“How did he take it?”
“Bad. I told him you were broken up about it, that you’d talk to him when you could.”
Having the people I work with try to spare my feelings touches me, but also embarrasses me a little. “Thanks, I appreciate all you’ve done.”
“No problem. You okay?”
I’m not sure yet. “Yeah, I’m okay. Go home and get some rest, I’ll talk to you soon.”
Kate sits down on the bed. “What are you planning to do?”
I shrug my shoulders. “Go to work.”
“Do you remember last night?”
It’s a little fuzzy, but I remember more than I want to. I imagine how I looked, crying like a baby. I feel my face turn red. “Sorry, I guess I let things get on top of me.”
“You don’t need to be sorry, I just wonder why you never told me about Suvi before.”
When I lived in Helsinki, I had an apartment on the fourth floor of a nine-story building. About six months after Heli left me, I came home and found a big orange tomcat on my balcony. The only way he could have gotten there was to have jumped from a higher floor. No one inquired about him and I didn’t ask. I named him Katt-Swedish for “cat.” A stupid name for a stupid animal, but I came to love him.
Katt loved nature shows on TV, seemed to think all the other creatures of the earth lived in a little box in the living room. In the evenings, I would lie on the sofa, he would lie on my chest, we’d share a bowl of ice cream and watch antelopes mate or cougars stalk bison or whatever. He liked the documentaries with other cats in them the best.
I transferred here to Kittila and brought Katt with me, had him for eight years. One day I came home and found him dead. He tried to eat a fat rubber band and choked to death on it. Katt had shit for brains. It broke my heart. I buried Katt in the backyard in an unmarked grave. Still, every year on All Saints Day, I light a candle on it for him. I never told anybody how much I loved him, and I never told anybody how much it hurt me when he died. I’ve never told Kate he existed at all. Sharing pain just isn’t part of my emotional makeup.
I didn’t realize until last night how much I wanted to tell Kate about Suvi. “I didn’t know how,” I say.
“Is there anything else you haven’t told me, anything you want to tell me?”
I think about it. “No.”
“I’m worried about you,” she says. “I don’t want you to go to work.”
“What do you want me to do?”
“You know what I want and you know I’m right. Things have gone too far. You told me you would.”
I nod. The case has spun out of control, gone to places I never would have imagined, and it’s taken a heavy toll on me. I don’t want to because it feels like failure, humiliating, but I should give it up. “I’ll do it now,” I say.
I call the national chief of police. He starts in on me before I can speak. “You didn’t write the press release the way I told you. Now things are fucked up.”
“Jyri, my ex-wife is dead. She was murdered last night.” I tell him about the circumstances.
Momentary silence. “Jesus, I’m sorry. How are you bearing up?”
“Not that well. I’m recusing myself. This has become too personal. I may have been the last person to see Heli alive, and given my relationship to her and her husband, the prime suspect, it’s inappropriate for me to continue.”
“Are you up to talking about the case?”
“Yeah.”
“Tell me what you know and where you think the case is headed.”
“The last time we talked, I told you that when we found the third man, the one who shed the tears on Sufia’s face, he would lead to someone else and we’d solve the murder. The boy, Heikki, committed suicide, and a DNA test proved the tears were his. He connected to Heli and Seppo, and that left me with four working theories. I figured I didn’t have to prove any of them, just disprove the others, and process of elimination would leave me with the truth.”
“Let’s hear them.”
“At first, I thought it most likely that Heli and Heikki did it together. She stood to lose a lot if Seppo left her for Sufia, and she also had a revenge motive. Heikki was young, malleable, impressionable. She could have used sex and his religious beliefs to coerce him. But then I thought Heikki and Seppo acting together was a more elegant solution with fewer working parts. I asked Heli if Seppo is bisexual. She didn’t deny it. A homosexual relationship would give Heikki a simple jealousy motive.”
“Since Heli is dead now,” he says, “that pretty much just leaves Seppo.”
“Wait. That doesn’t explain the Elizabeth Short copycat aspect of the murder and how Heikki knew about Sufia’s genital mutilation.” I explain the common features of the two murders. “If Heikki was involved with Sufia and Seppo in a sex triangle, Heikki would have been aware of it. In this instance, Heikki might have acted alone out of jealousy, or he and Seppo might have killed her together, most likely because Sufia tried to blackmail Seppo, since she was known to have attempted it in the past under similar circumstances. Maybe that’s what happened. Heli found out about it and forced Seppo to marry her by threatening to tell me the truth about Sufia’s murder. That would provide Seppo with a motive for killing Heli.”
“But the way he did it, with the tire from his own car, would be an act of complete idiocy. If he killed his wife, he’s made himself the main suspect.”
“He’s not the brightest bulb, but yeah, the stupidity involved makes me question his guilt.”
“You said four theories. That’s three.”
“Sufia’s relationship with Peter Eklund is the piece of the puzzle still unaccounted for. She performed oral sex on both Seppo and Peter earlier in the day of her murder, had traces of semen from both of them in her mouth. Peter and Seppo knew each other in Helsinki, maybe they both like young boys. If they both had sex with Sufia, maybe they also shared Heikki. It’s ugly, but it’s a possibility.”
The chief mulls it over. “What do you think now that Heli is dead?”
“I haven’t had a chance to think about it.”
“Think about it.”
“Honestly, my gut feeling was that Heli and Heikki did it, but now I just don’t know anymore.”
He barks it out, surprises me. “Don’t recuse yourself.”
“Jyri, that’s ridiculous. I may have been the last one to see her alive. It makes me a possible suspect.”
“Did you kill her?”
“Of course not.”
“Then you weren’t the last one to see her alive. Have you seen the papers or watched TV today?”
I’ve been avoiding them. “Not for a couple days. I haven’t had time.”
“You’re all over the news, national and international. They’re flashing pictures of Sufia Elmi, talking about how the handling of the Finnish Black Dahlia case is all fucked up. The implication is that a dumb redneck cop, a reindeer biter from Lapland, abused his authority and used the murder of a sweet and innocent but talented Somali refugee-who worked her way to fame and fortune against all odds-as a way to get back at his ex-wife and the guy who fucked her when they were married. If you’d written the press release the way I told you, been up-front about your relationship to the accused, then painted the shithead black, you would have seemed like a good guy. Now you could end up losing your job over it. Or worse.”
Now I see why Jyri is the national chief of police. He understands politics. I knew the media might make me look bad, maybe incompetent, but I didn’t expect them to crucify me. “What should I do?”
“Finish the case and solve it.”
“My friend’s son and my ex-wife are dead. I’m too emotionally involved and I feel like I’ve lost my judgment and perspective. I’ve done my best, but I’ve had about all I can take. You were right in the beginning-I never should have taken the case.”
“But you did take it. In for a dime, in for a dollar, they say.”
“Let someone who’s better equipped take over.”
“If you give up the case after already being demonized in the press for malfeasance, you might end up getting prosecuted for your ex-wife’s murder. My willingness to let you continue the investigation will demonstrate official belief in you. If you solve the case, you save yourself.”