He wraps his arms around himself, rocks back and forth. “Maria, we raised a monster.”
She stills her tears, kneels down on the floor and wraps her arms around Valtteri, tries to calm him. “Why?” she asks me.
“Heikki was in love with a girl. He wrote a poem about her and I found it in his computer. Do you know who she is?”
“No,” Maria says.
“Some of the things he wrote give me the feeling that somehow this girl and Sufia Elmi are connected. There’s something else too. We found his DNA in Seppo Niemi’s house. Did he and Seppo know each other?”
“Heikki did odd jobs for Seppo and Heli. Shoveled snow, carried firewood, things like that. He met Heli at church. It’s no surprise that he was in their house.”
Maria’s comforting worked, Valtteri is calmer, but now I know that he withheld information. My doubt about whether he knew Heikki killed Sufia renews itself. “Why didn’t you tell me?” I ask him.
“You don’t like to talk about Heli, and I didn’t see any point in telling you my son shoveled her driveway.”
An idea hits me so hard that I curse out loud without meaning to. “Goddamn it.”
They look stunned, must think I’m mad at them for not telling me Heikki knew Heli and Seppo. “Sorry,” I say.
I’ve just realized the most economical solution to Sufia’s murder. Heikki and Seppo knew each other. My investigation into Seppo’s life has suggested to me that he’s morally arid enough to plant his dick in anything with a pulse. If he swung both ways, it wouldn’t surprise me. Maybe he seduced the boy who did his odd jobs.
Heikki was young, sheltered, most likely inexperienced. He could have been exploring his sexuality. Heikki and Seppo could have had a homosexual affair. If they were lovers, it would have given Heikki access to Seppo’s car keys. Heikki might have killed Sufia out of simple jealousy.
I put a hand on Valtteri’s shoulder to let him know I’m not angry, and feel sudden shame for thinking Valtteri and Maria could have had anything to do with Heikki’s suicide. They loved their boy so much. “Is there anything else you haven’t told me?”
He shakes his head.
“I guess you know I can’t keep this out of the papers.”
Maria gulps back a cry. She must have just realized she and Valtteri are about to take on new identities as the parents of a psychotic murderer. They’ll endure humiliation that neither they nor the community will ever forget.
Valtteri takes her hand but looks at me. “I’m sorry about all this,” he says. “I’ve embarrassed you and the police department. I’ll turn in my resignation after the funeral tomorrow.”
I grasp at words, they’re all inadequate. He loves his job. “Damn it Valtteri, what Heikki did isn’t your fault, and I won’t accept your resignation.”
He lets out a whimper. “I raised him, it’s my fault. You’ll accept it and you’ll be glad you did.”
“You’re in a lot of pain and you’re being foolish.”
“I don’t see that I have any choice.”
“Resigning isn’t an option for you. You have seven other children and a wife to take care of.”
He starts to cry again. “What do I do then?”
“You’re going to grieve for your boy, then you’re going to go back to work and do your job while I figure out why Heikki did what he did.”
He looks at Maria, she nods. “I’ll try,” he says.
I get up to leave. “I’m so sorry that I had to tell you these things. I’ll see you tomorrow at the funeral.”
“Don’t come,” he says. “We don’t want anybody there except us and his brothers and sisters.”
“I understand,” I say, but I don’t. No one can understand their torment. They’ve suffered the emotional equivalent of what was done to Sufia, and it fell to me to deliver this burden upon them. I hope one day they can forgive me. I leave without another word.
26
The faces of Valtteri and Maria, their grief and horror, are frozen in my mind. I want to be alone, so I take my time driving back to the police station. I can sit in my office, write reports. The national chief of police has been like an ax hanging over my neck. Maybe letting him know the case is drawing to a close will pacify him. But first I need to read the report about Heikki’s DNA results.
At a stop sign near the station, a car pulls up beside me in the wrong lane. Seppo’s BMW. Heli waves at me from the driver’s seat. The passenger-side window rolls down, and I roll down my window to hear her. She shouts at me to follow her.
She guns the engine, wheels spin on the ice, the BMW shoots past me. I wonder who’s been killed this time, pull out fast and hurry to keep up with her. She blows through a red light, I do the same. After a few blocks, she turns a corner and parks. I stop behind her.
She gets out of the car and leans against the door. She’s tiny and shivering, bunches up her coat at the neck to keep out the cold. My hands shake from adrenaline. “What the fuck?” I ask.
She points at the neon sign of a diner flashing in the dark. “I saw you driving and thought we could have that cup of coffee we talked about.”
“I didn’t talk about it, you did. You drove like a bat out of hell and ran a red light. Are you insane?”
She laughs. “I was just having fun, teasing you a little. Gonna give me a ticket?”
She pissed me off, but I don’t want her to see it. “I need to talk to you anyway. Go inside, I’ll be there in a second.”
From the warmth of my car, I call Antti. “I’m in a hurry,” I say. “You found Heikki’s DNA in Seppo’s house. What was it from and where did you find it?”
“Pubic hair,” he says, “on the rim of the upstairs toilet and in their bed. On the mattress under the sheet.”
“No DNA on the sheet?”
“The bedclothes were fresh. There was a load of sheets and towels in the dryer. They’d been washed in a detergent with bleaching agent. No chance for DNA.”
I click off, take a tape recorder from the glove compartment and put it in my coat pocket.
She hasn’t chosen just any diner, it’s our diner. We came here together when we were kids, when we were first dating. The place hasn’t changed in thirty years. You can still get an ice cream float here. I find Heli looking at the magazine rack. We hid behind it and shared our first kiss when we were thirteen.
“Let’s get that coffee,” I say.
The same guy that waited on us almost thirty years ago is still behind the counter. It looks like he’s still wearing the same bow tie. The place smells like he hasn’t changed the French fry grease either. He’s about sixty years old and owns the place now. He’s surprised to see us together, raises his eyebrows but doesn’t comment. “What can I get you kids?” he asks.
“Two coffees,” Heli says. “Mine with milk, black for Kari.”
She pays. We sit down in a booth.
“Congratulations on your marriage,” I say.
“Thank you. It was long overdue, seemed like the right time.”
Heli no longer seems like the raging woman that spit on me, or the ice queen that sat in my office. She’s got on worn boots and jeans, an old sweater. She’s without makeup and her long blond hair is braided in pigtails. She’s smiling, and I recognize the girl I fell in love with. I suspect this is her intention.
“You have a flair for the dramatic,” I say.
“The diner seemed appropriate,” she says, “after all this time.”
“After thirteen years, I don’t see any reason to relive old memories.”
“It seems like a good place to create new memories. I apologize for the way I acted. I was a bitch. There’s no excuse for bad behavior, but you barged into our home and shocked me, and I thought you were out to get Seppo. I can see now that those things aren’t true.”
Sarcasm creeps into my voice. “You can, can you?”
“Yes, and I’m sorry. I also want to thank you for releasing Seppo so quickly when his innocence became clear.”
“You thanked me for releasing Seppo by telling a reporter I threatened him.”