Snow Angels

“I’ve failed,” I say. “Seppo Niemi murdered your daughter, but I can’t prove it and he’ll go free. I’m sorry.”

He rocks on his heels like I slapped him. “This ca

“There’s another option.”

I see rage in his face. “Which is?”

“I’ll create an opportunity for you to take your vengeance.”

Rage is replaced by curiosity. “Why would you do this?”

“Have you read the papers? Do you know what Seppo did to me, how my ex-wife betrayed me and Seppo made me a cuckold?”

He nods.

“You could take vengeance for both of us, redress all the wrongs done to us.”

He studies me. “I see.”

“I know certain things,” I say. “You aren’t Dr. Abdi Barre. He was killed with a tire necklace outside Karaan Hospital in 1990. I think you killed him, stole his passport and used it to escape Somalia with your wife and daughter. I further believe that you murdered my ex-wife to punish Seppo. As you put it, ‘eye for eye.’ I’m not judging you for this, I’m glad she’s dead.”

His face betrays nothing. “You must believe yourself quite clever,” he says.

“I’ll take Seppo to Heli’s funeral this afternoon. Afterward, I’ll bring him to the lake, to the same spot where you killed Heli. I’ll leave him there with you. Give me some time to get back to town and establish an alibi, then kill him. Make it look like a suicide. It’s the only way we can make things right.”

He lifts a gloved hand and presses a long finger to pursed lips as he contemplates. “Why have you investigated me?”

I shrug. “It’s my nature. Meet me at six P.M.”

“You must think me foolish,” he says. “Forgive me for saying that you do not have my full trust in this matter. I must decline.”

“I don’t think you have much choice. If you refuse, I’ll arrest you for Heli’s murder. You’ll serve a lengthy prison term, and afterward you’ll be deported back to Somalia.”

“I see.”

“Are we agreed?”

He doesn’t answer.

“I’ll be there,” I say. “Do as you will.” I start to walk away.

He calls after me. “Inspector, it is unfortunate that you were not as assiduous in the investigation of my daughter’s murder as you have been in your inquiry of me. Much would have been spared us all.”

“I’m sorry for that, I did my best.”

I turn and don’t look back. My bad knee has stiffened from the cold. I limp across the windswept graveyard through the crackling snow and drive away.

I GO TO SEPPO’S house and look for clothes appropriate for a funeral. I pick out a charcoal pinstripe suit for him, find him a long heavy wool coat so he doesn’t get frostbite during last rites at the cemetery. Back at the station, I let him use our sauna and shower room to prepare himself, clean up and shave.

I talk to Valtteri. He’s been on the phone, calling people from the church, trying to make sure Heli gets a proper send-off. He’s gotten everything together: his white winter camouflage suit, a video camera, recording equipment and a scoped AK-47. I let Seppo sit in the common room without handcuffs. It seems too cruel to make him linger in his cell while he waits to bury his wife. I sit in my office alone for a while and smoke cigarettes.

When it’s time, Seppo and I drive to Kittilä’s church in my car. The day is wretched. Cold, dark and miserable. He sits in the passenger seat beside me and maintains his composure. He attempts conversation, wants to commiserate over Heli. I let him know, in no uncertain terms, that I don’t feel like chatting.

Like in many small Fi

Pastor Nuorgam, a Laestadian, holds the service. He goes through the ritual parts, then begins the sermon. It starts nicely enough, mourns the loss of a daughter of the church who was for a time a lost lamb but who thanks be to Christ recovered her faith before her passing. Then it devolves into a rant, low-key and in a calm voice, but a rant nonetheless, about original sin and the tortures of hell. It ends with the expression of hope that Heli won’t suffer such torments.

I’m asked to be a pallbearer. I decline. We tramp out into the frozen graveyard, my second trek through it today. Heli’s burial plot is about seventy-five yards from Sufia’s. The wind has died down, a small blessing. Heli is lowered into the ground, a few more prayers are offered, and then it’s over. Seppo cries a little, but overall comports himself well. There will be no wake.

We get back in my car and pull out onto the road. “I’m going to take you to the lake now,” I say, “to the place where Heli was killed.”

“Is Sufia’s father coming?”

“I don’t know.”

“What did he say?”

“Not much.”

We ride in silence for a few minutes. “I suppose you don’t think so because of the things I did,” Seppo says, “but I loved Heli more than you imagine. I don’t know how I’ll live without her.”

I keep my eyes on the road, but out of the corner of my eye, I see Seppo shed a tear. “I’m certain you’ll find a way,” I say.

“You’re a strong man,” he says. “You must have loved Heli after so many years together, even after what happened between you at the end, but no one could have guessed how much pain you were in at the funeral.”

This is the second time in two days I’ve been told I still loved Heli, and it’s fucking a

The dimwit puts a consoling hand on my shoulder. “Both.”

I push his hand away. “You’re wrong. I didn’t hate Heli. It took time and self-discipline, but I did something worse to her. I forgot her, deleted her from my mind like she never existed. I threw out every picture of her. If I had something I thought she might even have touched, I got rid of it. If I had seen her on the street, I wouldn’t have acknowledged her presence. I would have looked past her like she wasn’t there. If she was starving and came to me begging, I wouldn’t have given her pocket change for something to eat. If her lungs were on fire, I wouldn’t have pissed down her throat to put it out. If it hadn’t been for this investigation, I would have never, ever, spoken to her again. You get it now?”

He takes this in. “I would have liked it better if you hated her,” he says.

He stays quiet after that.

34

WE GET TO THE lake and I pull off to the side of the road. The sky is overcast and the snow reflects only the dimmest of light. A small fire is burning on the ice where Heli died. I clip a microphone to the inside of my fox fur hat, chamber a round into my Glock and slip it into my coat pocket. I snap cuffs on Seppo to make it seem that he hasn’t come of his own volition.

“I’m afraid,” he says.

I don’t comfort him.

We lurch through the snow down the embankment. The lake looks the same as the day Suvi drowned. The wind has polished the surface until it’s as slick and clean as a slab of slate. The muted light makes it appear the color of dark pearl. I look off into the woods. The shadows are impenetrable, but it’s reassuring to know that Valtteri is there, watching and listening.

We walk across the lake. Abdi has gathered wood and made a small campfire. He’s sitting on a tire, warming his hands, a can of gasoline beside him. A few feet away from him, the ice is still scorched in the spot Heli was burned.

We come close to him. I push Seppo down on his knees.