Her Enemy (21 page)

Einstein came padding into the living room and began cleaning his fur. He started with his face: first, he wet his left paw with his tongue, then rubbed his face, followed by more licking and then rubbing behind the ears. Inspired by this feline orderliness, I returned to Sanna’s papers.

Essays, research papers, lecture notes. Most of Sanna’s papers related to school. Photographs: Sanna and Annamari in matching dresses, Sanna horseback riding, Sanna and Kimmo on a carousel. Then a family portrait: Kimmo as a baby in Annamari’s lap, Sanna as a toddler in an acne-faced Risto’s arms, Henrik Hänninen behind his wife, looming dark and shadowlike. Strange family. Henrik’s first wife, Risto’s mother, had died of cancer. Annamari was not Matti and Mikko’s real grandmother, although she gave Marjatta Sarkela a run for her money in spoiling the twins. Did it matter? To love a child, did you have to see your own features in them? Did you have to see them as your own flesh and blood?

The most interesting thing I found was a half-finished letter to Kimmo from a few years back while he was in the army. Why did Sanna keep it? It read:

Maybe you were right when you told me to get away from Otso. I don’t think I’m addicted to the drugs or the medicine yet, but you may have been right when you were home last time and yelled at me that I would be soon. But I’m afraid of Otso. Thanks for offering to help, but neither you nor Risto will be able to do anything about it if he decides to kill me. But I guess there are good men too. You don’t hit Armi.

Maybe I should see a shrink like Eki Henttonen suggested. Sometimes I wonder what that man wants from me. It’s probably like you said, that he’s just worried about me.

You’re right about Dad at least. He doesn’t care about us, or about anybody. Sometimes I wonder what Leila was like, since we’re more like our own mother and Risto is more like Dad. Be happy that you don’t have a father complex like I do. Maybe we, you and I, want pain because we don’t think we deserve love. But is it that simple? I still feel bad for you. It doesn’t seem right that you have to give up part of who you are, your sexuality, because of Armi.

The letter was dated a couple of weeks prior to Otso and Sanna’s arrest. Sanna’s second drunk-driving case had been the preceding spring. Apparently, Eki and Sanna had contact during
the intervening time as well. Well, everyone knew everyone else in Tapiola. Maybe Sanna was just asking Eki for advice, about what she should do with Otso. Or was there more to it? What was Eki hiding from me?

I returned to Sanna’s thesis draft. After reading a few pages, I retrieved Antti’s English dictionary from his office. I found the subject of the thesis intensely interesting, largely because Sanna’s writing was so insightful and compelling. I wondered how long Sanna had been working on it.

Around the midpoint of the thesis was a detailed analysis of one of Plath’s best-known poems, “Lady Lazarus.” This was the poem on Sanna’s desk the night of her death, the one everyone took as her suicide note.

Sanna’s analysis of the poem suggested something else entirely:

“Lady Lazarus” has been analyzed from many perspectives, with claims for the object of the poem ranging from the Jewish Holocaust to the general subjugation of women to, of course, Plath’s own life, particularly her relationship with her father. Sound bases exist for all of these interpretations. However, these researchers have neglected the most important theme of the poem, the relationship between self-destruction and corporeality.

The title of the poem, “Lady Lazarus,” makes clear that resurrection is the intended meaning. The woman rises from the grave, removes her graveclothes, dissolves into ashes, and is born again. The imagery of the poem reeks of death and decomposition, while still remaining vivid and full of life.

Reading the poem, one wonders what killed Lady Lazarus. The previous deaths presented in the poem match up with those in
The Bell Jar
and Plath’s own life history. But who is or are Herr Doktor, Herr Enemy, Herr God, and Herr Lucifer, whom the speaker addresses in the poem? Plath often used German terms of address in her poems in describing her relationship with her father; in the poem “Daddy,” she compares her father with the Nazis. In the end, she compares the faithless father and faithless husband. One might thus assume that “Lady Lazarus” was written to a faithless, yet beloved man, whom the speaker in the poem finally conquers.

Next to this section, Sanna had scratched something nearly illegible. I stared at it for a moment, unable to make anything of the content or the associations it aroused. “Like me and E,” the marginal note seemed to say.

Herr Enemy? Eki? Was he the Death Mr. Lindgren saw on the breakwater? No, it couldn’t be. But it would all be so logical: Eki’s lack of enthusiasm for defending Kimmo, trying to bully me into giving up on the case. What did Sanna say about a father complex? Perhaps she saw Eki as a protector, the omnipotent defender who helped her out of all her run-ins with the law.

The third resurrection is clearly a turning point for Lady Lazarus. She controls the situation, even though she is returning from the dead. The poem burns with defiant self-confidence, with courage to leave the old and take a stand against one’s
enemies. The body of Lady Lazarus is attractive to this enemy, an enemy we may clearly interpret as male due to the term of address “Herr.” In the final statement of the poem, “And I eat men like air,” the word “men” means men specifically, not people in general.

I read the poem “Lady Lazarus” again, and found that I agreed with Sanna. When she left this poem out, it had nothing to do with her wanting to die. Sanna was reading it on her birthday as a psalm of resurrection. But she wasn’t able to swallow Herr Enemy after all. Instead, he killed her.

I couldn’t sit still anymore, so I sprang up, knocking my backpack onto the floor. Sanna’s beloved skull rolled out across the parquet floor, and Einstein rushed over to sniff it. My stomach churned. What could Armi have known about Eki? And did Makke know or not know about Sanna’s other lover? Eki had even gone to the trouble of helping Makke after Sanna’s death, ensuring he didn’t face charges for involuntary manslaughter. Still, even if Eki did kill Sanna, it might not have been on purpose. Perhaps he had just pushed her into the water during an argument, and she was too drunk to resist the cold water for even a moment to climb back out. Even a charge of manslaughter would have ended his career.

Fortunately, it was Friday, and I didn’t have to go in to the office for another two days. I would have time to collect my thoughts and formulate a strategy. Was Eki cursing his bad luck for having made the mistake of hiring an enterprising ex-cop like me? Armi and I would have met eventually anyway though, and Armi would have talked to me whether I worked for Eki’s firm or not.

I picked up the skull from the floor, since Einstein seemed to have lost interest. I wondered what he might have smelled. Could he pick up the scent of the original owner? Was Sanna’s scent still on it? And why did Sanna keep a skull on her desk anyway? Had she entertained the same thoughts as Hamlet—“To be or not to be”? But someone else had made that decision for her, and for Armi.

Armi and Sanna. Two different women, one hard and dark, the other soft and fair. Sanna, who broke every rule and never seemed to care what anyone thought. Armi, who was so desperate for respectability but had a curious streak and a habit of using information about people in odd ways. As far as I could tell, they hadn’t much cared for each other, so it was ironic that Armi seemed to have become such a thorn in someone’s side because of Sanna. But was that person Eki?

It was already a little past ten o’clock and the bus to Inkoo left first thing in the morning, so I needed to get to bed. Perhaps a nightcap would help me fall asleep faster. I turned off the living room light and admired the sunset still visible on the horizon, painting a red glow across the sea and coloring the few wisps of clouds hanging in the sky. We still had a few weeks until the solstice, so the light would continue increasing each night. I walked into the dimly lit kitchen and was just about to turn on the light when I heard a rustling at the front door.

Now my police instincts kicked in for real: I froze in place and groped for the nearest chair to use as a weapon. I heard a key turn in the lock, and then someone stepped in. I inched my way toward the knife rack hanging over the counter. A filleting knife trembled in my right hand as I lowered the chair in my left hand to the floor.

Fear gnawed at my throat as I tried to convince myself that it was only Antti, returned early from Inkoo for some reason. But I also realized how easy it would have been for Eki to swipe my keys, make copies of them, and return them to my jacket pocket. And today as I left the office, I even laughed with Annikki about my plan to spend a “glamorous” night at home, alone with my cat. Did Eki overhear us talking about where I’d be?

Steps moved through the entryway. I tiptoed to the kitchen door—I wanted to see my attacker. Hands shaking, I swore to myself that whoever he was, he was not going to get rid of me as easily as he had Sanna and Armi. Just as I was sliding toward the living room, I heard the sound of a light switch flipping on, and then someone spoke.

“Hi there, Einstein. Good kitty. Poor thing; didn’t they take you with them to Inkoo?”

Just call me the queen of weak nerves. The lurker in the living room wasn’t some bloodthirsty murderer, just my almost sister-in-law, Marita, who of course would have keys to her own parents’ house. As I entered the living room, I intentionally bumped the door. Startled, Marita jumped up from where she had been petting the cat on the floor.

“Who…Oh, Maria! The whole house was dark, so I thought you’d gone camping with Antti. God, you scared me! I came to borrow Mom’s blue silk blouse because mine has a stain, and I have not one, but three graduation parties I have to make appearances at tomorrow.”

“At least the boys have summer vacation starting tomorrow. I bet that will be nice.”

“I’m taking them to Inkoo on Sunday. I hope they’ll be able to forget about Armi and Kimmo if we’re away from all this and out in the country. They’re just old enough to understand that this is
real life, not a TV show. They know that someone killed Armi and that Kimmo is in jail because of that. Sanna’s death was harder to explain to them because they were a year younger, and until then they always thought that only old people died.” Marita sighed. Her large, slender hands fingered the hem of her shirt nervously. “And whenever I walk around downtown, I feel like people are staring. I know half of it is just me projecting, but now we can get away for a while, and I won’t have to think as much. I feel bad about leaving Risto alone with Annamari, but she said Henrik is coming home next week. Did Mom move any of her clothes around when you guys moved in, or do you think everything is still here?”

“She took some stuff for the summer, but most of her things are still in the walk-in closet—let’s go look.”

We found the blouse she wanted, which looked too big for Marita.

“Won’t that be too loose on you?”

“I’ll try it on to see.” Marita pulled it on over her head on top of her long-sleeved T-shirt. Raising her arms exposed the skin above the waistband of her pants, and I thought I saw bruises striping across her skin, right below her ribs, but I didn’t get a good enough look before Marita pulled down her shirt.

“This should be just fine if I tuck it in. Do you know when Kimmo’s case will go to trial?”

“It could be several months.”

“That’s horrible.” She sighed. “I guess Henrik could take Annamari away with him to Ecuador. She doesn’t start teaching at the community college until September, and even at that, she might want to consider taking a leave of absence, considering the situation.”

“And leave Kimmo here in prison?” I said, feeling surprisingly angry. “Is that the way in the Hänninen family? Difficult
family members are best forgotten? Just mentioning Sanna’s name seems taboo.”

She gave me a steely look. “Sanna’s death was terrible for the whole family. I would expect a bit more tact from you of all people in a situation like this. I don’t understand what you think you’re going to achieve digging up the past. Sanna committed suicide; everyone else has learned to accept that. No one wants you to do anything except help Kimmo. That is what’s important.”

“I think I’ll be the one to decide what’s important and what isn’t. Did you have a fall? You seem to have bruises all over your body.”

Marita’s face froze for a split second, but she quickly recovered, and then she blushed.

“A fall? Yes, I tripped after the party last Friday. That cognac was deceptively strong. And I bruise easily, just like Antti. Have you noticed?” Her explanation was more detailed and delivered faster than was necessary, and she immediately headed toward the door as if fearing I might start inspecting her bruises more closely.

I headed to the kitchen. My head throbbed as I poured myself a generous shot of Mother Sarkela’s lemon vodka. Hell’s bells! Why did everyone always have to tell me what I could and couldn’t do? I wasn’t rooting around in the Hänninens’ dirty laundry for my own edification, after all. They should be happy I was the one doing the poking around and not Ström.

Speaking of whom, I would have given anything to know where his investigation stood. Unfortunately, the only person I knew in the Espoo Police Department was Herr Ström himself, so I didn’t exactly have any back channels. I had no way of knowing if they had found anything interesting in Armi’s house,
or anything relating to Sanna. Did I dare ask Ström’s Dennis the Menace subordinate for help? He had, after all, left that notebook for me, so maybe he would be willing.

My problem was that I lacked any authority whatsoever. I wasn’t a lawyer yet, and I was no longer a cop. I had no power to interrogate anyone, to search Armi’s house, or to pull rank on…well, anyone.

After scooping Sanna’s papers from the living room floor, I read a little more of her master’s thesis to help me fall asleep. The skull looked on, staring at me blankly from its perch on my desk. I thought about Marita’s bruises. Could a struggle with Armi have caused them?