The Lion of Justice (11 page)

“Who owns the land?”

“Some foundation or an association. Or the government. I don’t know,” I said.

“Whoever owns the land has to be willing to sell. If there are plans to change the purpose of the area, then the change has to be put into the regional assembly plans,” Helena explained.

“And what does that take?”

“The plans are usually prepared by the regional council, then decided on by the regional board and finalized by the Ministry of the Environment.”

“How easily can these people be bribed?”

Someone ran into me from behind, and I bumped into Helena, spilling wine on her dress. Helena went to the break room with Monika to try to get the stain out. I memorized what she’d told me. Syrjänen’s note had contemplated who the next minister would be, probably referring to the minister of environmental affairs. If Syrjänen was funding the person in charge, he’d have someone on his side.

Jouni appeared, screaming at me to help out in the kitchen—someone had to fill the dishwasher. Except for a couple of broken plates, toppled glasses of wine, and guests who had had a bit too much punch, the opening had gone well. Later on the crowd thinned, and Veikko dared to show himself with some of his buddies.

“Apologies for the stench,” one of them said. “At least Veikko has a clean shirt on. He bought it for a euro from a secondhand store. Nice, huh?” The man shakily poured punch into his glass. Petter, who now drunkenly loved the entire world, began to praise the man’s deeply wrinkled face. He wanted to paint him. He’d asked me to model for him, too, wearing as little as possible. I’d always declined. Petter was more eager than Monika to please everyone, like a golden retriever. Monika was more of a shepherd, herding others onto the right path.

I put on my jacket and stepped outside. The seashore was only a few steps away. I could hear the hum of traffic from Länsiväylä and Lauttasaari Road, and the evening was getting nippy. Hints of stars were in the sky; they were so pale I wouldn’t have seen them if I hadn’t known where to look. I thought of my dream about David from the night before, him growing wings high above Montemassi. I could feel his presence. Someone snuck up beside me, but it wasn’t David. He never smelled of cigars.

“Thanks for the invite, and sorry I’m a bit late.” Laitio stood there, holding a small envelope. “My sister-in-law had a bridge party, and you can’t miss those if you want to keep a roof over your head. Happy Name Day, Hilja.” Laitio handed the envelope to me. “Open it when you’re alone. I’m not sure if it’s a proper gift, and you didn’t get these papers from me, understand?”

“Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet. Is there any food left? And I could use a shot of something strong. My sister-in-law is such an Anglophile that all she serves is tea and biscuits.”

Judging by the smell, Laitio had some drinks already—he’d known how to prepare for bridge night. I realized I’d never heard him call me by my first name.

“Trankov was here,” I told him as he handed me a cigar. I needed it.

“That’s what you told me yesterday,” Laitio said.

“No, I meant here in Sans Nom. Helena Lehmusvuo saw him and almost had a panic attack.”

“What a damned nuisance. Trankov, not Lehmusvuo.” Laitio’s cigar went out, and he had a hard time lighting it again with the gusts of wind. I stepped in front of Laitio to protect his cigar from the wind and lit his Cohiba with my lighter.

“I got all the way to the national police commissioner’s secretary. I couldn’t get any further. Why would they tell a regular police officer why someone’s warrant and entry ban had been revoked?”

“How about you ask Rytkönen,” I said.

“And you think he’d tell me? Was Trankov threatening you?”

“Sort of.”

“I still have authorization to arrest anyone guilty of unlawful threats, you know. Tell me if you need my services. I’ll put that guy behind bars,” Laitio promised.

A long gray hair stood out from Laitio’s left eyebrow, and the bags under his eyes were heavy. His bald head was covered in a brown-checked wool cap. We walked toward the front door. Neither of us felt like staying outside to finish our cigars, so we stubbed them out. Laitio placed what was left of his into a tiny box he carried around. There were about thirty guests and fifteen staff members left in the restaurant. Helena had gone home. I went to the kitchen to find food for Laitio. I was sure Chef Jouni would have a hidden stash of bacon somewhere, and the shelves were overflowing with organic eggs from Monika’s friend’s chicken farm in Fiskars.

“Could I get you to fix bacon and eggs for a hungry bridge player?” I asked Jouni. He was a year older than me and had tattoos from head to toe. Even I would’ve switched sides of the street if I’d seen him approaching.

“Is garlic all right?” he asked.

“All the usual spices please.” I took a peek into the restaurant and was surprised to see Petter serving Laitio a beer while they chatted. Sans Nom didn’t have beer on tap, and even the bottled selection was small; Monika had focused on a couple of domestic microbreweries. Petter had guessed Laitio was a fan of darker beers, just like himself. “I take my women blond and beer dark.” I’d heard this tired joke a million times.

Looking around I realized this was a good life—a group of people with common goals and great friends. There was no room for unnecessary feelings, no David Stahl–like characters to mess things up. My life would be perfect if I could stop breaking down. If there wasn’t so much to lose. I would no longer look back and only push forward. Even if I never found out what happened to David, I wouldn’t care. I had never let anyone mess up my heart the way David did, and I couldn’t afford any more mistakes.

I brought Laitio’s plate to him and went to lock the front door. The security camera was right above it. Another camera was at the back door, and the other two were in the dining area. Monika hadn’t allowed me to install one in the kitchen; she was worried her staff would think she didn’t trust them. I’d already run a background check on a couple of the oddballs, but nothing came up.

Laitio looked satisfied, bacon grease dripping from his mustache. His breath reeked of garlic. My shift was over, so I had a beer. Monika looked happy but exhausted. The opening had been like a wedding: not a resolution or a happily-ever-after ending, but a beginning to an uncertain future.

I told Petter to take Monika home in a cab—I’d take care of closing. By two in the morning, the last of the dishwashers had gone home. The cleaners wouldn’t arrive until later. I sat in the dark restaurant and enjoyed the smells of garlic, thyme, tarragon, and rose. According to Monika one of the toughest problems in running a restaurant was keeping the place smelling fresh and inviting, which was why I hid my cigar smoking from her.

When I left I took the shortest path to Yrjö Street. Hardly anyone was out, and the walk got my adrenalin pumping. I suddenly remembered the envelope Laitio had given me, and as I read it everything became uncertain again.

11

The first of the reports—or rather, copies of the reports—were in English. The recipient and the names of the senders had been blacked out, but it was clear the sender was a big shot at Europol, probably the one who had hired David to infiltrate Vasiliev’s crew and given the order to kill. The report mentioned how David Stahl had fulfilled his mission, received severe frostbite at sea, and retreated to an unknown hiding place. Probably the mountain hut in southern Spain where I had visited him. The report also described how Stahl had delivered the SR-90 isotope to the “headquarters,” whatever that meant. The report was dated March of the previous year, when I had been with David in Spain. It also noted how Stahl’s whereabouts were only known to his closest colleagues and a female friend whose reliability was vouched for by the Finnish National Bureau of Investigation. She’d sworn confidentiality. I was aware that Europol knew about me. All agents were under observation, and I was a potential liability.

The next report was from March of this year, detailing how Spain had become too hot for Stahl. An anonymous entity had found his location, and he’d received numerous death threats that he’d reported to his bosses. A decision was made to move Stahl, and during the winter he’d reported from Kiel and Tartu. Europol had arranged a passport for him under the name Daniel Lanotte. After Lanotte left his family, he’d gotten an apartment with the help of personal connections.

I knew about all of this. Then the more mysterious section began. After Lanotte arrived in Italy he’d stopped reporting to his contact in Europol. David was never officially on Europol’s payroll, because his mission and true identity were supposed to be known to a select few to ensure his safety and protect an extremely delicate mission. Because he’d been in touch with an international megacriminal, Ivan Gezolian, when he purchased the isotope, it was determined that he needed a secret identity. However, it turned out that during an investigation of some other business Gezolian was conducting, Stahl-Lanotte was found to have been in communication with Gezolian’s Italian contact without an order from Europol. I thought of the mean Russian at the truffle restaurant. Was he Gezolian’s contact?

“Gezolian has not been arrested, as there is an ongoing investigation about where he received the SR-90 isotope. Reconnaissance missions to Belarus have produced no results. It is possible that the location is one of the decommissioned nuclear power plants from the Soviet era. The situation in Belarus is unstable, and intelligence recovery missions are problematic. It is also unclear whether Gezolian was paid to deliver the isotope. Inquiries have given rise to suspicions that Stahl had somehow fooled him.

“This is not the first time Stahl has gone rogue. He is excellent in infiltrating. Another confusing aspect is an anonymous tip the Italian police received in April about Stahl’s apartment and a dead body contained within. The police found that the tip was false. When”—the unit name was blacked out in the document—“from Europol received this delayed information, it ran a separate investigation. Traces of human blood were found in the apartment, but it did not match Stahl. The hutch in the bedroom had been broken, a fact that went unnoticed in the initial investigation because it had been covered in a tablecloth. No signs of homicide were found. Multiple other unrecognized fingerprints were found in the apartment in addition to those of the apartment owner, Stahl, and Stahl’s Finnish female friend, Hilja Kanerva Ilveskero.

“There have been no further signs of Stahl/Lanotte since April. His bank accounts have not been touched, and the credit cards under either name have not been used. It is highly likely that Stahl is deceased or has established a role in the enemy’s camp. The investigation continues, and if Stahl is found, this must be reported to”—name blacked out—“who will decide a course of action.”

The letter had been dated October 1, a week earlier. David had performed an impressive disappearing act—not even an efficient international police search could find him. It wasn’t hard to get a forged passport and credit cards and driver’s licenses under a new identity, but where was David getting money? Had Carlo Dolfini been Gezolian’s Italian contact that had to be silenced? I went back to the evening when I found the body. I’d searched through the apartment thoroughly and alone, but anyone could have been outside in the darkness, watching. Whoever it was could have rushed in to get the body as soon as I left. I felt sick thinking it may have been David. Maybe I’d carried out his plan perfectly. He knew Europol was watching him closely, and hanging around with a lady friend would have looked innocent enough; he could have used the distraction to plan and execute Dolfini’s murder. David could have grown tired of me but realized how useful I could be.

It was a little past three in the morning when I finally gave up and took a sleeping pill. My last thought was about where Laitio had gotten these papers and why he’d given them to me. Out of pity? I also wondered why the Bureau had never pressured me into revealing where David was. Someone in the Bureau had to have more information than me. The thought lingered in my mind until I fell asleep.

The weekend turned out to be sunny and freezing. I helped out in the kitchen by chopping vegetables while waiting for an appropriate time to call Laitio. The opportunity didn’t rise until three thirty, when the last of the lunch crowd was gone and there was still time before we had to prep for dinner. Monika kept the restaurant open twelve hours a day and didn’t want to cut her staff’s day into two shifts, very unlike other restaurateurs and typical idealism from Monika. My shift was always scheduled for eight hours, but I worked when needed.

Laitio answered on the second ring.

“Yes?” He didn’t sound particularly happy.

“Thank you.”

“For what?”

“The papers.”

“Don’t bullshit me, girl. And, Rytkönen, wait up! We aren’t finished with this!” Laitio yelled.

It sounded like he set the phone aside. Although the sounds were muffled, I could still tell what they were saying.

“I cannot allow such exceptions to the policy. There are no legal grounds for doing this. Even the Ministry of the Interior is wondering what’s going on.” Rytkönen had dropped his dialect, and his voice was even tenser than when I’d called him pretending to be David.

“There’s no harm in it. I do my job better than those who hide behind their desks at the Bureau,” I heard Laitio say.

“That’s not the issue. Police have to follow rules,” Rytkönen explained.

“I knew the police law by heart before you were born, goddamn it!”

“And put that cigar away. You’ll set off the smoke alarm.”

“Are you afraid of your suit getting wet? Get the hell out of here, you piece of shit.”

This was followed by the sound of a chair falling over.

“My, aren’t you riled up.” Laitio’s voice revealed a smile.

“Don’t you call your foreman names,” yelled Rytkönen.

“And don’t you talk about yourself in the third person. You’re a little boy drunk with power. Go ahead and cry to the chief. He gave me his blessing to smoke cigars. You see, I work the weekends, too. I’m a full-time Bureau man, and I don’t fill in useless overtime papers like some people,” Laitio said.

There were more clanking sounds, and a door slammed. Then I heard Laitio’s husky, evil laugh. I could just imagine his mustache shaking and the unlit cigar wobbling between his lips.

“You still there, Ilveskero? Did you hear that?” he asked.

“Yes and yes.”

“That bastard is threatening to get me fired if I don’t start working full time at the headquarters instead of from home. We’ll see who wins this game.”

“Has Rytkönen ever met David?”

“Not that I know of, but then again, nobody tells me anything these days. Forget about Stahl already. If he’s not worm food, he’s playing a game we shouldn’t mess in. Or are you interested in—”

“Stop!” I yelled. Once again Laitio had almost said too much. His office at the Bureau certainly had a camera, and if the reports he’d sent me were supposed to be hidden from him, he’d be in big trouble if his higher-ups found out that he knew about Stahl’s connection to the isotope. “You’re right,” I told Laitio. “I better forget Stahl.”

Laitio said he’d go smoke a cigar at the river, work hours or not. I went back to the dining area to pack up flowers. Monika and I had agreed that we’d send them to nursing homes and assisted-living centers, and I was the delivery girl. I’d had all sorts of jobs in my life, but I’d never delivered flowers. On my route I wondered whether I should reveal Rytkönen’s identity as Kassi to Laitio, although it would mean I’d have to confess to hiding some details about Dolfini’s murder. I would decide later what to do.

I spent the sunny weekend working indoors, so when the restaurant closed on Tuesday after lunch, I went out for a long run. I ran to Länsisatama harbor, then past Hietalahti market square, following the shore to Kaivopuisto Park. Trees were still covered in colorful leaves, but the sea was cool blue and did not look inviting. Short-haired dogs wore jackets, and the finches swarmed the park looking for winter nesting materials. Uncle Jari had always made sure we only fed the birds occasional bread crumbs until the frost settled. “They’ll get used to finding food easily and won’t know how to find it themselves. Humans shouldn’t meddle with nature,” said the man who had kept an orphaned lynx cub as a pet. Sure, Frida would have perished if Uncle had left her alone in the woods, but the lessons he imparted to me weren’t always logical. I suppose their underlying motivation was love.

I’d often thought about whether my parents had loved each other. They’d gotten married because my mom was pregnant. Maybe the condom broke or she had been too shy to ask her doctor for the pill. Maybe my father, the bastard, had raped her. Still, he married her. First married, then killed.

I had very little information about my parents. The only relative I knew from my mom’s side had been my uncle; my grandmother had been an only child, and Grandpa’s brothers had died in the war. I hadn’t bothered to look up any of my second cousins. I knew there were more relatives on my father’s side, but they didn’t want to hear from me. The murder had been a terrible shame on the family, and in one version I’d heard, my grandfather had speculated whether I was even my father’s child. Father had killed Mom for having an affair, after all. Seppo Holopainen had once boasted to my uncle about knowing this tidbit while they’d sat outside on the sauna porch, and I’d eavesdropped on them. Believe me, I would have rather been someone else’s child, but this one photograph I owned showed no mercy: year after year I looked more like my father. His mother had believed blood was thicker than water and left me a small inheritance, although we hadn’t seen each other for decades.

Seagulls were screeching over the water, making it feel like summer again. It would have been back in Italy where it was over sixty degrees. I could’ve run in a T-shirt. But no, I had to trudge on to make sure the sweat didn’t dry in the chilly winds of October. I tried to recall people who would have known my mom. The photo album of her funeral pictures, showing the guests, was in Hevonpersiinsaari. I should ask the Hakkarainens to send it to me. Uncle Jari had always written the names of people on the back of the pictures. They were held in see-through plastic sleeves, so I could easily remove them. I’d only wanted to look at them once or twice before. I already had enough memories of the funeral.

Monika took the evening off and went to see a French art house movie with Petter. I wasn’t interested. I thought about seeing an action film, but I ended up wandering around the city, window shopping. I’m usually not interested in jewelry, but a glance at a ring display gave me a start. There was a thin band with three blood-red rubies, reminding me of the one David had left. But why would David have bought the ring in Finland? All intelligence pointed to him not even setting foot in Finland since he’d left on
I Believe
almost two years ago.

A part of me wanted to believe that David had intended to propose, but my cynical side reminded me how ridiculous that seemed. And what was with all the riddles? Why was he interested in Kopparnäs and Syrjänen’s plans for the area? Or was the map just a sappy reminder of the place we’d made love for the first time? Again my cynical side pulled me back—there had to be something else. David wanted me to visit Kopparnäs to see what was going on. It was humiliating to be his little puppet. “Dear Hilja, I know you too well.” I didn’t want anyone to predict how I’d react or how I could be manipulated. I was the master of my own fate.

I began to feel chilly, so I stopped by Hotel Torni’s bar Ateljée for a hot chocolate with rum. The chill turned inward when I remembered sitting there with David. God, how many places had he managed to ruin for me? I sat next to a window at a table for two, facing the spiral staircase near the restrooms, and watched how darkness fell over Helsinki. One of my favorite pastimes in New York had been riding to the top of the Empire State Building right before it closed and looking over the sea of lights. Helsinki was no Manhattan, but in the evening, it was a beautifully wistful sight.

A hand on my shoulder startled me. How could someone surprise me so easily? I was even more confused when I saw Yuri Trankov standing there. He could have stabbed me in the back or injected me with a tranquilizer. He’d done it quickly with Helena Lehmusvuo, and now Trankov was smirking at me as if he’d seen an old friend.

“Good evening, Hilja. May I buy you a drink?” Trankov asked in Finnish.