“She said it was a mess. She was too embarrassed to let the maid clean it and wanted to do it herself, but kept putting it off. Sufia wasn’t exactly domestically inclined.”
I give him a just-us-guys smile. “I guess she had other talents that made up for it.”
“Yeah.” He snickers. “Besides, I stay at Hullu Poro when I’ve had too much to drink in the bar there, so I don’t get behind the wheel.”
“You’re a good citizen. When was the last time you were in Sufia’s room?”
“About a week ago, I suppose.”
“Where was your car while she was in your room that day?”
“Outside in the parking lot.”
“Does anybody else have access to it? Do you ever loan it to your friends?”
“Just Heli. She has her own set of car keys.”
“Did you ever let Sufia borrow your car?”
“No.”
“I found your semen and her blood in the backseat. You had other places available to have sex. Why in the car, and why the blood?”
He smiles. “Did you ever see Sufia? I fucked her anywhere and everywhere I could, as often as I could. One look in those gorgeous eyes of hers made my dick hard. Maybe she’d started her period when we did it in the car.”
“It seems like your feelings for Sufia were genuine. Was there any future in the relationship?”
“She told me she loved me and would like to have something more permanent. I told her things could stay the way they were. Permanently.”
“Meaning she could be your mistress indefinitely. Do you think Heli knew about your affair?”
“I was careful to make sure she didn’t find out.”
It’s hard to picture Seppo being careful about anything. “But you talked to other people about Sufia.”
“Just a few close friends.”
“I’ll need their names and contact information.”
He nods.
“Because, the thing is, you called Sufia a ‘nigger whore’ during a phone conversation, just about a half an hour after somebody carved ‘nigger whore’ on her abdomen. That strikes me as more than coincidental.”
“He told you what I said?”
“Yeah.”
He looks down at the desk, starts to fidget. “What are you getting at?”
“You pretended like you cared about Sufia, but you called her a
‘nigger whore’ behind her back. You bragged about coming on her face and fucking her in the ass. Some people might take that to mean you were using her. If you talked about her, using that exact phrase, to various people, one of them could have used that information to set you up. Or somebody could have overheard a conversation and used it to frame you. That’s what I’m getting at.”
He looks relieved. “I see what you mean-I’ll make a list.”
“There’s another option,” I say. “The phone call was later than you said and doesn’t entirely clear you. There was enough time after the murder for you to get back to your room and call a friend to give yourself an alibi.”
He scratches his head, thinks about it. “If I did that, why would I call her a ‘nigger whore’ and mess up my alibi?”
“That’s a good question. A better one is why you ever called her that at all.”
“If somebody tried to frame me,” he says, “like you think they are, it wouldn’t have been too hard. Somebody could have borrowed my car for a while and put it back. Everybody knows I don’t get out of bed till four when I’ve been drinking the night before.”
“What time do you get out of bed when you haven’t been drinking?”
He hesitates. “Four.”
So he’s drunk every night and sleeps through his hangovers. I change gears. “Did you realize that Sufia’s clitoris had been removed?”
“I knew there was something strange down there but didn’t ask her about it. Why would someone do that?”
I don’t bother to explain. “She didn’t enjoy sex with you as much as you think, maybe not at all.”
He looks unbelieving.
“Peter Eklund was having an affair with Sufia,” I say. “That’s why she wouldn’t let you go to her room. Peter’s liquor bottles were all over it.”
I gauge his reaction. He looks injured, as if the idea of Sufia betraying him is both hurtful and mystifying. I wonder how good an actor he is. “No shit?” he asks.
“No shit. I think she wasn’t satisfied being your mistress, I think she used you.”
“That ungrateful bitch,” he says.
“Some people don’t know how good they have it,” I say, then cut him off. “That’s enough for now.”
I thank Seppo for his cooperation and apologize for the inconvenience. I give him his car keys and walk him out to the garage. “Anything you need,” he says. “Anything. You just ask.”
I open the garage door and reporters start swarming toward us.
“I’ll see you soon,” I say, and wave as Seppo drives away.
I didn’t bring my coat. It’s fucking freezing outside. The reporters start questioning me, but my statement is brief. “That was Seppo Niemi you just saw leaving. He provided an alibi and I released him. We’re now pursuing other avenues of investigation.” They keep shouting. I shut the garage door in their faces and go back into the station.
Back in the common room, I relate my interview with Seppo and lay out what we’ve got to do next. “We’ve made a lot of progress. We know where Sufia was when she was abducted. Since, by his own admission, Seppo’s vehicle was in the parking lot, it could have been used in the commission of the crime. The tears are the key. Because of them, it appears Seppo had an accomplice. Whoever shed them is linked to Seppo. It’s possible Seppo wasn’t even present when the crime was committed. Sufia’s affair with Peter gives him motive. Seppo could have had her killed.”
I’m pretending confidence I don’t feel. Yesterday, it looked like we’d broken the case in forty-eight hours. Now we’re at a standstill.
“We have to pursue the Peter Eklund lead with the same thoroughness as our investigation of Seppo. Peter’s car was in the parking lot too. Antti, you process it.”
He looks demoralized. I don’t have to tell him he can’t go on vacation.
“Jussi, you go to Hullu Poro. Check out if Peter was there at the time of the murder. Question the staff and everyone who’s been hanging around the bar over the past few days. If his car turns up evidence or we can’t confirm his alibi, we’ll treat his house as a crime scene. Valtteri, you go back to investigating locals. Known racists, sex offenders, men prone to violence. I’ll take photos of Seppo and Peter with me and re-canvass Marjakyla. And Valtteri, come into my office, I want to talk to you.”
When we’re alone, Valtteri says, “About Marjakyla, your father wasn’t at work in the bar when Sufia was murdered. You asked me to check.”
“Then I’ll ask him about it myself. I want to talk to you about Heli.”
“What about her?”
“When she left Kittila, she shook the dust off her feet and never came back. As far as I know, she hasn’t been here since we divorced. She hated her family. When we were married, she only came here when I wanted to see mine. Seppo always came here alone. She tells me, as she put it, that she’s ‘rediscovering her religious roots.’ Have you seen her in church?”
He nods. “It’s true, she’s been attending regularly.”
“Why didn’t you mention it to me?”
“I don’t like to bring up your ex-wife, it’s not my place.” He pauses. “You don’t think Heli could have had anything to do with it.”
“She’s gone for years. Then she shows back up, and her common-law husband’s mistress is murdered. She had keys to his car, she had motive. It’s a natural line of questioning.”
“Maybe you’re not taking the possibility that Peter and his friends killed Sufia seriously enough,” he says. “He and Seppo have nearly identical vehicles and they were both in the parking lot. They smoke the same brand of cigarettes, even have the same shoe size.”
“I’m taking it seriously. If Jussi finds blood in his car, it will provide sufficient grounds to seize his house and treat it as a secondary crime scene.”