Behind God's Back (11 page)

“What did Roni say about his father over the phone?”

“Something like he had a way of getting rid of his dad… and that it wouldn't take long.”

“Try to remember the details,” I said. “Every word could be important.”

Mikkola nudged a heap of clothes aside and lowered himself into a recliner. The effort winded him.

“He said… ‘Dad's not going to be a problem much longer… someone promised to take care of it…'”

“Someone? Did he mention a name?”

“Might have, but I don't remember.”

Mikkola's pained expression indicated that we wouldn't be squeezing anything else out of him. His gaze wandered over to a half-empty bottle of cheap cognac standing on the table.

I asked him to call if he remembered anything else. We had barely made it into the hallway before I heard the cascade of booze burbling down Mikkola's throat.

9

Because there were no investigative obstacles to burying Samuel Jacobson after the autopsy, I let the
chevra kadisha
, the congregation's burial society, claim the body.

I participated in the funeral in a dual role: as a Jewish acquaintance of Jacobson's and as a police officer.

Jacobson was a pillar of the community and had lots of friends. So there were lots of guests, too, about forty in all. I recognized most of them. A few non-Jews were also present, including Pekka Hulkko and a couple of Jacobson's business acquaintances.

Jewish funerals are austere affairs compared to Lutheran ones. Usually no one brings flowers, and Jacobson's coffin was made of the traditional unfinished pine without any fancy fittings or pillows. An uncomfortable last ride, but so far no one had come back to complain. Jacobson was swathed in a linen shroud and he was wearing a
tallit
, a prayer shawl. His head lay on soil from the Holy Land. I didn't know who'd had it ferried over from Israel, or how – in their luggage, or as cargo.

The point of the austerity was to serve as a reminder that death treated all men equally; none were rich or poor, none were obscure or famous – which of course wasn't true. Inequality existed, even in death.

Instead of flowers, every guest brought a stone to the graveside. I had picked mine from the shore the evening before. It was oval and polished by the sea, and felt good in my palm.

Even the Jewish cemetery looked somehow untended compared to Lutheran cemeteries. This was not a sign of indifference, however; just the opposite. Remembering the deceased
plays an important role in Judaism, but life after death doesn't receive as much attention as in the neighbouring religion. No one was waiting to be admitted to heaven; there was also no fear of hell. Still, most Jews believed that an accounting awaited all men after death, where one's good and bad deeds would be justly weighed. You'd be rewarded for the good ones; for the bad, you'd pay dearly.

Before Jacobson's coffin could reach its final resting place, we recited psalms in the chapel and a eulogy was given. After the coffin had been lowered into the ground, I took my turn tossing three shovelfuls of dirt onto it. The faint thud of the sand hitting the lid was one of the most final sounds in this world. It was akin to the sound of a lock being primed before the executioner's shot, and the noise the removal of the pin made right before the grenade exploded.

After the grave had been filled and the temporary wooden plaque was in place, the rabbi read the traditional psalms. Then Roni, as a male relative, recited the Kaddish.

In other words, Jacobson's funeral didn't diverge from the usual formula, so I concentrated on the funeral guests, most of whom I knew. My brother Eli and his family were among the crowd, as were Max and his family. Jacobson's daughter Lea was there with her children. Evidently her husband hadn't made peace with his father-in-law, because he had stayed behind in Israel. Roni was there with his new wife and young daughter.

Once the other guests had left, I went and visited the graves of my father, my mother and my sister Hannah. I had been much closer to Hannah – who had been three years my junior – than to Eli, and so her suicide had been rough on me. I still missed her. I believed that if Hannah had been allowed to live, she would have accomplished much. She was by far the most gifted of the three descendants of Wolf Kafka.

After the funeral, coffee was served at a restaurant in Etu-Töölö. The moment I had my cup in my hand, Eli sidled up to me.

“What a boring funeral,” he said. “Whatever happened to the renowned Jewish sense of humour?”

“So who's stopping you? Why don't you entertain us?”

Eli was right, though. I had attended funerals that were more fun.

Silberstein, the congregation chair, almost walked past us, but then he stopped to shake Eli's hand. He satisfied himself with nodding at me, even though he immediately took advantage of the situation and started asking about the Jacobson investigation.

“Nothing conclusive has come up yet,” I said.

“It's hard to believe that it could be just a normal murder,” Silberstein mused.

I noted that there was no such thing as a normal murder.

“I was referring to Jacobson's Jewishness. He was a man of influence in the congregation.”

“We haven't discovered anything that would lead us to believe that Jacobson's Jewishness was in any way related to the crime.”

I was starting to get annoyed that all my acquaintances felt the need to make Jewishness the motive for the murder.

“I find that rather surprising,” Silberstein said grudgingly.

“What do you mean?” I asked, just to egg him on.

“I've known Samuel for such a long time… I can't think of any other reason. He was a good man, a good Jew, a good member of the congregation, a good father and husband… Who could have had any reason to kill him?”

My reaction was that not even Jacobson could be as much of a saint as Silberstein was making him out to be. “There are so many things about people we don't know,” I said, even though I knew this would irritate Silberstein even more.

“I believe I knew Samuel,” he said. There was an unmistakable edge in his voice.

Eli gazed past us, uncomfortable. I could tell he wished he were somewhere else.

“I'll see you tomorrow,” Silberstein said to Eli, stalking off. It was then that I realized that antagonizing Silberstein had
been stupid. I'd have to talk to him about Jacobson's role in the congregation, and he wasn't the type to forget easily.

“Like I said, it was a pretty boring funeral, so I think I'll head out, too.” Eli went to get his overcoat, and left.

I had noticed Max eyeing me tentatively. When my gaze circled back around to him, he made up his mind and walked over, coffee cup in hand.

“Did Eli leave?” he asked, just to say something.

“Yup.”

The follow-up question was easy to guess. “How are things going with the Jacobson case?”

“We found the getaway vehicle, but the motive is still unclear. As a matter of fact, I was going to drop by for a chat —”

“Or an interrogation?” Max finished. He tried to smile, but the muscles in his cheek started to twitch.

I had always found Max slightly comical, and this instance was no exception.

“As a matter of fact, to talk to you about Jacobson's loan. You brokered it.”

“Eli told you?”

“No, Jacobson's wife, son and chief financial officer did. Is that enough? Why was he going to pay off the loan and take out one from a Finnish bank instead?”

“He was?”

“Yes. His wife told me.”

“Maybe he thought that Estonian companies aren't reliable enough during a recession. He asked me about it once. That's the extent of what I know.”

“What sort of company is Baltic Invest?”

Max vacillated a moment before answering: “Decent enough.”

“Even though it's being investigated in Israel?”

Max was clearly unwilling to discuss the matter, but not responding would have seemed suspicious.

“That's all just internal politics. The Labour Party is trying to get people to believe it's the only honest party in the government.
Amos Jakov and Benjamin Hararin have been turned into scapegoats.”

“According to the
Jerusalem Post
, Hararin is Jakov's stooge, and Jakov's companies are laundering Russian mafia money. Baltic Invest was also mentioned.”

“No evidence was found. I heard that the investigation had been closed.”

“The paper claimed that Jakov bribed and used his political contacts to pressure the police into ending the investigation.”

“There's no evidence of anything of the sort.”

I told him that we had found the car the killer had used and figured out who the owner was: Baltic Invest.

The news didn't fluster Max in the least.

I continued. “It's been reported stolen. Strange coincidence, wouldn't you say? I'd like to meet later to talk a little more about Jacobson's loans and some other matters.”

“What other matters?”

“I'll explain then.”

“I don't have anything to hide.”

In my experience, men who said they had nothing to hide were the very ones who did.

“Ari!” I heard a familiar voice, and turned around. Lea walked up and, to my surprise, hugged me.

She looked weepy and twenty years older. I just looked twenty years older. She pulled back as soon as she felt how stiffly I reacted to her embrace.

“Do you remember Max?” I asked her.

“Of course.”

Max backed away. “I have to go – client meeting.”

“I'll call you later.”

“When? I'm pretty busy today…”

“Early evening.”

Max nodded at Lea, and exited without another word.

Lea and I looked at each other. Her jawline had softened, and there were wrinkles under her eyes. Her brown eyes were
still amazingly bright and girlish, just like I remembered. I could sense an awkwardness between us, at least on my part. I also felt like my balding crown was as conspicuous as a zit on the side of a teenager's nose, and that my love handles were bulging out from under my shirt.

“Don't look at me so closely. I've grown old and wrinkled,” Lea said shyly.

“You've matured.”

“In other words, put on weight.”

“Your first loves never grow old…”

A smile flickered across Lea's face, then vanished. “Mom said that you're investigating Dad's case. Have you discovered anything? I heard about the threats Dad received.”

I told her what I had told Roni: that we didn't believe that anti-Semitism was the motive for the murder. I didn't even want to mention Mikkola to Lea.

“What's the motive, then?” Lea wondered.

“We don't know yet. I have to ask you a few questions about your father's company,” I said. “You've been in regular contact, I understand.”

“I know you'll have to talk to me, too. When?”

“As soon as possible.”

“How about this evening? Does that work?”

“That's perfect. It was nice to see you. I want to hear more about your life when we talk later.”

“Same here.”

We agreed on a place and time. I paid my respects to Ethel, and made my exit. I had left work in the middle of the day to attend.

When I walked out onto the street, I saw Eli and Max standing next to Eli's car, engaged in a heated conversation. It almost looked like they were arguing.

I would have loved to have heard what they were talking about.

10

“The telecommunications data came in,” Simolin said, waving a stack of paper. He was as eager and energetic as ever. Simolin was the sort who would still be that way when he was eighty years old and in the nursing home. It was in the genes.

“Have you had time to look it over?”

“It just got here half an hour ago.”

“So in other words, you have.”

“The mast data indicates pre-paid calls spread evenly across central Helsinki, which means that the locations of the calls were selected intentionally to prevent any clusters from forming. Jacobson received the final call the morning he was shot. It only lasted thirty seconds. There were a total of five calls over three days.”

“Which parts of central Helsinki?”

“One from Töölö, one probably from Punavuori, one from Hakaniemi. It's impossible to say for sure about the other two; they could have come through different base stations.”

“None from Estonia?”

“Nope, at least not in the data we have so far. That same day, Jacobson made two calls to the office, one to his wife, three to the Jewish congregation, one to attorney-at-law Max Oxbaum and one to Tel Aviv, Israel. I haven't had time to figure out all the calls yet. At least thirty were made over a two-to-three-day period, and I have a month's worth of call data.”