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French teacher. A frail, nervous type, she had never been able to control the class even by screaming. Usually I was the one to finally yell “Shut up!” for her and actually get results. I received an A in her class but was still relieved when she moved away a year later to follow her husband’s new job. Her successor was a total wet blanket, but at least I didn’t have to be embarrassed for my teacher anymore.
    Now Annamari seemed to be losing all physical control. Her head bounced around restlessly; her body was in constant motion. Her brittle, shrieky voice rose.
    “How can the police think that Kimmo would murder someone? My child…At least his own mother should be able to see him! Can I come with you, Maria?”
    “Annamari, you should try to rest a little,” Risto said firmly. The use of her first name grated in my ears, feeling disrespectfuleven though I knew that Annamari was only Risto’s stepmother, not mother. “Let’s go to the boys’ room and you can lie down. It will be quiet in there.”
    His head bowed, Risto pressed almost affectionately against Annamari’s shoulders as he guided her from the room.
    “Hopefully Risto has the sense to give her a sedative,” Marita observed dryly. “Do we have anything left or should we call Dr. Hellström to ask for a prescription?”
    “Do gynecologists write prescriptions for tranquilizers?” I asked.
    “He also does some family practice,” Marita explained. “Not everyone likes him, of course. I guess mom got angry with him over something and changed doctors. He is a bit of a gossip, but when you need help, he just asks when and where.” Marita swept back her hair in a familiar gesture; I realized that Antti did the same thing when he was nervous or upset. Under her hair, I caught a glimpse of a large, fresh-looking bruise on her neck.
    “If Hellström is such a talker, I guess I should interview him too. I have to find grounds for Kimmo’s release.”
    “So you still don’t believe Kimmo did it?” Antti asked, uttering his first words since I arrived.
    “No. I admit I’m basing that more on a feeling than anything I know for sure, but no, I don’t believe it. Convincing the police of that is going to require facts. What did you know about Armi? What kind of person was she?”
    Neither seemed interested in answering. As I waited, I mentally tallied what I knew about her: she was sweet, talkative, meddlesome, curious, determined.
    “Armi was like an angel from heaven for Kimmo, even if Annamari didn’t much care for her,” Marita finally said. “And Armi was a bit…common, although of course in Annamari’smind no one was good enough for her children. Makke certainly got a taste of that medicine, as all of Sanna’s boyfriends did.”
    “Are you trying to suggest that Annamari killed Armi?” Maria asked.
    “No, oh God no! Armi just said what she thought, and that isn’t the Hänninen way. At last Christmas dinner, for example, she asked why Henrik and Annamari don’t get divorced, since for all intents and purposes Henrik doesn’t have anything to do with his family. You don’t ask questions like that if you want to be a Hänninen.”
    Outwardly immaculate, Marita had always seemed like just another Hänninen trying to maintain the façade, and finding out there was something more under the surface was comforting. Getting to know Antti’s family had been exhausting, and the social scene that came along with our move to Espoo was oppressive. Now I was just becoming more and more tangled in the strange knots of their lives.
    Sounds started coming from my stomach. I realized that it was almost seven o’clock, and all I’d had since vomiting into that ditch was a slice of bread and some salami.
    “Is there anything around here I could eat?” I asked, feeling rude, though I knew I should try to feel more at home. “I need to get back to the police station, and my brain doesn’t work well without food. I can make it myself if Antti