “If that bitch did a runner, so what? Or was she your prime suspect?”

  “No. At least not yet. She’s mostly a witnes
s for Rosberg’s boyfriend’s movements,” I said.

  “So get the boyfriend. Come on, let’s eat. Bring your beeper.”

  “No, I’m going into the city.”

  Which would give me plenty of time to drop by a pharmacy on my way to Milla’s apartment. Ström shrugged and stalked out.

  Instead of taking a police cruiser, I drove my personal car to the Tapiola pharmacy. As I picked out the pregnancy test that claimed to be the most reliable and paid at the self-service checkout, I felt as if everyone in the store was staring at me. I wanted to go straight home to do the test, but instead I pointed the Fiat toward the Ring I beltway.

  While I was stopped at a red light before the bridge into Helsinki, Haikala called again.

  “We still haven’t seen Marttila, and I’m not really sure, but I think I smell gas coming under the door.”

  “Oh shit! Get the maintenance guy. I’m already on my way!”

  My flippin’ Fiat didn’t have a siren, but I still sped over the bridges that hopped from island to island across the bay and then turned south into Helsinki, just squeaking through a yellow light. The sky had started dumping sleet again, and I found myself behind a snowplow clearing the road and backing up traffic. As I swung recklessly around it on the streetcar tracks, I realized how senseless it was for me to rush. If Milla had decided to stick her head in the oven, what was I going to do about it?

  Haikala’s patrol car was parked in front of an old yellow stucco building. No ambulance yet at least. I pulled up behind him and hurried inside. I heard pounding on a door somewhere above. The elevator was in use, so I trotted up the narrow stairs to the fourth floor. There I found Officers Haikala and Akkila watching with interest as a man in a blue jumpsuit tried to insert his master key into Milla’s apartment door. His hangover was epic. He seemed to be sweating beer, and you could have measured the shaking of his hands on the Richter scale.

  Eventually Akkila noticed me, and that seemed to give him courage. He grabbed the key out of the maintenance man’s hand.

  “Let me do it.”

  The lock was turned almost instantly, and the sharp, nauseating smell of gas rolled over us. My stomach felt like an icy snowball had been thrown in it. I shouted Milla’s name as I struggled in vain to squeeze through the small gap left by the security chain. Then I stopped to listen. Was that a muffled voice coming from somewhere inside?

  “Do you have bolt cutters?” Akkila asked the maintenance man.

  He didn’t seem to register the question immediately. “Think I left the toolbox at home,” he finally said, coughing. The smell of gas was getting stronger.

  “Let me try,” Haikala said.

  Knowing that he practiced both karate and kickboxing, I got out of the way.

  “I’ll try to kick the screws out,” he said as he took a fighting stance in front of the door. Rapidly bringing his leg back, he let out a yell and sprang.

  But as it turned out, Milla was quicker, throwing the chain off and the door open just as Haikala launched into a jump kick. As it swung out, the door floored Haikala, who took the maintenance man down with him, howling in pain as the emergency beer bottle in his jacket pocket broke and slashed his side. Akkila and I were lucky to make it out of the way.

  “What the hell is going on out here?” Milla yelled.

  She had obviously come straight out of the shower, evidenced by the towel wrapped around her head and the short, bright-red lace robe she was wearing. Without makeup, her round face looked babyish and soft, but the expression in her eyes was hard.

  I tried to explain as Haikala picked himself up off the floor and Akkila bent to inspect the groaning maintenance man’s injuries. When I reached the part about the gas, Milla screamed, “Fucking Asikainen!” and ran back inside.

  I hurried after her into the dim entryway. The kitchen was somewhere at the end of the hall, and as I moved toward it, the stench of gas worsened.

  “That goddamn meathead made oatmeal and then left the gas on. What the fuck? Lucky I didn’t light a cigarette.” Turning off the burner with one hand, she opened the window with the other.

  “Asikainen who?”

  “Oh, he’s nobody. Just here for the night. What the fuck are you doing barging in here anyway? Wasn’t I supposed to be in Espoo at three?”

  “One,” I said. “And didn’t you hear the doorbell or the phone?”

  “I turned the ringer off after you called so no other idiots would wake me up. I was working until four in the fucking morning. Who in their right mind calls at nine?”

  “Was the doorbell turned off too?”

  “I never open the door unless I know who it is. There’s way too many goddamn Jehovah’s Witnesses and rapists running around here. Besides, I was in the shower.”

  I suspected Milla had arranged the whole incident on purpose to avoid the trip to Espoo, but I didn’t bother arguing about it. I could just as easily interview her here since I had two other officers with me. Then on the way back to Espoo I could pick up Kirstilä and bring him to the station.

  The bleeding maintenance man had hobbled inside with the help of the officers. In addition to being cut, he had bumped his head badly when he fell. Poor old guy. I asked Akkila to take him to the emergency room.

  “Am I some kind of effing ambulance now?” he groused, running his eyes over Milla in her skimpy outfit. Haikala, on the other hand, didn’t object at all when I suggested he help me conduct Milla’s interview in the meantime.

  “Take your time getting dressed,” I told Milla. “This isn’t a matter of life and death.”

  I dialed Joona Kirstilä’s number and arranged to pick him up in a couple of hours. Hopefully he wouldn’t take off before I got there. Kirstilä’s voice was pathetic, almost weepy. I wasn’t looking forward to meeting with him.

  When I got off the phone, Milla was still in the kitchen making no moves toward getting dressed. She was clearly enjoying the way Haikala didn’t quite know where to rest his eyes. Milla’s body was more Some Like it Hot-era Marilyn Monroe than the current thin and trim female ideal. Curvy in the lace negligee that barely covered her buttocks, she flounced around the kitchen without any inhibitions, putting on coffee and fishing a package of cereal out of the cupboard.

  “I haven’t had time to eat anything. Want some?” she asked.

  The smell of gas lingering in the kitchen made the bile rise in my throat again, and I knew that coffee on an empty stomach would only make it worse. But I couldn’t very well go munching Milla’s cereal either. For a second I considered just putting the interview off, but I thought it important to question Milla before meeting with Joona Kirstilä.

  Looking around, I guessed Milla’s apartment had once been a second kitchen and servant’s room attached to a larger apartment. Apparently the kitchen now also served as a living room. In addition to a small table and two chairs, there was a battered sofa, an armchair, and a dresser with a TV on top. Haikala sat on the sofa and set up the recorder. I sat across from Milla at the table and tried to position the microphone so it would record both of our voices clearly.

  “Milla Susanna Marttila, born November eighth, 1975, erotic dancer.” The latter item she tossed straight at Haikala in a suggestive voice. Her seductress image broke down, however, as soon as she stuffed her mouth with cereal.

  “How long have you known Elina Rosberg?” I asked.

  “Since that emotional self-defense course where you came to talk,” answered Milla.

  “Why did you attend the course?” This didn’t really have anything to do with the interview. I was just curious.

  Milla glanced at Haikala and then at me. “I guess I didn’t understand the emotional part. I was just thinking about self-defense. A lot of times when I leave work there are weird guys hanging around.”

  Milla didn’t say anything about the rape she had mentioned at the course. Dam
n it. She was clearly trying to play the hard-boiled stripper for Haikala. Keeping up that role was apparently more important to her than answering my questions.

  “At the self-defense course I got the impression you didn’t really like the Rosberga Institute. But Aira Rosberg said you’ve been living there since the course. What made you stay?”

  Milla swallowed a mouthful of cereal and glared at me. “What does that have to do with Elina’s death?”

  “It indicates how involved you were with Elina,” I answered. “For example, we still can’t rule out the possibility of suicide. Maybe you noticed a change in Elina or someone close to her while you were staying at Rosberga.”

  A violent rumbling from my stomach accompanied this last sentence. It was loud enough that the tape recorder probably picked it up. Milla pushed the cereal package toward me. I shook my head even though the extracrunchy chocolate flakes, which according to the advertisement would give me the power of a tiger, were tempting. Chewing loudly, Milla finished hers off and drank the cocoa-colored milk from the bowl. The way she licked the milk mustache from her upper lip was clearly intended for Haikala.

  Milla lit a cigarette before finally answering my question. Instead of looking at either of us, she stared fixedly at the steel microphone. “I went to the course two days after that neighbor guy raped me. I called the rape crisis hotline, and they said it might help. Of course I’d already heard of Elina. I read her articles in women’s magazines, and when I was a kid I read the psychology column she used to do in Fan Fave.”

  Milla pulled her legs under her on the chair, curling up as if to protect herself. “I couldn’t go to work, I was so bruised and scratched up everywhere. I tried to cover it with makeup, but Rami, the club owner, said he didn’t want me there looking like that. He told me to come back after Christmas once I healed up. Of course that pissed me off since it was the middle of the Christmas party season, and there’s always lots of demand for private dances, but I couldn’t do anything about it.”