YUSUF PULLS OVER at the intersection of Töölönkatu and Museokatu. Lit by the city’s lights and the moon, the tower of the National Museum looks surreal against the black sky, like some skyscraper out of Gotham City. The snowflakes drifting through the air are tiny, a color-blocking filter in the image.
“Remind me that someone needs to talk to Maria Koponen’s coworkers and boss first thing in the morning,” Jessica says.
Yusuf nods. “You want me to pick you up in the morning?” The car’s heating system is blasting hot air into the interior.
“No, thanks. I’ll make my own way in. Get as much sleep as you can. It’s going to be a long day again.” Jessica glances at the time shown on the car’s central console. It’s one forty-seven a.m. She opens the door, and a frigid gust blasts into the warm car.
“See you at the station.”
“At eight. Thanks for the ride.” Jessica yanks up her zipper and steps out. A taxi is idling at the taxi stand down the block, even though the chances of some lost soul showing up for a ride at this hour are extremely slim on a February Tuesday.
Jessica watches Yusuf’s Volkswagen Golf turn onto Mannerheimintie and disappear from view. She pulls out her mobile phone. Would Fubu still be up? Jessica is exhausted, but she knows she won’t be able to fall asleep right away. She can’t get Maria Koponen and the woman anchored to the ice out of her head. Two murders executed in totally different ways. Two beautiful women with dark hair.
Jessica feels a warmth spread into her fingers. The blood is circulating through her veins; she can hear the rush in her ears. She is here, and she is alive.
“Jessie?” The sluggish male voice on the phone sounds surprised.
“Are you . . . asleep?”
“Sleeping? Fuck that. I’m ready for you.”
“I . . .” Jessica sighs and crosses the street, phone to her ear. The wind tosses the streetlamps on their wires.
“Is everything OK?” Fubu asks, now more seriously. He has clearly heard from Jessica’s voice that this is no ordinary call.
“It’s been a crazy night.”
“You want to talk about it?”
“I can’t even if I wanted to.” Jessica pulls her house keys out of her pocket. She hears a toilet seat thunk at the other end of the line. She can picture Fubu’s filthy bachelor pad, smell the stale sheets that reek of sex and perfume—and not hers alone, someone else’s too. Jessica wants to feel a man’s body against hers. A man inside her. So hard and so long, she can’t take it anymore, until she’s so tired that sleep arrives uninvited. She wants to wake up in the morning and leave knowing she wouldn’t ever necessarily be returning.
“You want to come over?” Fubu asks after a brief silence.
“Maybe. But I have to get up in five hours.”
“We don’t have to sleep.” Jessica hears Fubu flush the toilet. She pictures him plopping down on his bed in his loose boxers. It’s a warm image, safe in the way she needs right now. But then her thoughts wander back to Maria Koponen’s petrified face, the perfect makeup, the evening gown, the painted nails. A coldness washes over her body.
“Maybe tomorrow. Thanks for picking up,” Jessica says, and opens the door to her building.
“Anytime, Detective.”