Snow Woman (26 page)

I was irritated that I’d lost my cool but couldn’t help chuckling at how well I’d given it back to the club owner. As I was starting down the stairs, a door behind me opened and a man stepped out zipping up his fly. Glancing at me with a look of alarm, he hurried past. I turned back and peeked into the room he had just exited. It was dim inside, but I recognized the woman who was pulling on her panties. Milla Marttila was easy to find after all.

“Hi, Milla. Could I have a word?” I asked.

“Well, well, look who we have here. Did you come for a show? I thought you were more into guys. Aren’t you married?”

“Come off it, Milla,” I said. “Your boss gave me permission to interview you about Tuesday night.”

“What’s to talk about? I was at work from eight to four.” Milla refastened her bra, which still exposed her nipples. Goose bumps covered her pale skin. “Wait here while I grab some more clothes,” she said and disappeared through the door.

I sat down in the only chair in the room, a black leather recliner. Next to it was a small table with a box of Kleenex and a package of extra strength condoms. In front of the armchair was a stage about six feet by six feet. It was just the right height so that someone sitting in the armchair could stare right at the dancer’s labia. The red lights emphasized the cavelike effect of the black-walled room. Next to the door were buttons that I assumed controlled the lighting and music. I wondered how it felt to dance on that stage and to be the man watching but not touching.

Milla reappeared in “more clothes”: a satin kimono embroidered with flowers. It was almost the same kind I had at home. I had never thought of it as sexy before. Milla sat on the edge of the stage across from me and lit a cigarette.

“You say you were here all night, but the problem is we don’t have much reason to trust you yet. You and Officer Haikala were never able to find the guy you said you slept with the night Elina died. What time did you take your lunch break Tuesday night?”

“My what?” Milla snorted. “Nobody here eats during work. It makes your tummy bulge. Mine is already round enough as it is. A lot of men prefer the bony type.”

Milla’s eyes were painted with thick black eyeliner, and her lips and nails were black as well. Maybe it was her version of mourning.

“Two of my colleagues are interviewing your coworkers right now. Then we’ll know,” I said.

“What actually happened to Aira? I was so groggy when you called.”

As I told Milla what happened, I saw the surprise in her eyes.

“Who would want to attack Aira? She’s such a sweet person!” Milla said the word “sweet” perfectly seriously. “You think Aira knew too much about Elina’s death or something?”

“Maybe. I’d also like to know who’s mentioned in Aira’s will.”

“Not me!” said Milla. “I’m sure you’d be happy if I was behind all this, because the media wouldn’t care. I’m not famous like Elina’s poet boy or that fucking reporter, and I’m not from a rich family like Niina.”

“What kind of family are you from then? You mentioned incest at the course where I met you.”

Milla took a last puff of her cigarette and then stubbed it out absentmindedly on the edge of the stage and let the butt fall onto the dark-red carpeted floor. With the heel of my boot I put it out properly. Milla looked at her black toenails in their red sandals and didn’t say anything for a minute.

How was Milla’s previous life any of my business? But I was curious in the same way I’d been curious about Johanna’s life. When I met Milla the first time, I thought she wanted out of being a stripper—and apparently a prostitute. Maybe I thought I could save her.

“My family. Ha!” she finally said. “They’re still living out in Kerava. My parents had bad luck. They couldn’t have kids no matter what they tried, so they finally adopted me. I think I’d been with them two months when Ritva, my adoptive mother, realized she was pregnant. They ended up with three sons of their own. Ritva spent so much time taking care of her little treasures that she forgot all about her husband’s needs. Luckily he had me. I started wearing a bra at ten, and that’s when he figured I was a woman.”

“You mean he started taking advantage of you sexually when you were ten years old?” I asked.

“Well, that’s a pretty fancy way of putting it. ‘Taking advantage sexually.’ He didn’t actually screw me since I have such a pretty mouth and quick hands. On my graduation day I finally told Ritva and the rest of my family what a fucking awesome dad I had. I haven’t been home since.”

Nausea and anger struggled within me. But I’d wanted to hear about Milla’s life, so I deserved it. How did therapists handle hearing this kind of thing? What did Elina say to Milla when she revealed this? Or Johanna? I never knew what to say.

“The sad thing is, the shitheads kept dragging me down. I did well in school, even when I had a hard time paying attention because my dad had me up the whole night before. I got into the literature program at the university on my first try. Awesome, except the people in the financial aid office had the idea that all parents still support students under the age of twenty. So I started looking for a way to make money the only way I knew how.”

Milla’s round toes with their black nails looked like frozen potatoes. Was there any point suggesting that she press charges against her adoptive father? The abuse had ended several years before, but I didn’t think it had exceeded the statute of limitations. But how would she prove he’d done it? Milla’s parents must have had a respectable façade or else they never would have been able to adopt in the first place.

An adoptio
n . . .
Milla was in her early twenties. Just around the time Elina was dating Kari Hanninen. What i
f . . .
No, the idea was too far-fetched. Still, I couldn’t help asking.

“Have you ever found out who your real parents were?”

“What the hell for? Why would I want to know about them? They didn’t want me. These men do though, and that’s enough for me.”

I remembered Tarja Kivimäki’s sarcastic comment about the homeless cats Elina collected. Milla was a very lost kitten, one who always kept her claws out just in case. Elina’s death had happened at the worst possible time for Milla, given her rape experience. I would definitely check on Milla’s real parents though, even if the adoption papers would likely only list the mother. Could that be Elina Rosberg?

There was a knock at the door and I jumped. Was it a new customer for Milla?

No. It was Ström. He gave Milla a look that was about as friendly as the one he gave the drunks we’d interviewed that morning.

“Ms. Marttila here is a talented liar,” he said. “From what I hear, your shift the night before last didn’t actually start until ten thirty. According to the schedule, you were supposed to start at eight, but you traded shifts with someone named Tatiana. So where were you?”

The look Milla shot back at Ström wasn’t any friendlier. “That’s what Tatiana says, is it? She doesn’t know Finnish or English well enough to tell Tuesday from Wednesday. Or does a big pig like you know Russian?”

“Where were you Tuesday night, Milla?” I asked.

“Tell that idiot to get lost,” Milla said, indicating Ström. “I’m not saying anything with him here. He should go ask Tatiana for a lap dance while we chat. No Russian language experience required.”

I nodded at Ström to leave, and luckily he had the sense to comply. Or maybe the girls downstairs were just a bigger draw. Milla’s tough-girl routine was wearing on me. It was as though she was goading me to smash through the act, to order her to cut the crap.

“Well, go ahead. What happened Tuesday?”

“
I . . .
”

I realized that Milla’s eyelids were fluttering, and black streaks were running down her cheeks toward her jaw.

“I just couldn’t do it. I called the apartment where all the Russian girls live and asked if someone could work my first couple of hours. Last weekend was so hard, and Mondays the club is closed. I was jus
t . . .
tired.”

“Why don’t you stop doing this?” I asked.

“For a cop you’re so naïve! Is quitting somehow going to magically fix my life? Maybe I should go back to school and marry some Prince Charming? Don’t make me laugh.”

Milla pulled a clump of Kleenexes out of the box. Her face looked almost comical smudged with black. “These guys even own my apartment. I wasn’t willing to shack up with a bunch of other girls like the Russians, but the club still pays the bills. How would I get a new apartment? Don’t say in the dorms. I’m too antisocial for that.”

I still couldn’t find the right words. Only empty advice. Quit the job. Go to therapy and deal with your childhood. Press charges against your father. Instead of saying any of that, I just continued the interview.

“So were you at home Tuesday night?”

Milla shook her head. Black lipstick smeared her jaw, and her nose was red under her white face powder.

“How the hell am I supposed to explain it to you! You’re a cop, not Elina. Sure, I was home, no witnesses. Or maybe I was at Rosberga and whacked Aira over the head because she knew I killed Elina. What the fuck does it matter now?”

“It does matter.” I rose from my chair and tried to find a way to touch her that felt natural. Touching wasn’t allowed in this room—only looking, emotionally and physically stripping the other person bare.

“I know I’m not Elina,” I said uncertainly, timidly putting my hand on Milla’s shoulder. “But there are other people besides Elina who can help.”

Just then the door flew open, this time without a knock. Rami Salovaara poked his head in. “Milla, they want you downstairs. You have a dance at fifteen to—Goddamn it, go clean yourself up! We agreed these interviews weren’t going to get in the way of business.” These last words were directed at me.

“We’re actually finished here. Thank you,” I said, unsure whether I was irritated or relieved by the interruption. I’d been on the verge of offering to fix Milla’s life, despite having plenty on my own plate.

After thanking Milla for her time, I went downstairs. Puupponen and Ström were standing at the bar with glasses of beer in front of them. The main evening show had begun. The svelte, underage-looking girl gyrating on the stage seemed of particular interest to Puupponen.

“I can take the car back if the two of you want to stay and enjoy the view,” I said with a smirk.

“So we’re not going to arrest her?” Puupponen asked in disbelief. “We know she was lying.”

“I wish it were that simple.” My eyes swept the room. The stares I was getting made me uncomfortable. I realized I was violating the club’s division between well-dressed men and undressed women, a reminder that I had no business in this place.

Suddenly I noticed another person who didn’t look like he belonged here, although Milla had mentioned he’d shown up before. There was Joona Kirstilä sitting at a rear table. He looked like an orphan in the sea of strip club regulars in their suits and ties.

“Seems we have a friend here,” I said to Ström, who picked Kirstilä out after a brief search.

“Elina Rosberg’s boyfriend. So this is where he goes looking for comfort?”

“Let’s go ask. We can kill two birds with one stone and ask where he was Tuesday night.”

“Seems strange a pansy like that has the stones to come here,” Ström snorted.

“So going to strip clubs is a display of masculinity now? I always heard these places were a release for repressed guys who stare at titties instead of committing rape,” I said loudly as I weaved my way through the tables. “Evening, Kirstilä. We keep running into each other in bars.”

The drunk eyes that stared up at me couldn’t seem to figure out what I was doing at Fanny Hill. Then comprehension dawned. “Is this some kind of raid?”

“No, that’s another department. Do you think there’s a reason for a raid though?” I asked.

He didn’t seem to understand my question. Maybe there was too much poetry in his head. Grabbing a chair from a nearby table, Ström sat down next to Kirstilä. I remained standing like a waitress waiting for an order.

“Hot chicks, huh?” The feigned chumminess in Ström’s voice was new to me. “What would your late girlfriend think if she knew you went to places like this?”

I didn’t expect such a quick reaction from Kirstilä. Shooting out of his seat, he socked Ström in the nose and started running for the door. I took off after him, knocking over a couple of chairs and beer glasses as I went. I managed to get a grip on the tail of his coat, but he wrenched himself free. He didn’t make it past the bouncer though. Like a true professional, he simply grabbed Kirstilä with his left hand and then wrapped his right arm around his throat. Dainty and short as Kirstilä was, he looked like a child swallowed up by six and a half feet of brawn.

“What the hell’s going on here?” Rami Salovaara came running. He must have seen the scuffle on his monitor. “We didn’t say anything about questioning customers! You’re disturbing my business.”

I wished I could leave. Just walk out the door while Ström, Salovaara, and Joona Kirstilä sorted out the mess. I wanted to take a taxi home and crawl under the covers next to Antti. Drop this case where none of the clues led anywhere. Every thread we found was just a piece of the same endless ball of dirty gray yarn.

“Your customer struck an officer. He also just happens to be one of the suspects in our investigation.” Crap, I was going to have to arrest Kirstilä. Ström would demand it. Knowing him, he’d probably press charges and I’d have to testify.

But Kirstilä’s punch had been pretty pathetic. It hadn’t even bloodied Ström’s nose, which had been broken several times before. Puupponen was grinning behind Ström’s back. It was obvious he considered Kirstilä a friend now.

“I think our little poet pal is going to be spending the night in the cooler,” Ström said with an unpleasant smile for Kirstilä, who had gone limp in the bouncer’s arms. “Are you going to come quietly or do I need my cuffs?”

Kirstilä didn’t answer, and I motioned for the bouncer to let him go. As we walked out, Kirstilä between my partners and me behind, I glanced back for a second. There was Milla Marttila, her makeup fixed, standing on the stairs with a horrified expression on her face.