YUSUF PULLS OVER at the same exact spot in front of the crosswalk where he has countless times in the past.
“You see that van?” he says, pointing at an old dark gray Toyota HiAce with a moving-company logo taped to its side.
“Subtle. I’m surprised they didn’t choose an extermination company.”
“There are two guys and a camera. Plus patrols are only a couple minutes away if necessary.”
“I think I can manage.”
“It’s just a precaution. We’re going to catch them,” Yusuf says, opening his door.
“Where are you—”
“I promised Erne I’d see you to your front door.”
“Are you going to come in and make sure there aren’t any monsters hiding under the bed too?”
“Whatever it takes.” Yusuf grunts and places a cigarette in the corner of his mouth, lights it, and takes a long drag. “You want a smoke?”
Jessica shakes her head. “Not a good look for you, floorball champ.”
“Name one person it is a good look for.”
The woman who lives on the third floor steps out of the elevator, her brown dog in her arms. Edelweiss is a ten-year-old silky terrier whose high-pitched yaps reverberate through the stairwell every morning when the reluctant pooch’s owner drags her out for a walk. The woman gives Jessica a friendly enough hello and glares suspiciously at Yusuf, who flashes a polite smile without the slightest reciprocation.
“Does she know you’re a cop?” Yusuf asks as the woman disappears through the downstairs door into the dark blue dusk.
“Sure. The neighbors stop me in the stairwell whenever they see something they think is sketchy. Like when someone starts getting too rowdy at the taxi stand. Why?”
“She gave me a look that said that if she didn’t know you were from the police, she would have called them.”
Both of them smile.
Jessica pulls the elevator gate shut and presses the uppermost button. The old elevator rises slowly, wheezing and then clunking ominously as it passes the landings.
“When was the last time I was at your place?”
“May Day?”
“Oh yeah, when we came to pick up that champagne . . .”
“Yup.” Jessica glances at herself in the mirror. She looks more tired than she did that morning. The unusual day has taken its toll.
There’s a whoosh when the elevator stops at the top floor. Jessica is momentarily creeped out; shouldn’t have said anything about monsters under the bed.
She holds the gate for Yusuf and opens the door to her studio. There’s no mail on the floor. Yusuf glances around the stairwell first, then warily steps in as if he is convinced some unpleasant surprise is waiting for them.
“Do you have an alarm?” he asks as Jessica turns on the lights.
“No,” Jessica answers. I mean, I do but not here.
“OK.” Yusuf points at his shoes, a questioning look on his face.
“You can leave them on.” Jessica walks into the room with her coat on and collapses on the sofa, as if that’s what she does every time she comes home. In reality, she hasn’t sat on it in such a long time that its softness comes as a surprise to her derriere.
Yusuf does a quick tour of the studio, peers into the bathroom and out the windows giving onto the courtyard. Then he stands there, arms folded across his chest, in the middle of the room.
“You want something to drink?” Jessica asks. She always keeps the fridge stocked like a hotel minibar, with a few sodas and beers.
“No, thanks. I’ll head out.”
“All right,” Jessica says, kicking the shoes from her feet. It’s pure theater; she’s pointlessly trying to stress what is patently obvious: she’s at home.
“Has that door always been there?” Yusuf asks.
Jessica can feel herself blush. But she laughs, brow furrowed. “No, it appeared there yesterday.”
Yusuf stops in front of the white door, touches the knob. “Where does it lead?”
“The other stairwell.”
“Huh. This has to be the only studio in Helsinki with two entrances.”
“Could well be.” Jessica tries to seem unbothered. This is all she needs. Soon a vanful of tech investigators and someone from her own unit will start looking into the ownership of the apartments in the building. The thought of them discovering the truth sets Jessica’s pulse racing. She has carefully constructed herself a normal, unremarkable life: a government employee salary appears in her account every month; she vacations once a year in Spain; she commiserates with her coworkers’ hopes and concerns about the sustainability of the Finnish welfare state. If word of her three-hundred-square-meter apartment were to spread, the facade she has erected so meticulously would collapse, and she would be utterly alone again. Not because people would shun her wealth, but because she lied to them, to those who are not only her colleagues but her close friends.
“Is there courtyard access to this other stairwell?” Yusuf suddenly asks. His attention to detail is driving Jessica crazy. She’s much more aware of it now than she usually is, when the two of them are seeing things from the same vantage point as they carry out their shared duties.
“Yup. And the only way to get into the courtyard is through the portico, which is locked and visible from the van,” Jessica says, standing up. “I’m safe here. Believe me already.”
“You mind if I take a look?” Yusuf asks, and opens the door before Jessica has time to respond. He shoves his head out into the dark stairwell.
“Listen, Ghostbuster, I appreciate you looking out for me, but I want you to get the hell out of here and get back to the investigation.”
“Sure.” Yusuf shuts the door and grunts. “Erne . . . and I—we’re all a little worried about this case. About you,” he continues, slowly walking over to Jessica. Jessica bites her lip and turns away. She’s used to managing on her own, and now all these uninvited visitors are barging into her life. Suddenly her world is so patriarchal. Strangers, strange men, frighten her. Men she knows open doors for her, look after her, care about her, watch over her. Just now it’s hard to separate the two. Everything feels so damn oppressive, as if her actions are being controlled by everyone but her. But Yusuf isn’t the enemy, and neither is Erne. Jessica shakes her head lightly to clear her thoughts.
“Thanks, Yusuf. Let’s catch those guys so none of us has to be worried. About anyone. At least me.”
Yusuf’s cell phone rings. He glances at the screen and mutes the ringtone.
“Please stay home now. Just for today, Jessie. I’m going to see Lea Blomqvist’s brother in a minute here. I’ll be sure to report back if I learn anything.” Yusuf punches Jessica softly in the shoulder. Then he answers his phone, disappears into the stairwell, and pulls the door shut behind him. “Hey, honey.”
Relief washes over Jessica. The danger has passed. Or is it just the opposite? Is it just beginning?
Jessica shuts the inner door and listens to the footsteps echoing from the stairwell. Yusuf has chosen the stairs instead of the elevator; the guy doesn’t leave anything to chance. Then the stairwell fills with shrill yaps, and Jessica smiles as she pictures the woman from downstairs clutching her dog tightly as she comes across a black man in the dark stairwell, this time just the two of them.
Jessica hangs up her coat and pulls her phone out of its pocket. There’s a message from Fubu.
How do, Sheriff? You busy wrassling up badmen? Or you got time for me today?
Jessica looks at the message. Three questions Fubu has written her plenty of times before. Replying has typically led to a quick rendezvous and sex. Their sessions have helped her take a step back from tough cases, momentarily forget her hectic life and the atrocities she comes across at work. The fact that she hasn’t developed romantic feelings for the guy, despite the regular hookups and palpable physical attraction, is an out-and-out miracle. On the other hand, there’s a reason for it. The two of them are incredibly different. Fubu is a few years younger than her, and his no-stress attitude and chill vibe are traits a homicide investigator can’t afford. Fubu is like a virginal buzz, fun a couple of times a month. A good servant but a bad master. That’s why they could never be together.
Working. You can come by tonight if you want.
Jessica sends the text and eyes the colored speech bubbles on the screen for a second, then turns off her phone. She’s going to brew herself some strong tea and sketch out every bit of information they know about these witch hunters. Then she’ll wait for news from the field. Good and bad.
She snatches her keys from her coat pocket and walks to her back door in her stocking feet.