Jokela’s small eyes were on me. “Relax,” he said. “This sort of investigation is a drag. You’ll never find the killer – if there even is one. The girl fell into the water. Big deal! This city is built on water. There are – I don’t know – dozens of islands!”
“Three hundred and fifteen, to be exact.”
“You see! That’s why they call this city the Daughter of the Baltic. The girl must have been hurrying somewhere, the ice gave way… You do that too, right, you take shortcuts through the bay?”
“Everyone does.”
“Exactly! And I prefer my people to focus on more important jobs than a drowned prostitute. Klara Nylund kept insisting, so I told her to contact a PI.”
I frowned. “Which one?”
“Mauzer.” Jokela hooted with laughter, sending drops of whisky flying in all directions.
“Great idea. She’s perfectly competent.”
Something in the way I said it made my boss squint at me. “You’re hiding something.”
I laughed it off. “Everyone does. And anyway, it’s good of you to give Hella a chance. As I said, she’s perfectly competent.”
Jokela patted me on the arm. “Of course she is. Of course. That’s what I thought too, let’s help out poor Hella. After all, I knew her father. I heard she’s not doing so well.”
“No,” I confirmed, “she’s not. From what I’ve heard.”
“Then we’ll drink to her success.” Jokela filled his glass again. “To Hella!”
I raised my glass reluctantly. I didn’t expect to lose control of the investigation but I knew Mauzer, the way she operated. Maybe it was for the best. “To Hella!” I said. “To her success!”
5
Hella
Helsinki is a city for walking fast. The bitter wind constantly blowing off the sea is there to make a point: no leisurely strolls here. No loitering. As soon as Klara Nylund was gone, I wrapped my coat tight and hurried home, past the neoclassical splendour of Senate Square and down Unioninkatu, the cobblestones slippery under the soles of my shoes.
As I walked, I wondered whether my day could possibly get any worse. It was a rhetorical question, not a challenge to the gods. What I needed was a warm bath and a little something to eat before I sat down with the notes Klara Nylund had left me. One thing I didn’t need was an unexpected guest.
So when, at half past five, I mounted the creaky stairs of my apartment building and spotted a bulging pigskin suitcase and a pair of shapely legs in a too-short skirt standing next to it, my first instinct was to run back to my office and wait until the legs were gone. I had a pretty good idea who they belonged to, and no desire at all to see their owner.
This split second of indecision, while I was hovering on the stairs, sealed my fate.
“Hel-la!” cried the sugary voice and Anita flew down the stairs, throwing her arms round my neck as if we were the best of friends. “So happy to see you! How are you?”
She took a step back, looked at me critically and frowned. “You’re even thinner than before. I didn’t think it was possible. And you’ve got a ladder in your stocking.”
“Thank you,” I muttered, making my way upstairs and fumbling in my pocket for the key. “I know.”
My lawyer had insisted I wear “nice ladylike clothes” to court, and I had complied. I had coiled my wild mane into a bun that resembled a cowpat, put on my only skirt suit, and even invested in a new pair of stockings. Which hadn’t even lasted a day. Somehow this minor disappointment crystallized all that was wrong with my life.
“What’s this about?” I asked Anita, my hand on the doorknob. I had rather hoped never again to see hide or hair of anyone from the police station in Ivalo. So did I really have to invite our former receptionist, who I’d never been close to, into my apartment for a cup of coffee and a chit-chat? And why did she have that suitcase with her?
Anita smiled: bright lipstick, perfect teeth, dimples. “It’s a long story. Can I come in?”
“Sorry.” I shrugged. “Sure. It’s been a rough day.”
My unexpected visitor picked up her suitcase and fluttered into my apartment. “Oh,” she said. “I love this place. It’s so … uncluttered. All those bare walls.”
“Yeah.” I dumped my bag on a chair and, leaving Anita to admire my sweet spartan home, went to the kitchen and put the kettle on. The coffee jar was almost empty, but I still managed to prepare two fairly decent cupfuls. I put them on a tray, together with a sugar bowl, and carried it into the living room.
Where I almost dropped the tray.
“What are you doing?”
Anita flashed a smile at me. “Surprise!”
I put the tray on the table, my hands shaking. “What do you mean, ‘surprise’? You’re hanging your clothes in my wardrobe. I thought you were just visiting?”
“Well, actually,” Anita said, deftly slipping a silk blouse onto a wire hanger, “I’m in Helsinki for good. I decided to follow in your footsteps, to try and be a hero like you.”
I stared at her. The girl was mad. For the three years I’d known her back in Ivalo, the only detective work that had ever interested Anita was finding a lipstick to match her nail polish. “You mean you want to be a cop?”
“Homicide detective, like you,” Anita beamed. “I’ve been thinking about it for a while, how I’d look in a uniform, and I decided that was it. This is what I want to be!”
“In case it escaped your notice, that’s all in the past. I’m not part of the police force any more.”
“Doesn’t matter. Everyone in Lapland knows your name. I applied to the training programme the day after you resigned. Actually, I started two months ago.”
I pulled a chair towards me and sat down heavily. Call me slow, but the situation was still unclear to me. “Where did you live?” I asked her. “Until now?”
Anita extracted a pair of crimson suede pumps from the suitcase and set them carefully in the back of the wardrobe. “With my cousin.”
“Ranta? Is he in Helsinki too?”
“Yep,” Anita smiled. “He always said he’d live and die as a police officer in Ivalo, but he transferred two months ago to work in the archives. Didn’t want to leave me alone in the big city. I was surprised he did, at his age – we celebrated his fifty-sixth birthday last week – but here we are.” She peered critically into my wardrobe. It was already full, but her suitcase wasn’t empty yet. “Do you know where I can put the rest of my stuff?”
“What happened with Ranta, then? Did you have a fight?”
Anita was already dragging her suitcase towards my bedroom. “I won’t stay long,” she assured me. “Maybe a couple of months. You’ll see, we’ll have fun together. Ranta was impossible, you know how he is, you’ve worked with him. Always snooping around, going through my things. Violent too, sometimes. I couldn’t take it any longer. There. Oh, goodness gracious!” I heard something smashing on the floor. A moment later Anita emerged, a piece of broken glass in her manicured hand. “That bed looks like two people have been sleeping in it. Are you seeing someone?” Her voice held an incredulous tone.