Page 5 of First Snow

Arttu rubs soothing patterns on her back. Damn, this is not a good sign. His mind is running through the most likely scenarios. Whatever Sofia might think, it still seems like the most likely possibility is that Mikael has gone into hiding, whatever the reasons might be. He could have embezzled company funds or gotten involved with the wrong people. None of these options sound too unlikely to Arttu, but he doubts Sofia sees it the same way. To her, Mikael is still her sweet little brother, not the ruthless, egocentric businessman Arttu has come to loathe over the years.

“Did the Met give you any further information?”

Sofia makes a dismissive sound, half a snort, and half a sob. “Nothing! They told me nothing. I know it’s not my place to ask something like this of you, especially after your father–” Sofia hesitates, looking at him with wide eyes. “But I need you to have a look at this. I don’t think the English police are treating this seriously.”

“You can’t know that in this phase of the investigation,” Arttu tries to appease her. “Even if they’re onto something, they would never tell at this point. That’s good actually; it means they know how to do their job.”

“No,” Sofia cuts in, full of conviction. “I can tell when someone’s trying to get rid of me. They’re not giving this investigation their best. I know it! Please, can you help us?”

And Arttu knows he shouldn’t. It’s not his place to question his colleagues, and getting involved in an investigation that isn’t his—especially an international one—could easily cost him his job. His superiors weren’t amused the last time. Viljanen won’t let him get away with it again. But he can’t let Sofia down, either. Maybe she’s overreacting, but she has an uncanny intuition. Maybe she’s right. And no matter how big of an asshole Mikael has become, he’s still Sofia’s brother. Pekka’s brother-in-law. Arttu’s childhood friend. He sighs.

“I’ll see what I can do.”

Sofia’s face lights up with relief, her hands digging into his shoulders almost painfully.

“Thank you so much.”

He has been staring at the screen of his laptop for what feels like hours. The small desk in his living room is cluttered with the files Sofia was able to attain from the investigation into Mikael’s disappearance. She hired a fancy lawyer and an equally pricey private eye. Arttu is grudgingly impressed by the amount of information the two were able to gather. The private investigator even compiled a file about the disappearance of Jenna Scott. Arttu flips through it, finding a CV, photographs, and even job references and other personal documents. The PI has been thorough, although Arttu highly doubts that he obtained all this information legally.

The file says that Scott is a historian who helped Mikael on occasion. The information matches with what Sofia has already told him.

Arttu looks over the attached pictures, showing Scott at various auctions and exhibitions, some even on excavations in Sweden and Greenland. More than ten years Mikael’s senior and not pretty in the classical sense, Arttu highly doubts they eloped together like the Met seems to have speculated at some point. Like Sofia said—they don’t seem too concerned about the disappearances, although it’s highly unusual for two adults who led more or less stable lives to simply go missing. But it seems like Mikael and Jenna just vanished from the face of the earth, with barely any clues on which to build an investigation.

Except for one.

Arttu puts down Scott’s file and looks back up at his laptop. The man he has been obsessed with for the last weeks stares back at him from the open picture.

Jareth Faeling. MD. A former pathologist turned owner of a high-profile BDSM club in London. Mikael was a frequent visitor, as was Scott. That alone wouldn’t have brought Faeling on the radar of the investigators, of course. But there was a murder investigation in which Faeling was the prime suspect. Recently. Arttu has no idea how the private detective got his hands on the information, but it’s only been a few months since the case was closed and the charges against Faeling were dropped.

The victim was a Finnish citizen and a business owner like Mikael. That’s unlikely to be a coincidence, but the Met can’t even prove that they knew each other. Sofia has also never heard of the guy, but Arttu’s instincts go haywire whenever he looks at Faeling’s handsome, angular features. Damn. The lead needs to be properly investigated. The only problem is no one is going to do it. The Met burnt their fingers on Faeling already, and they don’t seem keen to go for a second round. Nothing is going to happen, unless…

His footsteps on the linoleum create an echo that spreads through the neon-lit hallways of the basement. Tuulia’s office is situated deep in the bowels of the university, and Arttu doubts that many students find their way down here. He just hopes that he’ll be able to avoid Tuulia’s weird colleagues. Above all, he doesn’t need to meet Salonen. Arttu turns a corner and is greeted with laughter. He grits his teeth. It would’ve been too much to ask for a little luck.

The little office space Tuulia inhabits is more of a janitor’s cupboard than a real office, barely large enough for the desk and computer crammed inside. As always, the door is open, and Tuulia’s office chair is rolled halfway into the corridor. Salonen leans against the doorframe, his disgustingly young and pretty boyfriend pressed against his side as if they can’t stand to be separated more than a few inches. Arttu wants to gag.

“Moikka, Tuulia. Are you having a party down here or what?”

Salonen snarls at him and Arttu’s jaw clenches.

“Hello, Detective Inspector Palosaari,” Salonen’s boyfriend says.

The guy’s unwavering friendliness makes Arttu furious. The fucker knows fully well that Arttu suspects him of killing his ex-girlfriend. Fucking lawyer. The poor girl’s face, ashen and bloated, looking up at him through a thin layer of ice still haunts Arttu’s dreams on occasion. But the pathologist’s report concluded that it was an accident. As if. Amateurs, all of them, fooled by Salonen’s status as a respectable employee of the university and his boyfriend’s puppy-dog eyes.

“What do you want, Palosaari?” Salonen asks, glaring down at him.

“No petty arguments on my watch,” Tuulia says without looking up from the screen. Her pink lacquered nails dance over the keyboard. “We’re on the same team.”

“Sure,” Arttu says, sarcasm lacing every syllable. Tuulia smirks. “I can come back later if you haven’t got time now.”

“We were just leaving anyway,” Salonen says, putting an arm around his boyfriend’s shoulders.

Tuulia hands them a stack of printed papers. “I’ll email you the rest.”

“Thank you,” Salonen’s boyfriend says, smiling warmly at Tuulia. What a creep.

“Good luck,” Tuulia tells them.

Arttu watches them leave. He lets out a breath as soon as Salonen’s broad frame vanishes down the corridor. The guy has him on edge with his aloof attitude and his crazy ghost-hunting business. This isn’t the first time Salonen has crossed paths with the police either. The nutty parapsychologists at the University of Helsinki seem to always be around when a shady cult shows up, or a demon exorcism has gone wrong.