Read Online Available Dark: A Crime Novel (Cass Neary) by Elizabeth Hand - Free Book Online
Authors: Elizabeth Hand
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“Yeah, I know a place. It takes a few minutes, but it’s nice to walk outside.”
That was questionable. I tried to reconfigure my scarf so my ears didn’t freeze, and hurried to keep up with her. “How long you been working for Ilkka?”
“As his assistant? About ten years, since I was twenty. Before that I was one of his models. He worked with me since I was fourteen, then when I got too old, he hired me to help him on shoots. Now I mostly just do office work.”
“Were you in any of the famous pictures?”
“Several. The one for Vogue Italia with the reindeer—that was my first big job, up in Lapland. I froze my ass off. But I didn’t get sick. Some of the other girls did, but they weren’t Finns.”
“Were you involved with him?”
“Ilkka? No. He never went with the girls. His wife, Kati—she’s very beautiful. And he loves his children. Even back then, before he was married, he was always about work. He loves very cold places, and I don’t think too many models wanted to spend time on the ice in Lapland. So he used me a lot.”
“In his music videos? Were you in those?”
Suri made a face. “Ugh! No, never! Those people scared me. Ilkka hung out with them for a while, but once he met Kati he stopped.”
“You mean the Oslo club scene?”
“I don’t know.” She hesitated. “Well, okay, yes. All that black metal—he used to play it when we were shooting. I hated it. That was a very bad time; bad things happened to people then.” She took in my leather jacket and steel-tipped boots, the scar beside my eye. “But maybe you like that.”
I started to frame another question, but she shook her head vehemently. “ Ei. It’s bad luck to talk of the Devil. Here, this way…”
We turned onto a narrow road. Nothing that would appeal to anyone just off a Nordic cruise ship—buildings with steel mesh in the windows, empty containers that reeked of gasoline. From the loading dock of a fish processing plant came a smell so foul I held my breath till we passed it.
Suri walked lightly, glossy hair streaming from beneath her cap. At the end of the street we turned into an alley where a neon sign washed the pavement an ugly, blistered pink. A ratty-looking mongrel was tied to a pole beside the door of a corrugated shack. It was the last place I’d expect someone like Suri to hang out, but she walked straight past the dog and went inside.
The place was dim and smelled of spilled beer and fried fish. Several men sat drinking in a cloud of smoke, despite warning signs that showed a cigarette with a red X through it. Behind the bar, a woman greeted Suri. She was even taller than I was, and built like a set of Marshall stacks.
Suri turned to me. “Beer okay?”
I nodded and found a table against the far wall. Suri joined me and set down two brimming glasses.
“I’ll have to get back soon,” she said. “Ilkka left me some paperwork.”
My beer tasted as though it had been salted. The men turned to stare at us; at Suri, actually. As she removed her parka and knit cap and shook her hair out, the grimy bar suddenly looked like the louche backdrop for a fashion shoot.
“ Kippis— cheers.” Suri lifted her glass to me and made an impressive dent in her beer. “How do you know Ilkka? Are you old friends?”
“I wouldn’t call us that.”
“He took you into his workroom downstairs. His temppeli, his ‘sanctum’—that’s what I call it. I’ve known him all these years, but he’s never let me see it. He doesn’t even allow Kati down there. So I thought the two of you must be very close.”
“We have a mutual friend. Well, a mutual acquaintance, anyway. Guy named Anton Bredahl.”
“Ugh.” Suri grimaced. “You know him?”
“We’ve never actually met, just talked online. Why?”
“He’s creepy. He was into death metal, then black metal. Mayhem and Viðar and Darkthrone, bands like that. He had a club in Oslo; I went twice with Ilkka. I hated it. I couldn’t hear for two
That was questionable. I tried to reconfigure my scarf so my ears didn’t freeze, and hurried to keep up with her. “How long you been working for Ilkka?”
“As his assistant? About ten years, since I was twenty. Before that I was one of his models. He worked with me since I was fourteen, then when I got too old, he hired me to help him on shoots. Now I mostly just do office work.”
“Were you in any of the famous pictures?”
“Several. The one for Vogue Italia with the reindeer—that was my first big job, up in Lapland. I froze my ass off. But I didn’t get sick. Some of the other girls did, but they weren’t Finns.”
“Were you involved with him?”
“Ilkka? No. He never went with the girls. His wife, Kati—she’s very beautiful. And he loves his children. Even back then, before he was married, he was always about work. He loves very cold places, and I don’t think too many models wanted to spend time on the ice in Lapland. So he used me a lot.”
“In his music videos? Were you in those?”
Suri made a face. “Ugh! No, never! Those people scared me. Ilkka hung out with them for a while, but once he met Kati he stopped.”
“You mean the Oslo club scene?”
“I don’t know.” She hesitated. “Well, okay, yes. All that black metal—he used to play it when we were shooting. I hated it. That was a very bad time; bad things happened to people then.” She took in my leather jacket and steel-tipped boots, the scar beside my eye. “But maybe you like that.”
I started to frame another question, but she shook her head vehemently. “ Ei. It’s bad luck to talk of the Devil. Here, this way…”
We turned onto a narrow road. Nothing that would appeal to anyone just off a Nordic cruise ship—buildings with steel mesh in the windows, empty containers that reeked of gasoline. From the loading dock of a fish processing plant came a smell so foul I held my breath till we passed it.
Suri walked lightly, glossy hair streaming from beneath her cap. At the end of the street we turned into an alley where a neon sign washed the pavement an ugly, blistered pink. A ratty-looking mongrel was tied to a pole beside the door of a corrugated shack. It was the last place I’d expect someone like Suri to hang out, but she walked straight past the dog and went inside.
The place was dim and smelled of spilled beer and fried fish. Several men sat drinking in a cloud of smoke, despite warning signs that showed a cigarette with a red X through it. Behind the bar, a woman greeted Suri. She was even taller than I was, and built like a set of Marshall stacks.
Suri turned to me. “Beer okay?”
I nodded and found a table against the far wall. Suri joined me and set down two brimming glasses.
“I’ll have to get back soon,” she said. “Ilkka left me some paperwork.”
My beer tasted as though it had been salted. The men turned to stare at us; at Suri, actually. As she removed her parka and knit cap and shook her hair out, the grimy bar suddenly looked like the louche backdrop for a fashion shoot.
“ Kippis— cheers.” Suri lifted her glass to me and made an impressive dent in her beer. “How do you know Ilkka? Are you old friends?”
“I wouldn’t call us that.”
“He took you into his workroom downstairs. His temppeli, his ‘sanctum’—that’s what I call it. I’ve known him all these years, but he’s never let me see it. He doesn’t even allow Kati down there. So I thought the two of you must be very close.”
“We have a mutual friend. Well, a mutual acquaintance, anyway. Guy named Anton Bredahl.”
“Ugh.” Suri grimaced. “You know him?”
“We’ve never actually met, just talked online. Why?”
“He’s creepy. He was into death metal, then black metal. Mayhem and Viðar and Darkthrone, bands like that. He had a club in Oslo; I went twice with Ilkka. I hated it. I couldn’t hear for two
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