I don’t want to hear any of his long-winded stories at the moment. However, I’m becoming somewhat interested in him as a person. An ammo-reloading setup is on the other edge of the table. Empty shotgun shells and lead shot I don’t recognize are piled around it.
“What’s the fascination with war and guns?” I ask.
“It’s a hobby I picked up from my father. I inherited his collection of militaria.”
He waits for me to inquire further about his father and said “militaria.” I don’t. “And these shotgun loads. What are they?”
He sips beer. “Beehive rounds. Shells loaded with razor-sharp darts instead of normal shot. They’ll take a man’s whole leg off.”
“I see.” I change the subject. “Nice computer.”
“It’s an Apple MacBook Pro notebook with a seventeen-inch monitor. Expensive as hell.”
“You seem to have top-notch computer skills. With your big big brain, you could be earning a lot of money. Instead, you became a cop. You spend your time building toys that inflict death. Why?”
“I want to help people.”
He doesn’t smile when he says it. Strange, but I think he’s being honest. The worst lies are the ones we tell ourselves.
My phone rings. It’s Kate. “Kari, why aren’t you home?”
She sounds near tears. I check my watch. Nine thirty p.m. “I’m sorry, Kate. I’m still working. I’m just around the corner and I’ll be home soon.”
“The school shooting is a headline on BBC World. The report said a maniac forced you to put a gun to your head and tried to make you commit suicide. I’m upset. Please come home now.”
“Kate, I’m fine, and I’ll be home soon. I promise.”
“I love you,” she says.
“Me too,” I say and hang up.
I think of preeclampsia, hypertension, obstetric catastrophe. Fear runs through me. “Okay, Milo, spill it. I have to go home. No drawn-out stories. I appreciate the drinks, and after today, I think we deserve them, but keep it short.”
He puts on his hurt look, doesn’t say anything. He starts his computer and plugs a memory stick into it. We drink beer in silence while the computer boots up. I watch him. He’s pissed off because we went through a life- altering experience today-he needs friendship and offered his hospitality-and I’m declining it. I would give him what he needs if I could, but my first responsibility is to Kate.
He opens a video file. “I found this in Linda’s computer,” he says. “It was shot in her bedroom.”
Even though Linda and Iisa impersonated each other, Filippov is-I presume-with Linda, because the video was shot in her bedroom and was in her computer. They strip. He dons an industrial toxic-cleanup respirator and long black vinyl protective gloves. She kneels in front of him beside the bed. He grabs her by the hair and ears. She sucks his cock, sticks the big green double-donged vibrating dildo in her cunt and ass and masturbates with it. He’s rough with her. She’s not giving him a blow job as much as he’s holding her head like a bowling ball and fucking it. She tremors and orgasms. He spreads his legs. She sticks the dildo up his ass and deep-throats his dick. He grunts and comes, collapses onto the bed, dildo still in place. She swallows, looks up at him with profound satisfaction, with gratitude and bliss. End video.
From within their black holes, Milo’s eyes reflect triumph. “They like weird S amp;M. I think she was at the crime scene, and while Iisa died, they enacted the sex game we just watched.”
“Given the audio recording,” I say, “it must have gone down that way. Get some rest. We need to figure out how to use your illegally obtained evidence to build a case against them. Let’s meet in the morning and talk about it.”
I stand to go and put on my boots. He stays quiet. “You did a good job today,” I say. “I’d like to stay here and drink with you, but my wife needs me.”
He just stares at me, expression flat.
“If you stay up for a while, I’d like you to Web-search a 1950s pinup and soft-core fetish porn star named Bettie Page. The reason will be self-explanatory.”
He slurps out of the kossu bottle. “Okay.”
“And we need to run background checks on Iisa Filippov and Linda Pohjola. I want to know who these women were and are. Whichever one of us has time first should do it.”
He quaffs again. “Yeah.”
“See you in the morning,” I say.
“Yep. See you in the morning.”
I think he’s waiting for me to leave so he can cry. I don’t look at him as I walk out.
28
Our bedroom is dark, but I know the sound of Kate’s breathing when she’s sleeping, and I can tell she’s not. I don’t bother to take my clothes off, crawl in bed beside her and put an arm around her.
“I thought you were working?” she says.
“I was.”
“Then why do you smell like booze?”
“I went to Milo’s place to talk about the Filippov murder. He had something to tell me in private. We had a hard day. A couple drinks was good for us. I didn’t want to leave you alone any longer than necessary and made it home as fast as I could.”
She turns toward me, wraps her arms around me, buries her head in my shoulder. “You could have died today.” She sobs, then bursts into tears.
I wish I could deny it. “But I didn’t.”
“The news said a man tried to make you commit suicide, but Milo killed him.”
“That’s what happened, but the man was emotionally disturbed. It was the guy I made drink a bottle of vodka outside the school a couple days ago. He didn’t shoot anyone and he just wanted to scare me, to punish me for hurting him. I’m pretty sure he just went to the school to die. He got what he wanted.”
“Kari, I saw the news and it reminded me of Kittila and the Sufia Elmi case and you getting shot. I started to shake and my heart started to pound. I’m scared, and I’m afraid I’ll lose this baby, too. I can’t fail as a mother again.”
I hold her tighter, confused. “What are you talking about? You didn’t fail as a mother. Miscarriages happen all the time.”
She sobs, pauses, collects herself. “I went skiing when I shouldn’t have and I fell. The doctors said it didn’t, but I think that fall caused us to lose our babies.”
I had no idea she felt this way. She bursts into big sobs and blurts out, “I failed you and them and I feel so guilty all the time.”
I pull her tight while she sobs, and wait until she quiets down before speaking. “Kate, that’s not true. If anything, the stress I caused you by pursuing the Sufia Elmi case to the ends of sanity caused you to miscarry.”
She tries to keep her voice down and whisper-shouts. “No. No no no no no. It was my fault. My failure. That’s why I wanted to start trying to get pregnant again as soon as I could, so I could give you a baby to replace the ones I took away from you with my selfishness and stupidity.”
She cries so hard that she shakes. I feel awful because I didn’t recognize that she was carrying all this around inside her. “No, Kate. It was my selfishness and stupidity. And I’m terrified I’ll do something selfish and stupid again. I worry myself sick. I thought you were upset with me tonight because I got myself into another dangerous situation that could make you stress and miscarry.”
She wipes her eyes. “Kari, these notions of yours are just silly. I’m upset because I saw you on TV and I realized I’ve been lying to myself. We came here and I’ve been happy in Helsinki, but I’ve ignored the fact that you haven’t been. I’ve made English-speaking friends in the international community, and I thought we had built a safe
