Helsinki Blood (19 page)

I
have an appointment at three p.m. with the Russian ambassador’s wife. I ask Milo to drop me near the fountain where we’re to meet. She’s already there. Loviise said she “looks like a magazine,” and indeed she does. Many fashion models would envy her looks. She wears pumps with one-inch heels and, with them, is about as tall as I am. But unlike me, most of her height is composed of thin, coltish and spectacular legs. She’s model skinny, dressed in a not quite mini-skirt and sleeveless top. Her honey-blond hair is cut above shoulder length and curls over her ears, toward eyes the color of glacier-blue ice set in a face that speaks of childlike innocence. Hardly the face of a killer.

She, of course, recognizes me because of my wounds. We greet, shake hands. The esplanade is one of my favorite spots in the city, a long and well-manicured park that runs through the city center. The harbor and a market square are at one end of it, the trendy restaurant Teatteri—Theater—occupies the other. A Dixieland jazz band is playing on a pavilion not far from Kappeli, one of Helsinki’s oldest and most classic restaurants, close to the fountain. Both restaurants have large outdoor patios, places to people-watch, to see and be seen. The sun, warm weather, sea breeze and blue sky make a day spent with beers here on a patio inviting.

“Where would you like to go?” I ask.

Her smile would melt the heart of any man. “It doesn’t matter. You can choose.”

An ice cream stand is near to us. I nod toward it. “How about a double-scoop cone and we sit here on the edge of the fountain.”

I didn’t think it possible, but her smile broadens even more. “It’s been ages since a man bought me ice cream. You’re quite charming for a policeman.”

I laugh. “You just don’t know me yet.”

Yelena turns flirtatious. Her eyes dance. “You seem to presume I will get to know you.”

“Trust me,” I say. “I presume nothing.”

We get our cones and sit on the edge of the granite ring surrounding the fountain. “I’ve never known quite what to make of this statue,” Yelena says.

“You’re not alone. Opinions have been divided since it was erected in 1908. It’s called the Havis Amanda. A mermaid standing on seaweed surrounded by four fish and four sea lions.”

“So you’re a charming detective and a historian as well.” Her smile disappears, replaced by the expression of a shrewd and calculating woman analyzing me. “What is it you wish to discuss with me?”

Pistachio is my favorite flavor of ice cream. It’s starting to melt. I lick a ring around it to keep it from dripping. “Several things. Why did you murder your lover?”

She screws up her mouth with distaste. Or disgust. “Where to begin? I am chattel. My husband, the ambassador, is a wealthy and powerful man. My father is an even more rich and powerful man. They reached a bargain for me. My husband paid for the privilege of my hand in marriage, primarily with oil and gas stocks. Our marriage was a kind of merger.”

I joke. “No pigs or sheep involved?”

It gets a grin out of her.

“And why the shoplifting?” I ask, more out of curiosity than anything else.

This gets a belly laugh. “Because it drives my husband crazy! I may be his wife, but I’m still Daddy’s little girl. My husband must take everything I do in stride and fix the problems I create for him. I get bored and create problems.”

“Does ‘everything in stride’ include your affair with Sasha?”

“In a sense, but he punished me by telling me the truth about Sasha, that he was deeply involved in human trafficking and forced other women to have sex with him. I was in love with Sasha, my husband ruined it, so he got his revenge.”

“And you got yours and killed Sasha.”

“He went from my bed to that apartment, where, by the looks of things when I entered, he intended to defile a filthy little urchin. Every person has limits, and I confess, I do tend to let my temper get away from me.”

“And you possess a keen gift for understatement.”

She licks her ice cream. “It’s not so terrible being married to my husband. He insists that we have sex twice a week, which amounts to about half an hour of my time. But still, I hate him for ruining what I had with Sasha. It lent meaning to my otherwise futile existence. You do realize that you’re powerless to do anything about the murder, don’t you?”

“Yes, I’m aware of that. I’m not interested in the murder. Your lover got what he deserved. Less, in my opinion. By the way, are you aware that your husband’s colleagues came to collect Sasha’s body to cover up the murder, and they kidnapped the so-called urchin? I assume because she was a witness.”

She smiles her charming smile. “Of course I know. I tried to call him but couldn’t reach him. So I called one of his minions at the embassy, who knew where he was. When he finally returned my call, I told him what I had done and to have the mess cleaned up. He was most displeased.”

“Do you know where the girl is?”

She takes a bite of the cone. “How would I know that? And why would I care?”

“I’m here because Russian diplomats are involved in forced prostitution. I believe that this is orchestrated by a woman named Natasha Polyanova. I want to find her and what appears to be about a hundred and eighty women in the region, many housed in at least seventeen apartments in the Helsinki area. I hoped you might help me find her, and the women, so I can put a stop to this.”

“This, I can help you with,” she says. “The Russian trade delegation owns close to a dozen apartments. They’ve rented several more. Natasha Polyanova manages the properties for the trade delegation.”

“Can you get me a list of the properties?”

She broaches no foolishness. Her tone turns put out. “As you can see, I’m a busy woman with weighty matters to attend to. Surely a detective as astute as yourself can secure the list without my assistance.”

“I can indeed. However, her phone number is no longer in service. Do you know where I can find her?”

She’s getting a little pissed off. “If she manages so many properties, don’t you think it likely that she lives in one of them? Do I have to do all your thinking for you?”

“No, you’ve done quite enough.” I reconsider. “One more question: Why leave fingerprints on the door handle and the butcher knife?”

Her eyes glitter again. “To make more problems for my husband, of course.”

I thank her for her time.

“Actually,” she says, “I’m going to do one more favor for you. I’ve considered it for some months, and now the timing is perfect. It will both ruin my husband and help you accomplish your mission of mercy. Or, at the very least, render him unable to do anything to stop you. He’ll return to Helsinki in a couple hours and get his surprise in the morning.”

My curiosity is piqued. “Would you care to share your plan with me?”

Her face returns to its former reflection of innocence and her laugh is delighted and genuine. “Inspector Vaara, hasn’t anyone ever told you that you should be careful what you wish for? Come visit me in my room at Kämp tomorrow morning. All will be clear then.”

She takes out a wallet from her purse and offers me a key card. “Let yourself in.”

“I already have a card,” I say. “I took Sasha’s wallet.”

“Efficiency,” she says, “something I admire.”

And with that, she gets up and walks away.

I
find the situation at home much as usual. Sweetness and Jenna slurp beer. Milo lying on my couch, his head propped up by pillows, my laptop balanced on his knees. His eyes are blood red. I take it he’s stoned.

“Where is Kate?” I ask him.

“In the bedroom with Anu.”

I feel foolish, but we haven’t established the rules of engagement, and I knock on my own bedroom door.

“Come,” Kate says, and I feel like I should be in livery, awaiting her instructions.

She’s lying on top of the covers, wearing sweatpants and shirt, old workout clothes. No books or magazines are in evidence. She’s staring at the wall, a vague expression of terror on her face, and doesn’t look at me when I enter. “Am I in the hospital?” she asks.

“No, you’re in your home. Do you know who I am?”

Her eyes don’t waver. “No.”

I sit on the edge of the bed. “I’m Kari, your husband.”

“I’m tired,” she says. “Would you leave so I can rest?”

“OK. Can I take Anu with me, so I can feed and change her?”

She nods. I pick up Anu and close the door behind me as I leave.

I sit in my chair, Anu in my lap. Katt hops on top of the chair, now mended by Jenna, and mercifully only wraps his paws around my neck as if trying to strangle me rather than using me for a scratching post.

“How’s Kate?” Milo asks.

We keep our voices low. Kate sometimes understands Finnish. It depends mostly on the subject matter. “Bad. How’s your diabolical plan to overthrow the government coming?”

“Pretty well. Every Saturday, Osmo Ahtiainen and Jyri Ivalo play golf together at the Vuosaari Golf Club. They’re members, tee off at eleven, play the first nine, have lunch in the restaurant, then play the second nine. So I’ve placed them together in an open area. In Phillip Moore’s iPad, it says that Veikko Saukko ‘drives’ every day at noon, including Saturdays. He, incidentally and unfortunately, plays golf on a course every Sunday, and not at the Vuosaari club. I need to know what ‘drive’ refers to. It sounds promising, some kind of activity that takes him out of his house. As far as the two Corsicans go, I only have their work schedules.”

“Are you still going to murder them all?”

He looks up at me. “Oh, yes, there’s no doubt about that. Of course, if Moore follows through and murders the Corsicans, it’s one less thing we have to do.”

“And after all these people are dead, what becomes of us? Do we wait a reasonable length of time, leave the country and live on our accrued ill-gotten wealth? Just cite our injuries and retire from the force? What?”

He chuckles. “Well, speaking for myself, I’ll just go back to being a cop, solve crimes, that sort of thing. I like my job. Why would I leave it?”

I mull it over. “I guess that goes for me, too. Like they say: do what you know. But why kill Osmo and Jyri? They’ve done nothing overt to harm us.”

“And they haven’t because they’re too smart for that. They put Jan Pitkänen together with Veikko Saukko and knew the consequences would be disastrous for us. And with them gone, I don’t think that leaves anyone alive who knows enough to get us indicted for any crimes. And without Osmo to cover his ass, Pitkänen has to be prepared to do a prison jolt as a cop killer, and it would be a long one. I doubt he’s prepared for that.”

“And if I forbade it?”

“I would ignore you. I’m going to leave the Crown Vic here tomorrow and take a bus to my summer cottage to get my sailboat tonight. I’m going to Roope Malinen’s cottage. I’ll take some small belongings to implicate him in the video. His boat is docked there and I want to check it out. I either have to steal his on Go Day, or make mine look like his, swap the GPSs on our crafts, put his serial number on my boat, and make it appear that he used it for transportation while committing his string of barbarous murders. Stealing Malinen’s boat seems the more elegant solution. Then I’m coming to Porvoo. I’m going to dock my boat near your house and start working from there. Soon, I’ll sail down and surveil Saukko’s place from the sea and find out what ‘driving’ refers to.”

“Yeah, I guess we should move tomorrow,” I say. “How do you sail with one hand?”

“I don’t. I can’t negotiate the ropes or tie a proper knot, so I put a big engine in the back and keep the sails furled.”

My phone rings. It’s a doctor from Meilahti Hospital. He’s sorry to inform me that Mirjami is dead.

“How can that be?” I ask. “I just saw her today. She was talking, her prognosis was good.”

“Such severe burns cause trauma that sometimes the body can’t cope with and it just shuts down. The burns on the lower portion of her body were very bad indeed. Nothing went wrong, her treatment was excellent. She just died anyway. Again, I’m very sorry for your loss.”

“This is now a murder investigation. I want an autopsy performed.” I’m angry with the doctor, want to shoot the messenger, and ring off.

“Milo, it’s bad news. Mirjami died.”

Jenna and Sweetness hear me. We all just sit and stare at one another for a while. There are no words. After a while, Sweetness motions to me with a tilt of his head to come to the dining room table. He pours us all Koskenkorva, and we drink to Mirjami. I’m glad that the last time I saw her, I lied about my feelings for her. At least in that small way, she could die believing what she wanted to be the truth.

None of us speak for the better part of half an hour, then Milo says, “You still think my plan is too harsh?”

“Do what you want,” I say. “Jan Pitkänen belongs to me.” He and I don’t have a vendetta, we have a reckoning. His blowing up the car, burning Mirjami to a crisp and hurting Jenna in a murder attempt created a situation in which one of us must die. I wonder if he recognizes this as well. I wonder if he created this situation out of jealousy, because he was the golden boy of illegal activity, Osmo Ahtiainen’s chief axman, and then all the dope money and power that goes with it, illegal surveillance, strong-arm work, as well as the nation’s most prestigious crime cases, all fell to me. I would have been happy to hand it all over to him. Spilt milk. Now he has to play for blood.

Even as I plot revenge, I realize that my thoughts about them are false and I want to push them all out of my mind. I’m sickened by corruption, death and murder. I want to live in harmony with my family. Nothing more.

Kate comes out of the bedroom in her bathrobe, a smile on her face. She says hello to everyone and disappears into the bathroom. She comes out, goes back to the bedroom and returns in a summer frock and her hair done up in a chignon. The ten years that fell upon her when she came unglued have disappeared. She looks like my Kate again.

“Anybody have a beer for me?” she asks.

Torsten didn’t mention anything about her staying away from alcohol altogether, and I don’t want to deny her and ruin this good moment.

“There’s plenty in the fridge,” I say.

She cracks one and sits down with us. We’re all a bit mystified by the mood swing, but what the hell, it’s great to see her happy.

“What’s with all the glum faces?” she asks.

I answer. “Do you remember Mirjami? You and her and Jenna spent a lot of time together this spring.”

“Don’t be silly. Of course I remember her.”

“She died today.”

Kate’s brows furrow as she ponders this. She doesn’t think to ask how Mirjami died. “Mirjami would want us to celebrate her, even if we’re mourning her at the same time.”

Words of wisdom. She would indeed.

“I’ll put on some music,” Kate says. “What should we listen to?”

Sweetness doesn’t hesitate. “Some tango, please.”

Kate can’t picture Sweetness being a tango fan. I suppose I’ve never told her about the tango palaces all over Finland. Our tango is usually sad music in minor keys, appropriate for this moment. I choose a CD by Unto Mononen. The song “Satumaa” comes on.

Sweetness asks Kate if she would like to dance. She giggles. “My feet are bare. Are you going to stomp on me and break them?”

With pride, Jenna says, “Sweetness is one of the best dancers I’ve ever met.”

“I’ve won tango contests,” he says. “My mom made me take lessons, and I studied gymnastics, too. I know Kari thinks my dad is a piece of shit, and he’s probably right, but about once a month he made up for making Mom miserable by taking her out to tango. I’ve been doing it since I was a little kid. Watch this,” he says.

He has another
kossu
to fortify himself, moves to the middle of the living room floor for space, and does a standing backflip. A six-foot-three-inch, two-hundred-sixty-five-pound man. I never would have believed it possible of him. “Will you dance with me now?” he asks.

Kate giggles with delight. “I don’t know how to tango.”

He takes her hand and urges her from her chair. “I’ll teach you.”

Kate limps from a broken-hip injury, but has learned to move so it’s hard to notice. Sweetness guides her, moves her about, and before long she does a basic tango. She’s in heaven. They dance for near an hour while Jenna and I look on, and then I see Kate start to fade. She takes a break and sits down, breathless. She still smiles, but soon announces she should go to bed.

I make sure she takes her medicine, tuck her in and tell her I’m going to stay up for a while. In truth, I’m afraid she’ll wake up next to me and panic for one reason or another, perhaps not recognize me. I have one more beer with the others, medicate, and go to sleep in my chair.