Page 6 of First Snow
Tuulia closes the files she’s been working on and swivels around to face Arttu.
“Tapio and Rory are all right, you know. Just because you don’t understand our field of research doesn’t mean we’re serial killers.”
“No, you’re just a bunch of weirdos. But Salonen’s pretty American may have been clever enough to commit the perfect murder.”
Tuulia purses her lips. The garish color of her lipstick has a headache forming behind Arrtu’s temples.
“Don’t be a paranoid asshole, Arttu. Did you only come down here to accuse my friends of murder, or do you have actual work for me?”
“Let’s hope I don’t have to say ‘I told you so’ when American Psycho decides to kill the next woman.”
Tuulia rolls her eyes, and Arttu knows the topic is dismissed. He almost regrets coming here, but he can’t rely solely on the information Sofia has provided him with.
“Can you dig up something for me?”
“And your IT specialists at the police department don’t want to look at it because...?”
Arttu feels the muscles in his neck tense. If Tuulia refuses to help him, he’ll be at his wit’s end.
“Case is closed. And, well…kind of not in my jurisdiction.”
“Oh, Arttu. Not again.”
“I’m not asking for your criminal assessment. I’m asking if you can dig up dirt on a certain someone,” he snaps.
Tuulia’s features harden. “If this is still about Rory and Tapio, I swear to God I’ll–”
“Jareth Faeling,” he interrupts her.
“Come again?”
“I need information on Jareth Faeling.”
Tuulia’s mouth sets in a hard line and she focuses on the screen again. Various pictures and files pop up in rapid succession, and Arttu is distracted by sharp features, ink-black hair, and unsettling eyes. Again. Tuulia gapes.
“And what did Mr. Jareth Faeling MD do to incur your anger despite being illegally hot?” Tuulia chuckles at her own joke.
“He’s a killer. The Met has already been investigating him, but couldn’t prove anything.” It might be a little early to state it this boldly, but he needs to motivate Tuulia instead of having her swoon over Faeling’s good looks.
“Okay,” Tuulia hums as she sets to work. It should worry every police department in the world how quickly she gains access to information she isn’t supposed to have. “Yeah, he was a suspect in the death of Valtteri Suoranta. The case was closed, unsolved. And they questioned him about the disappearances of Jenna Scott and Mikael Laine.”
“Suoranta lived in London; his body was found in the Thames last year. Laine and Scott went missing two months ago.”
“Wait a minute. Laine, like Sofia Laine?” Tuulia asks. She has met Sofia on a few occasions and it’s an understatement to say they don’t get along.
“Her little brother.”
Tuulia doesn’t dignify this information with a comment. “Why did the Met suspect Faeling?” she asks instead.
“Well, first of all, they were both regular guests at his club.”
Tuulia whistles. “Mr. Faeling owns a club?” Her fingers fly over the keyboard. “The Worship, fancy. Have a look at these!”
She enlarges some pictures, which seem to have been taken inside a repurposed church building. Arttu frowns. He doesn’t see the appeal of the dark aesthetic and the overflowing decor.
“It’s just an overpriced sex club,” he grumbles.
“They offer classes too,” Tuulia says cheerfully, clicking through the website as if Arttu hadn’t looked at it a thousand times already. “They have BDSM workshops and even yoga! Wow, look at her!” Tuulia zooms in on a picture of an athletic woman floating above the ground in a gravity-defying pose, only held up by a few flimsy slings.