“Seppo was angry at me for that. I was still mad at you then.”
“But you’re not anymore.”
She smiles, stirs her coffee, clinks the spoon against the inside of the cup. “No.”
I set the tape recorder on the table. “Then you won’t mind helping me out with the investigation and answering a few questions.”
She grimaces. “Do we need that? It makes me nervous.”
It’s my turn to smile. “My memory isn’t what it used to be. I need it.”
She looks thoughtful, sips her coffee. “How’s the investigation into the girl’s murder going?”
“It’s drawing to a conclusion. I understand you knew Heikki.”
She puts on a sad face, an appropriate tear wells up. “He was such a sweet boy, I was shocked when I heard. How are his parents?”
She reaches toward my hand, as if she’s trying to share a moment with me. I move mine away. “They’re like you’d expect. What did you hear?”
She fiddles with a salt shaker, like she didn’t mean to take my hand. “There’s talk around the church that he hung himself, and that he,” she pauses, sniffles, “might have had something to do with the girl’s murder. It’s so tragic. Is it true?”
“That’s confidential. Let’s get to what I wanted to talk to you about. How well did you know Heikki?”
“Not well, but we were sort of friends. He needed some money, he was saving for a car and college. I gave him some jobs to do around the house.”
“That’s all?”
She thinks about it for a minute. “After he shoveled the snow or whatever, we’d have hot chocolate, talk about the Bible.”
“I forgot you’re here to rediscover your religious roots. How’s that working out?”
She looks hurt, guides the subject back where she wants it. “You don’t have to be mean. People change, you know. I was on the way home from a church meeting when I saw you driving. I’m serious about my religion. I just wondered how a nice boy like Heikki could have done such a thing.”
“You seem pretty concerned.”
“Maybe it’s morbid curiosity, but it’s not every day that a boy you have in your home turns out to have done something like that. It’s hard to believe.”
Heli always did have an inclination toward the macabre, loved crime and horror films. I remember when she watched me stomp that little bird to death: she didn’t look upset, she looked fascinated.
“Heikki had some unusual religious ideas,” I say. “Did he ever say anything that struck you as odd?”
She shakes her head. “He seemed like a fine young man.”
I start to home in. “I’ll satisfy your morbid curiosity. We’ve placed Heikki at the crime scene. We found his tears on her face. Imagine, he butchered her like an animal, then felt such remorse that he cried on her face as soon as he’d done it and committed suicide a couple days later.”
She sheds a couple tears of her own. “Poor her. Poor him. He must have been so disturbed.”
“It’s generous of you to sympathize with the suffering of a woman that had an affair with your husband.”
She sighs. “Whatever she did, she didn’t deserve to die like that.”
I nod in agreement, try to gauge the level of her sincerity. “How many times did Heikki come over to your house?”
She shrugs. “I don’t know, a few.”
“Where did you sit when you had your Bible talks?”
“At the dining room table, on the living room sofa.” She looks into my eyes, probing. “What are you getting at?”
“We found his pubic hair in your upstairs bathroom and on your bed. I was wondering how they got there.”
Her eyes go dull like a snake’s, then they start to dance and she sits back and laughs at me. “Kari, are you suggesting I had an affair with a sixteen-year-old boy?”
She keeps laughing until tears roll down her cheeks. I wait for her to stop. “I’m not suggesting anything, why would you think that?”
“It seems to be your implication.”
“I asked you a simple question. How do you think his pubic hair made its way into your bedroom and bathroom?”
She gives me the look she gave me when I interviewed her in my office. The one that says I’m stupid. “Let’s use our imaginations, shall we? He has to pee, a couple pubes come loose. One stays in the bathroom, the other sticks to my or Seppo’s feet and gets tracked into the bed.”
“You have a bathroom downstairs. Why would he go upstairs?”
“I don’t know, but which story sounds more plausible, a hair tracked into a bed, or me fucking the boy? Think about it.”
“I didn’t accuse you of fucking the boy. He used your car to commit the crime. Now it’s your turn to think about it. Tell me what conclusions you draw.”
She rests her elbows on the table, her chin on her hands. Time goes by. The idea hits her like it hit me. She sits bolt upright. “No fucking way,” she says.
“You’ve got a dirty mouth for a churchgoing girl.”
“Old habits die hard.” She starts laughing again. “You can’t seriously believe Seppo had a homosexual relationship with that boy.”
I don’t say anything, stare at her and wait.
“It’s impossible,” she says.
“Why?”
She has no answer. We stare at each other. I let her win and speak first. “Have you ever known Seppo to be involved in a gay relationship?”
She gulps down the rest of her coffee. Her lack of an answer is an answer.
“Heli, if you know something, you should tell me. You could end up being an accessory, which would mean jail time. I’m not threatening you, I’m trying to help you.”
She stands up, winds her scarf around her neck, puts on her coat. “I know you’re concerned about me, but you’re barking up the wrong tree. You’re a good guy, you always were. I’d forgotten.”
We step out into the dark together. The diner door has a bell on it that makes a friendly ring. The cold takes my breath for a second. “Thanks for the coffee,” I say, and head for my car.
She calls after me, “Kari.”
I turn toward her. She opens the door of the BMW, looks at me. “I’m sorry I hurt you when I left you. I loved you once.”
I’m not sure why, but I’m glad she said it. I nod at her but don’t know what I mean by it. Maybe it’s thanks-maybe it’s simple acknowledgment.
Heli starts the BMW. I have to test something out. I walk over, she rolls down the passenger-side window and I stick my head in while I talk to her.
“A couple days ago,” I say, “this crazy idea occurred to me that you learned about Seppo’s affair and decided to get rid of Sufia. You and Seppo were unmarried. If Seppo left you for Sufia, by Finnish law, you’d get nothing. You seduced Heikki and played on his religious beliefs, convinced him that Sufia was a nigger whore, a sinner that deserved to die, then you and he colluded in Sufia’s murder.”
I pause. Heli’s face registers nothing. I continue.
“You and Heikki used Seppo’s car and framed him, then you convinced Seppo to marry you, fed him some song and dance about how your solidarity would speak of his innocence. Marriage would assure your financial well-being. You drove Heikki to suicide by telling him the truth, that you used him and intended to discard him. Of course, I can see now that all this couldn’t be true. Seems like a stupid idea, looking back.”
Her expression doesn’t change. “You have a wild imagination.”
“Yeah, I do. A homosexual love affair between Seppo and Heikki is a far more economical solution. It’s all there. Motive. Opportunity. Still, you can see how all the pieces fit in the scenario with you and Heikki as well, it’s just more complicated that way.”
Heli smirks and starts to close her window.
Something hits me. “Hey, wait a second,” I say. “How do you spell lasi, glass, in English?”
“Why?”
“I have to send my wife a text message and can’t remember.”
“G-R-A-S-S.”
She rolls up her window and drives away. I light a cigarette. The cold makes my eyes run and blur. Her taillights streak red and fade away. Heli’s English always sucked. Could Sufia really have had a broken bottle stuffed into her vagina because Heli read a website wrong and mistook “grass” for “glass”? I stand under a streetlight, smoke and think for a while.