Where Have All the Young Girls Gone Read online

  ALSO BY LEENA LEHTOLAINEN

  The Maria Kallio Mysteries

  My First Murder

  Her Enemy

  Copper Heart

  Snow Woman

  Death Spiral

  Fatal Headwind

  Before I Go

  Beneath the Surface

  The Nightingale Murder

  Derailed

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Text copyright © 2010 by Leena Lehtolainen

  Translation copyright © 2019 by Owen F. Witesman

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

  Previously published as Minne tytöt kadonneet by Tammi in Finland in 2010. Translated from Finnish by Owen F. Witesman. First published in English by AmazonCrossing in 2019.

  Published by AmazonCrossing, Seattle

  www.apub.com

  Amazon, the Amazon logo, and AmazonCrossing are trademarks of Amazon.com, Inc., or its affiliates.

  ISBN-13: 9781542040310

  ISBN-10: 1542040310

  Cover design by Ray Lundgren

  For Anna and Hanna

  CONTENTS

  CAST OF CHARACTERS

  PROLOGUE

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  10

  11

  12

  13

  14

  15

  16

  17

  18

  19

  20

  21

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  ABOUT THE TRANSLATOR

  CAST OF CHARACTERS

  THE LAW

  Akkila: Patrol officer

  Haatainen, Assi: Forensic technician

  Hakkarainen: Forensic investigator

  Halli-Rasila, Irma: Detective, White Collar Crime, Tampere PD

  Himanen: Patrol officer

  Honkanen, Ursula: Detective, Violent Crime Unit

  Kallio, Maria: Commander, Special Crimes Unit

  Koivu, Pekka: Detective, Special Crimes Unit, Anu Wang-Koivu’s husband

  Lehtovuori: Detective, VCU

  Mikkola: Patrol officer

  Oinonen: Paramedic

  Puupponen, Ville: Detective, VC

  Puustjärvi, Petri: Detective, VCU

  Rasilainen, Liisa: Patrol officer

  Söderholm, Kaide: Ballistics expert, Helsinki PD

  Ström, Pertti: Detective, VCU, deceased

  Sutinen: Patrol officer

  Taskinen, Jyrki: Director, Criminal Division

  Timonen, Roni: Detective, VCU

  Wang-Koivu, Anu: Juvenile Unit, Pekka Koivu’s wife

  THE GIRLS CLUB

  Korhonen, Heini: Girls Club executive director

  Jansson, Susanne “Susa”: Girls Club member, Noor’s friend

  Sandelin, Sylvia: Girls Club founder

  Saraneva, Miina “Adey”: Girls Club member, Ayan’s friend

  Sarkela, Iida: Girls Club member, Maria Kallio’s daughter

  Vesterinen, Nelli: Girls Club activity coordinator

  THE AFGHANS

  Hasan, Ali Abdi and Mohammed Abdi: Aziza’s brothers

  Hasan, Aziza Abdi: Girls Club member

  Jussuf, Omar: Afghan warlord

  Mohammed, Abdi Hasan: Father of Aziza

  Omar, Issa, AKA Issa Jussuf Hasan, AKA Mohammed Salim Hasan: Son of Omar Jussuf

  Salim, Selene: Mother of Aziza

  THE SUDANESE

  Ali, Aisha Muhammed: Mother of Ayan

  Hassan, Ali Jussuf: Father of Ayan

  Jussuf, Ayan Ali: Girls Club member

  THE BOSNIANS

  Amir, Mikael: Sara’s father

  Amir, Mira: Sara’s mother

  Amir, Samir: Sara’s brother

  Amir, Sara: Girls Club member

  THE IRANIANS

  Ezfahani, Farid: Grandfather Reza’s son

  Ezfahani, Hamid: Noor’s brother

  Ezfahani, Jalil: Farid’s son

  Ezfahani, Noor (the elder): Noor’s mother

  Ezfahani, Noor: Girls Club member

  Ezfahani, Rahim: Farid’s son

  Ezfahani, Reza (the elder): Noor’s grandfather

  Ezfahani, Reza (the younger): Noor’s father, Iranian immigrant

  Ezfahani, Vafa: Noor’s younger brother, Iranian immigrant

  SUPPORTING CAST

  Baxter, Steven: Colonel, United States Army, NATO ISAF

  Domnina, Irina: Ezfahani family neighbor

  Eeva: Maria’s sister

  Gullala: Persian interpreter

  Hassan, Omar: Friend of Rahim

  Kämäräinen, Aune: Amir family neighbor

  Konttinen, Riku “Ricky Bruch”: Gunners Motorcycle Club member

  Korhonen, Kimmo: Heini Korhonen’s brother

  Ljungberg, Kristian: Attorney, Ursula’s ex-boyfriend

  Mojca: Sylvia Sandelin’s maid

  Muna: Afghan police trainer

  Numminen, Jere: Corporal, Finnish Defense Forces, NATO ISAF

  Sarkela, Antti: Maria’s husband

  Sarkela, Taneli: Maria’s son

  Soivio, Tuomas Juhani: Noor’s boyfriend

  Taskinen, Silja: Jyrki Taskinen’s daughter, figure skater

  Uzuri: Afghan police trainer

  Vala, Lauri: Major, Finnish Defense Forces, NATO ISAF

  Virtanen-Ruotsi, Leena: Maria’s friend

  PROLOGUE

  I had just nodded off when the machine-gun fire started. The sound of a Kalashnikov jolted me awake. When I opened my eyes, I saw muzzle flashes on the east side of the road less than a kilometer away from our armored vehicle.

  “Should I try to turn around?” our driver, Corporal Jere Numminen, asked his superior officer. Behind us there was only darkness. The gunfire hadn’t reached us yet, but the two four-wheel-drive patrol vehicles in front of us were taking hits. They were carrying EU police officials too. We had all been participating in the opening ceremonies for the new EUPOL-funded Afghani police academy near Jalalabad. Now we were on the road back to Kabul.

  Major Lauri Vala didn’t have time to reply before the lead vehicle exploded. It was carrying two German police instructors, Helmut Lindemann and Ulrike Müller. A young officer was acting as their driver, but all I could remember about him was that his first name was Sven.

  The Germans’ vehicle was the same as ours, a light armored RG-32 Scout. Rifle fire alone couldn’t have destroyed it, and the shooters were too far away for their weapons to be very effective anyway. The road was supposed to be perfectly safe, but roadside bombs must have been the cause of the explosion. The French delegation driving in front of us stopped. The British team driving behind us was already backing up. Vala pushed his helmet down more firmly on his head. I had taken off my own, because the combination of helmet and hijab had been too hot. Now I fumbled around for it, even though it wouldn’t be able to give me much protection from what we were facing. In the light of the flames started by the explosion, I could see the French vehicle opening fire in the direction of the assault rifle muzzle flashes.

  “They only have one weapon,” Vala observed. I could feel the weight of my revolver in its shoulder holster. I felt like rush
ing over to the Germans to see if there was anything I could do, but that would have been suicide.

  Antti and my mother had been right: only a lunatic with a death wish would go to Afghanistan. I’d been an irresponsible imbecile to agree to come on this trip, and now I would never see my children, Iida and Taneli, again. When Vala picked up a Heckler & Koch MP5 submachine gun from the back of the jeep and slipped its barrel through the vehicle’s purpose-built firing port, I found myself praying. I realized I didn’t know to what god I was addressing my entreaties, the Lutherans’ or the Muslims’, but the latter probably had a stronger foothold in these parts.

  Vala’s face held a blank expression as he opened fire. The attackers were far away, and he was mostly just shooting as an intimidation tactic, but he emptied the entire thirty-round banana magazine. The French continued to lay down fire, and gradually the distant muzzle flashes faded away. Beyond the flames of the Germans’ blazing vehicle, the world was impenetrable darkness again. Vala pulled his submachine gun back into the vehicle and started looking for his satellite phone. Before he had time to punch in the code sequence, the telephone began to ring.

  “Moose.” That was Vala’s codename. He continued in English; apparently the caller was the driver of the vehicle waiting behind us. New Scotland Yard assistant chief of police Albert Shaw was the highest ranking of the officials who had participated in the opening ceremonies of the police academy.

  As Vala spoke, his subordinate, Numminen, reached back into the rear compartment. In addition to weaponry, backup rations, and water, the standard equipment in the vehicles included a metal detector. Vala cut the conversation short. I saw the door of the French vehicle open. Its driver also had a metal detector.

  “According to the Americans, this road was supposed to be clean. The French confirmed it with them too. How the hell did anyone manage to plant anything here? Don’t get out,” Vala ordered Numminen. “If the Parisian boys want to risk their lives, they can be my guests. I’m calling Baxter.”

  Colonel Steve Baxter of the US International Security Assistance Force contingent was in charge of safety for the foreign visitors participating in the police academy opening. Vala didn’t hold back any of the English expletives he knew as he spoke with Baxter and even dropped in a Finnish perkele too.

  Until now everything had gone according to plan, and Vala had seemed cool as a cucumber, the type of guy to whom even a law enforcement professional could entrust her life. Now he was furious that the plan had fallen apart.

  I watched the cautious movements of the young French officer with the bomb detector. He looked like a Halloween witch dancing in slow motion around a bonfire with a modernized broomstick. Even though the Finnish soldier’s ethic was to never leave a fallen comrade, we had been given strict instructions not to risk our own lives to save our companions.

  Ulrike and I had been responsible for training the female police officers, and we had become friends. I thought of Ulrike’s strawberry-blond bun and the curls that were always trying to escape it, falling to her cheeks and neck. I smelled the stench of burning hair. I could only hope she had been killed instantly. It was just by chance that the Germans’ vehicle had been at the head of the convoy.

  The second French soldier had brought out a foam fire extinguisher, but its spray didn’t seem to be having any effect on the flames leaping into the sky. The Brits left their vehicle as well, to bring a more effective fire extinguisher. When Numminen tried to leave the vehicle again, Vala grabbed him by his upper arm. Numminen sat back down behind the steering wheel.

  Vala had finished his phone call. “Baxter doesn’t know what went wrong. Fox Company from the 112th was supposed to be monitoring the road. No one can get ahold of them. Reinforcements are on their way. The choppers are already lifting off from the nearest NATO base, which is about ten clicks from here. The cavalry will arrive but very late. What did they say in those speeches today? ‘The new police academy is an important step toward democracy and a spark of hope for a war-torn nation.’ Quite a fire from one little spark.”

  I didn’t feel like responding. It’s normal for people experiencing mortal danger to run at the mouth. But I wished he would shut up. I couldn’t stand any more chatter. I had never felt so impossibly small and helpless as I did at that moment, looking on as the lives of three people faded into ash in the middle of a dark and desolate wasteland.

  1

  The February evening was still luminous. The sun painted the waist-high snowdrifts in our yard a delicate blue. When I opened the front door, the scent of cocoa greeted my nose.

  Taneli was seated at the kitchen table, slurping from a mug and reading a comic book. I could hear music coming from Iida’s room; I recognized Nina Hagen’s femme fatale voice. My daughter had partially inherited my taste in music. As usual, Iida had brought the mail in from the mailbox when she got home from school. On the kitchen table waited the normal Friday magazines, a cell phone bill for Antti, and a thick A4-size bubble wrap envelope for me, the original address of which had been clumsily blacked out. The letter had first been addressed to the Finnish Interior Ministry Police Division, from which it had found its way to my home. The envelope was tattered; it had obviously run a full gauntlet of metal detectors, bomb dogs, and X-ray machines.

  The postmark said Munich, and the sender was Helga Müller of number 13 Kurfürstenstrasse. I took a pair scissors from the pencil cup and carefully opened the envelope. Inside I found a glossy, polished jewelry box that looked like birchwood and a letter with Oberkommissarin Maria Kallio on it. Because I knew who the letter must be from, I hesitated before reading it.

  The letter was written on linden-green paper, the handwriting meticulous and clear, but there were a few grammatical errors in the simple English. Frau Müller had known that my German wasn’t that great.

  Esteemed Detective Lieutenant Kallio,

  Only now has my strength returned enough that I am able to fulfill my daughter Ulrike’s final wishes. She made out a will before leaving for the Afghanistan, and in it she asked that her jewelry be left to her friends. I have never met you, but I think this piece of jewelry fits the Finn. Ulrike valued you much and said she had her best discussions about the police profession and the place of women in the work with you.

  We held the quiet funeral within the family, even though all the world press and other curious people wished to come see the war casualty. This is why we did not invite you, and the journey would have been long as well.

  Respectfully,

  Helga Müller

  “What’s in it, Mom?” Apparently I had let out a choked sob, because Taneli had interrupted his reading and was staring at me in alarm.

  “A gift from a friend. A piece of jewelry. Let’s see what kind.” I tried to look delighted; my work troubles weren’t anything for a nine-year-old to worry about. I opened the box, which was lined with green satin. The necklace was a thin loop with three forged silver pendants, about two inches long, in the shape of spruce twigs. I’d seen it on Ulrike’s neck at the graduation dinner for our Afghan colleagues, who’d attended the course we’d hosted at the Police University College in Tampere. After that, our students had gone back to Afghanistan to establish their own police academy, and Ulrike had returned to Munich. She had lived with her mother near the Englischer Garten and the Pinakotheks. I’d planned to visit her when spring came to southern Germany. But then Ulrike had died, and now all that awaited me in Munich was her grave.

  I took the necklace into my room. The cats were lying side by side on the bed on top of a throw. Gray-striped Venjamin had gotten a new friend in the fall when we’d picked out Jahnukainen, a tortoiseshell, at the animal shelter. Iida had been feeling sorry for Venjamin for a couple of years because he was all alone, and she had promised to manage introducing the kitten to him. After a couple of weeks of hissing and batting at each other, the cats had grown used to the new situation. Sometimes they play fought, and sometimes they licked each other’s necks like adoring
siblings.

  The music from Iida’s room had gone quiet, and I could hear her coming downstairs.

  “Hi, Mom. Guess what! I got a 10+ on my math test! What time are we going over to the Koivus’?”

  I couldn’t help but smile at my daughter. It seemed that today the storm clouds had lifted and it was the sun’s turn to shine. Just yesterday she’d been grumbling because she had to go to the Koivus’ and hang out with the little kids. Juuso was a good year younger than Taneli, Sennu was six, and Jaakko’s fifth birthday was next week, which was the excuse for the party invitation.

  “We’ll take the 6:45 bus. So, a 10+? Where did the plus come from?”

  “Teach gave me an extra problem cuz I did the others so fast.”

  Iida had inherited her math skills from her father. I stroked her dark hair. She was about an inch taller than me, already a young lady. Her hair was dyed black, which was also the only color of clothing she’d been willing to wear for the past year. I still remembered fighting with my mother about clothes, so I let Iida dress the way she wanted, even though the goth-style lace and purple eye shadow were sometimes so over-the-top that I had to disguise my laughter as a fit of coughing. I’d still been wearing jeans and boyish shirts when I was thirteen, but then the safety pins and torn stockings had entered the picture. Ulrike had told me stories about how, as a girl, she’d used punk music to rebel against traditional Bavarian gender roles, and our similar adolescent experiences had strengthened our relationship, even though she’d been ten years younger than me.

  My grief over her death, which had started to ease, returned with such force that I could have screamed with rage. Luckily Iida retrieved her test paper from her room, because she wanted more praise, and I obliged. With a thirteen-year-old, it was best to savor every moment that she wanted to connect.

  I put on slightly nicer everyday clothes for the visit, and the necklace Ulrike’s mother had sent. Anu and Pekka Koivu were close friends, so I could share the story of the necklace with them. Antti managed to get home just five minutes before we were supposed to leave for the bus and of course didn’t notice the accessory. He’d recently returned to the university, somewhat against his better judgement, to take on a mathematics professorship. Apparently, the work itself was rewarding, but the red tape associated with new requirements to be “results oriented” had chipped away at academic freedom so thoroughly that Antti came home seething at least once a week. He seemed to be tense now too, so I didn’t even ask how things were going.