Snow Angels

20

I show the photos of Seppo and Peter around the neighborhood. No one recognizes them. I visit Eero and Martta. Eero invites me in and I accept. The scents of cardamom, melted butter and sugar waft out of the kitchen. The Christmas tree is lit. A fire burns in the hearth. Martta comes out from the kitchen and greets me, then brings coffee and warm pulla, sweet coffee rolls, for all of us. I sit in a recliner, while they sit together on a love seat and hold hands. I ask Eero if the car he saw pulling out from Aslak’s reindeer farm was graphite or black.

“Too dark, too dark,” he says. “Besides, I was busy talking on the phone, so I wasn’t paying attention.”

I lay pictures of star-spoked and double-spoked wheels on the coffee table between us. “Do you happen to remember,” I ask, “what kind of wheels were mounted on the car?”

He points at the star-spoked wheels. “This kind.”

“It must have been hard to tell,” I say. “Wasn’t the car moving?”

“It stopped at the top of Aslak’s driveway,” he says, “before it pulled out onto the road. Even in the dark, they were shiny.”

Martta’s pulla is delicious. I help myself to another. Sulo, their Jack Russell terrier, hops into my lap. I pet him, and we gossip about the neighbors.

On the way home, I stop at the video store and rent Sufia’s movies, then go to the grocery and pick up potatoes and a couple steaks. I catch Kate up on events while I cook. She sits at the kitchen table, her broken leg propped up on a chair.

“Eero sounds like a real character,” she says, “but if he’s schizophrenic and talks to imaginary people, he’s probably not medicated. Isn’t he a danger to himself?”

“Martta keeps him out of trouble, and besides, we’re a small community. Everybody is used to him. People tend to think of him as more eccentric than sick.”

She laughs a little. “In the States, they have TV commercials for Viagra, cosmetic surgery, antidepressants. They ask, ‘Are you tired in the morning, stressed at work, have trouble sleeping at night?’ By the time they run through the list of symptoms, they’ve included everybody. People believe they’re depressed and go running to the doctor begging for drugs. Here, you’ve got a guy talking to imaginary friends on a pay phone, and they not only don’t treat him, they disconnect the line but leave the phone booth so he can be happy. That’s real community and I like it.”

“Northern Finland has its good points,” I say.

“About the case,” she says, “what do you think about this Peter Eklund guy?”

“I think I hate him,” I say. “His family has been rich for centuries, since Finland was a province of Sweden, and it gives him a feeling of entitlement he’s done nothing to earn. It’s because of the same mind-set that I had to learn Swedish in school, even though only five percent of Finns are part of the Swedish-speaking minority. I’ve got nothing against Swedish-speaking Finns in general, but a lot of the rich Helsinki ones in particular believe the rest of us are supposed to cater to their whims. As they say in Swedish, Peter thinks he’s battre folk, and he can do anything he wants without regard for others.”

“You’re right about Heli,” Kate says. “She had a motive, but do you really think she could have committed such a brutal murder?”

“I can’t imagine anyone doing it, but like I told Valtteri, somebody did. Let’s see what he turns up. Besides motive, she needed opportunity. It would have been hard for her without an accomplice.”

“Valtteri is right too,” she says. “If investigating Seppo caused you so much trouble, investigating Heli might get you fired.”

“I know.”

“You don’t have to. You could hand over the evidence to another detective. Like the chief said, cite conflict of interest.”

The steaks sizzle and I flip them. “If it goes far enough, I’ll consider it.”

I put in Unexpected, the first movie of Sufia’s trilogy, in the DVD player. We eat in front of the TV and watch it.

Sufia plays a sexy but innocent young woman, adrift in Helsinki’s nightlife. She becomes involved in an affair with a young, successful and attractive-but morally arid-man who uses her. Ultimately, she ends up with a young, successful and attractive man who values her. In addition to love, she finds herself and happiness. Sufia’s acting is good. She’s a bright spot in a bad film.

Kate falls asleep before the end of the movie. I carry her to bed and put in Unexpected II. It’s much the same as the first one. It poses as a multiplot story that exposes the social mores of young, single professionals in Helsinki. This thin veneer masks a soft-core porn flick in which seven people have a revolving sexual relationship. Some of them find happiness, some don’t.

In Unexpected III, Sufia’s romantic and sexual desires conflict with her studies. She intends to become a Lutheran minister. I fast-forward through it and watch only the scenes in which Sufia appears. In the majority of them, her flawless dark skin is set off by see-through white lingerie. Her great love from the second film winds up in prison, but in the final scene, Sufia marries yet another suitor and finds even greater love and deeper self-fulfillment. The happy couple drives away in a BMW 330i.

The movies aren’t low budget, but the producer didn’t spend a fortune on them either. Many of the sets and props are reused throughout the trilogy. I take another look at Unexpected and Unexpected II. In all three movies, happiness is marked by a couple in a BMW 330i. I’m guessing it belongs to the producer or director.

Now the recent events of Sufia’s life seem clear. I think she had been trying to make reality out of the fiction of her movies, even to the extent that she searched out men who drive BMWs. I wonder if she was even aware that she did it. The car seems-perhaps unconsciously-to have symbolized wealth, success and happiness for her. No one knew her, maybe she didn’t even know herself. Sufia the snow angel, whoever she was, is lost forever.