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the department, initially on summer vacation, which he intended to spend studying for his law entrance exams. Pihko was an ambitious guy who wanted to make at least detective sergeant. He didn’t blow his own trumpet much, but he was sharp. If he passed the exams, which I had no doubt he would, he would only be around the department as a summer stand-in for the next few years.
    “I’ll see if Rami Luoto is home,” I said. “He’s been Noora and Janne’s trainer for years. I’m sure the Nieminens have told him already.”
    I couldn’t reach Luoto, just his answering machine. A pleasant, youthful voice asked me to leave a message, but I didn’t.
    “Janne Kivi or Ulrika Weissenberg?” Pihko asked when we reached the intersection with the main road. But before I could answer, the phone rang to tell me that Noora’s equipment bag had been found in the forest near her home. And the weapon Noora had been beaten with was apparent now. In the bag they had found a pair of figure skates covered in blood.

2

    The damp, forested strip of land between Noora’s neighborhood and the hilly park that extended to the sports complex was swarming with police. Even Koivu was there. Apparently he had finished his rounds of the shopping center and parking garage.
    “You’ll probably want to see this before they send it to the lab,” Karttunen from Forensics said. When I nodded, he continued. “The bag was shoved back there behind that rock so it wouldn’t be easy to find unless you knew what to look for. The skates were on top. Look.”
    Karttunen opened the bag, which reeked of sweaty sports equipment. But under that I could make out the faintly metallic, nauseating smell of dried blood coming from the skates, which were covered in rust-colored gunk. Elena Grigorieva had said that Noora was trying out new skates. An image flashed through my mind of Noora’s expression as she played Snow White begging the Huntsman not to kill her. Had she looked at her killer the same way?
    “Until the lab runs their tests, we can’t be sure Noora was beaten with these, but it seems likely,” I said more to myself than to Pihko or Koivu, who had walked up behind me. “Send it all off ASAP. We can have a look at the rest of the contents of the bag once the skates have been analyzed. Was there anything else left around, like signs of a struggle or maybe a rock with blood on it?”
    “No. But it rained hard last night. The Man Upstairs did a pretty good job of cleaning up, but we’ll keep looking,” Karttunen said with a sigh.
    “That’s one hell of a murder weapon,” said a voice behind me. Turning, I found myself staring straight into Pertti Ström’s acne-scarred face. His nose, which had been broken multiple times, shone a violet red like an overcooked beet.
    “What are you doing here, Ström? This isn’t your case.”
    “I just happened to be going past on the West Highway when I heard Dispatch calling you. I thought I’d come have a look, just for curiosity’s sake. So, ice skates . . . pretty goddamn sharp. I remember once as a kid I got a blade in the cheek playing hockey. I still have the scar right here. And don’t figure skates have those spikes on them too? You could definitely off somebody with those.”
    “Shut up, you idiot. I can imagine how this nice girl was murdered just fine without your help, thank you very much!”
    Things between Ström and I had become nearly impossible since it came out we were both aiming for Taskinen’s job if it opened up. Ström was resentful that my being a woman might put me in a better position now that affirmative action was finally becoming a priority for the police force. If I did succeed Taskinen, I had no doubt Ström would complain I had only won the job because of my sex.
    “Shit. We had crazy skinheads in Joensuu, but here in Espoo it’s the police too,” muttered Koivu, who had only joined our department a couple of months ago. I had worked with Pekka Koivu a few years