Free Her Enemy by Leena Lehtolainen

passed his hand through his wet hair. Apparently, when he went into the bathroom he had also put his upper body under the shower. His pectoral muscles glistened, and a small line of drops trickled straight along the centerline of his abs toward the fly of his well-worn jeans. He wore nothing else. Distracting.
    “So it’s true, is it? Shit,” he groaned. “That’s what the guys were saying yesterday. Stögö Brandt came into the store a little before three and said that Armi’s street was full of cop cars. He was glancing out his window when he saw them wheeling a stretcher and a body bag away from Armi’s place. So then we went to Hemingway’s to see what the word was on the street and get a drink, and we just stayed. Who killed her?”
    “They’ve arrested Kimmo. So you were at work yesterday?”
    “Yeah. The store is closed on Saturdays in the summer, but I stopped in to finish up doing inventory, and Stögö came in, probably just looking for someone to tell. Why?” An apprehensive look crept onto his face.
    “How often did you and Armi go out?”
    “What the fuck? You aren’t saying Kimmo killed her because he was jealous of me, are you? Armi didn’t give a shit about me. I’m a drunk…” Makke took another generous swig of his second beer, then picked up a fifteen-pound weight in his left hand and started curling it mechanically. The muscles of his arm and shoulder bulged, and the color of the violet veins pulsing under his skin reminded me suddenly of Armi’s swollen, purple face.
    “My left delt is a little behind the right. A lot of reps with a little weight like this will help it catch up. By the way, we’re going to have rowing machines like that coming on sale, if you need one. They’re really handy—”
    “Makke, listen!” I interrupted. “You and Armi had been going out together a lot lately? Did you see her yesterday? Did she call you?”
    “You keep talking like we were dating or something. All I did was go over to her house sometimes to talk. She made me
pulla
and offered me a shoulder to cry on. I couldn’t talk to anyone else about…about Sanna.” Makke turned his face away from me, but I could see the muscles of his neck tense as he swallowed. “It’s my fucking fault,” he said to the poplars outside the window.
    “Armi’s death?” I asked, suddenly more alert.
    “Armi’s? No, Sanna’s. Why didn’t I see that she wasn’t playing that time?” Makke turned and brought his face close to mine, not even trying to conceal his tears. “Even if I live a hundred years, I’m never going to forgive myself. Even though Armi said it wasn’t my fault.”
    I could almost hear Armi’s soothing voice, her blonde hair bobbing left and right. I could nearly smell the pungent cardamom aroma of the fresh-baked
pulla
. Dr. Hellström had talked about Armi having genuine concern for people. Perhaps I should take a lesson from her and not go around bullying the bereaved. No, figuring out who killed Armi was more important than people’s feelings, I thought. I’d have to put off suppressing my malicious nature at least until tomorrow.
    “You talked to Armi a lot about Sanna?” I said, continuing my line of questioning.
    “Yeah, and about the Hänninens in general. She was nervous about marrying into their family and what kind of mother-in-lawAnnamari was going to be. That bitch can’t stand me. I was never good enough for Sanna—just a nobody with a degree in business administration from a second-rate school. She almost landed me in prison after Sanna’s death. Armi was one of the only people who didn’t blame me for anything. Just last Friday she said that I didn’t have to be sorry anymore, that Sanna really did love me and that someone else entirely was responsible for her death. Like maybe her fucking mother! On Friday at the party, Annamari came up to me, all misty-eyed, talking some nonsense about reconciliation. But when her daughter was alive, she didn’t give a