25

AS I REACH THE intersection in the road leaving Marjakylä, the aurora borealis appears. Instead of turning onto the highway, I drive across the road to Aslak’s reindeer farm, park in his driveway and get out of the car.

It’s about twenty below zero. In this kind of cold, the sense of smell is almost useless, but I smell the northern lights. I’m told it’s not possible, but I’ve always been able to. The scent is like copper and burned cinnamon. A couple times I’ve heard them. The sound was like constant humming thunder.

I light a cigarette and watch the northern lights dim and brighten, wavy green serpents of light. Fresh snow has turned the field where Sufia’s body lay into a clean white funeral shroud. Around twenty reindeer saunter toward me, curious.

It occurs to me that I haven’t spoken to Sufia’s father since Seppo was released. He’s going to be upset and the conversation won’t be pleasant. I take my phone out to call him and it rings in my hand. “Good evening Inspector,” Abdi says. “I have read in the newspaper that there has been an unpleasant development in the investigation of my daughter’s murder.”

“You mean the release of Seppo Niemi.”

“Exactly so.”

“I apologize for not calling you about it earlier. The investigation has moved so fast that I haven’t had time. Seppo was released for political reasons. It has no bearing on his guilt or innocence.”

“Will my daughter’s murderer go free for, as you say, political reasons?”

I don’t mention my suspicions about Heli’s involvement. If it proves that she coerced Heikki to murder, Abdi will still be satisfied that justice was done. “I can rearrest him at any time. A new development has come to light that suggests it may be soon.”

“What development?”

“A teenage boy committed suicide yesterday. Forensics place him at the crime scene and also in Seppo’s house. It appears the boy was an accomplice to the crime.”

“I remain unconvinced. When we last spoke, you had Sufia’s killer in custody and believed her case would be brought to a speedy conclusion. Now you talk of political considerations and teenage accomplices. I begin to lose my faith in you Inspector.”

“Mr. Barre, I promise you…”

He cuts me off. “The Koran instructs, ‘There are guardians watching over you, noble recorders who know of all your actions.’ Do not let Sufia’s murder go unavenged.”

The line goes dead. I look up. The northern lights have disappeared, and I’m staring into a dark and lifeless Arctic night.

I KNOCK ON VALTTERI’S door and Maria answers. She looks like she’s aged ten years in a day. I step in and give her a hug, take off my boots in the foyer. Valtteri walks into the living room. He looks frightened, maybe because of what I’m going to tell him.

“Maria, why don’t you make us some coffee,” he says.

“He was my son too.”

“Maria, go in the kitchen.”

She doesn’t argue and walks away. He and I sit side by side on the sofa. “I have to tell you some difficult things,” I say.

He folds his hands, rests his arms on his knees, stares at the floor, waits.

“Heikki was present at the murder scene. The tears on Sufia’s face belonged to him.”

Valtteri doesn’t look up.

“I went through his computer today. There was no admission of guilt, but I found strange things. He wrote, ‘God hates niggers’ and ‘God hates whores,’ almost like we saw on her body.”

Valtteri cries silent tears. They fall between his knees, splash on the rug between his feet. “Why did he do it?” he asks.

“I don’t know.”

“You’re telling me Heikki thought God wanted him to kill that girl. I raised my children religious. I thought God would make them good strong people. Now you’re telling me what I taught Heikki made him sick, a killer.”

“I don’t think that. I could tell from what he wrote that Heikki was disturbed.”

“And I made him that way.”

“No you didn’t. You raised him right. What Heikki did had nothing to do with you. I’ve known you a long time, you’re a good man, a good parent.”

He looks up, holds his hands out toward me. I don’t know what he wants me to do. His voice trembles. “Then why?” He yells it. “Dear God, why!”

Maria comes in from the kitchen. She’s carrying a tray with cups of coffee and slices of cake, which she sets down on the coffee table in front of us. She’s crying. “Valtteri, I heard what was said. He killed that girl, didn’t he?”

He wraps his arms around himself, rocks back and forth. “Maria, we raised a monster.”

She stills her tears, kneels down on the floor and wraps her arms around Valtteri, tries to calm him. “Why?” she asks me.

“Heikki was in love with a girl. He wrote a poem about her and I found it in his computer. Do you know who she is?”

“No,” Maria says.

“Some of the things he wrote give me the feeling that somehow this girl and Sufia Elmi are connected. There’s something else too. We found his DNA in Seppo Niemi’s house. Did he and Seppo know each other?”

“Heikki did odd jobs for Seppo and Heli. Shoveled snow, carried firewood, things like that. He met Heli at church. It’s no surprise that he was in their house.”

Maria’s comforting worked, Valtteri is calmer, but now I know that he withheld information. My doubt about whether he knew Heikki killed Sufia renews itself. “Why didn’t you tell me?” I ask him.

“You don’t like to talk about Heli, and I didn’t see any point in telling you my son shoveled her driveway.”

An idea hits me so hard that I curse out loud without meaning to. “Goddamn it.”

They look stunned, must think I’m mad at them for not telling me Heikki knew Heli and Seppo. “Sorry,” I say.

I’ve just realized the most economical solution to Sufia’s murder. Heikki and Seppo knew each other. My investigation into Seppo’s life has suggested to me that he’s morally arid enough to plant his dick in anything with a pulse. If he swung both ways, it wouldn’t surprise me. Maybe he seduced the boy who did his odd jobs.

Heikki was young, sheltered, most likely inexperienced. He could have been exploring his sexuality. Heikki and Seppo could have had a homosexual affair. If they were lovers, it would have given Heikki access to Seppo’s car keys. Heikki might have killed Sufia out of simple jealousy.

I put a hand on Valtteri’s shoulder to let him know I’m not angry, and feel sudden shame for thinking Valtteri and Maria could have had anything to do with Heikki’s suicide. They loved their boy so much. “Is there anything else you haven’t told me?”

He shakes his head.

“I guess you know I can’t keep this out of the papers.”

Maria gulps back a cry. She must have just realized she and Valtteri are about to take on new identities as the parents of a psychotic murderer. They’ll endure humiliation that neither they nor the community will ever forget.

Valtteri takes her hand but looks at me. “I’m sorry about all this,” he says. “I’ve embarrassed you and the police department. I’ll turn in my resignation after the funeral tomorrow.”

I grasp at words, they’re all inadequate. He loves his job. “Damn it Valtteri, what Heikki did isn’t your fault, and I won’t accept your resignation.”

He lets out a whimper. “I raised him, it’s my fault. You’ll accept it and you’ll be glad you did.”

“You’re in a lot of pain and you’re being foolish.”

“I don’t see that I have any choice.”

“Resigning isn’t an option for you. You have seven other children and a wife to take care of.”

He starts to cry again. “What do I do then?”

“You’re going to grieve for your boy, then you’re going to go back to work and do your job while I figure out why Heikki did what he did.”

He looks at Maria, she nods. “I’ll try,” he says.