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Authors: Leena Lehtolainen
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whether she was thinking of swapping fiancés, but she claimed that her relationship with Markku wasn’t like that.”
Makke Ruosteenoja…What was it he said to me? Whenever he meets a nice girl, she’s always taken…something like that. Had he meant Armi too? I added Makke to my mental list of people I’d have to interview.
“What if Kimmo was jealous of Markku?” Hellström asked. “Or Markku fell in love with Armi. Who knows what people are going to do, even people who seem nice enough.”
Hellström was probably going to be more help for the prosecutor than for me. In order to change the subject, I asked, “You said Armi seemed overly interested in your clients’ business. Do you suppose she could have misused any information?”
Hellström went strangely pale.
“What do you mean?” he asked, the cigarette trembling in his hand.
“Blackmail. You just said it yourself—who knows, even with people who seem nice enough. And your practice is full of perfect material for blackmail: abortions, sexually transmitted diseases—”
“No!” Hellström shouted, nearly jumping to his feet. “Armi wasn’t like that!” He tried to compose himself. “Excuse me. This has been such a terrible shock. I’m just sick to death about Armi, and then you come here making accusations,” he said, sitting back down. “Armi had a strong sense of justice and good medical ethics. Something as ugly as blackmail wouldn’t have been in her nature.”
“We have to investigate every possibility,” I said, and then began to collect my things.
“So it isn’t clear that Kimmo is guilty?” Hellström had noticed my intention to leave and was enough of a gentleman to rise.
“No, it isn’t clear.”
As I biked north along the small forested lane, I decided that on my way to Mallu Laaksonen’s apartment I would stop and see whether Makke was home.
I didn’t know his exact address, but I remembered him saying he lived behind the tennis center. I knew where he meant—agroup of drab five-story apartment buildings on a little hill. Sure enough, the third stairwell directory I checked had a match to his name. I rang the doorbell five times and was just about to head back down the stairs when I heard plodding steps from inside the apartment.
Makke looked terrible. The previous evening must have involved more than two pints.
“Maria. Come in. Have you heard that Armi is dead?”
“I’m the one who found her. And it’s Armi I came to talk about, if you’re up to it.”
“Yeah…Wait and let me brush my teeth.” Makke slid past me into the bathroom, and I moved on to the living room. This was obviously the home of a dedicated fitness enthusiast. Apart from a TV and stereo, the only furnishings in the room were a stationary bike, rowing machine, and weight bench. Barbell plates and hand weights of various sizes lay scattered around. A narrow bed stood in an alcove, and the kitchenette offered only a small table and two chairs. Sitting down on the rowing machine, I adjusted the seat and pulled.
Makke pulled a hell of a lot of weight. Before he came back, I made it through ten reps, but I couldn’t have managed many more. Based on the equipment he had at home, he must have visited the gym mainly for the social interaction and the sauna.
Makke marched straight to the refrigerator and pulled out a bottle of beer. He waved another toward me, but I shook my head. Pouring the beer into a glass, he added two effervescent tablets to the mix and threw a pill into his mouth before downing the bubbling liquid. The rest of the bottle he sucked down just as fast and then opened another.
“What was in that?” I asked in concern. Makke came and sat down next to me.
“Nothing dangerous. An antinausea pill, a vitamin C, and an aspirin. Taken with the finest Finnish pale lager. Markku’s Miraculous Morning Cure.”
“All that’s missing is the raw egg,” I said with a grin. “So I take it you’ve been drinking?”
Makke
Makke Ruosteenoja…What was it he said to me? Whenever he meets a nice girl, she’s always taken…something like that. Had he meant Armi too? I added Makke to my mental list of people I’d have to interview.
“What if Kimmo was jealous of Markku?” Hellström asked. “Or Markku fell in love with Armi. Who knows what people are going to do, even people who seem nice enough.”
Hellström was probably going to be more help for the prosecutor than for me. In order to change the subject, I asked, “You said Armi seemed overly interested in your clients’ business. Do you suppose she could have misused any information?”
Hellström went strangely pale.
“What do you mean?” he asked, the cigarette trembling in his hand.
“Blackmail. You just said it yourself—who knows, even with people who seem nice enough. And your practice is full of perfect material for blackmail: abortions, sexually transmitted diseases—”
“No!” Hellström shouted, nearly jumping to his feet. “Armi wasn’t like that!” He tried to compose himself. “Excuse me. This has been such a terrible shock. I’m just sick to death about Armi, and then you come here making accusations,” he said, sitting back down. “Armi had a strong sense of justice and good medical ethics. Something as ugly as blackmail wouldn’t have been in her nature.”
“We have to investigate every possibility,” I said, and then began to collect my things.
“So it isn’t clear that Kimmo is guilty?” Hellström had noticed my intention to leave and was enough of a gentleman to rise.
“No, it isn’t clear.”
As I biked north along the small forested lane, I decided that on my way to Mallu Laaksonen’s apartment I would stop and see whether Makke was home.
I didn’t know his exact address, but I remembered him saying he lived behind the tennis center. I knew where he meant—agroup of drab five-story apartment buildings on a little hill. Sure enough, the third stairwell directory I checked had a match to his name. I rang the doorbell five times and was just about to head back down the stairs when I heard plodding steps from inside the apartment.
Makke looked terrible. The previous evening must have involved more than two pints.
“Maria. Come in. Have you heard that Armi is dead?”
“I’m the one who found her. And it’s Armi I came to talk about, if you’re up to it.”
“Yeah…Wait and let me brush my teeth.” Makke slid past me into the bathroom, and I moved on to the living room. This was obviously the home of a dedicated fitness enthusiast. Apart from a TV and stereo, the only furnishings in the room were a stationary bike, rowing machine, and weight bench. Barbell plates and hand weights of various sizes lay scattered around. A narrow bed stood in an alcove, and the kitchenette offered only a small table and two chairs. Sitting down on the rowing machine, I adjusted the seat and pulled.
Makke pulled a hell of a lot of weight. Before he came back, I made it through ten reps, but I couldn’t have managed many more. Based on the equipment he had at home, he must have visited the gym mainly for the social interaction and the sauna.
Makke marched straight to the refrigerator and pulled out a bottle of beer. He waved another toward me, but I shook my head. Pouring the beer into a glass, he added two effervescent tablets to the mix and threw a pill into his mouth before downing the bubbling liquid. The rest of the bottle he sucked down just as fast and then opened another.
“What was in that?” I asked in concern. Makke came and sat down next to me.
“Nothing dangerous. An antinausea pill, a vitamin C, and an aspirin. Taken with the finest Finnish pale lager. Markku’s Miraculous Morning Cure.”
“All that’s missing is the raw egg,” I said with a grin. “So I take it you’ve been drinking?”
Makke
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