The Lion of Justice (19 page)

I left the apartment after ten to make sure I’d arrive on time. I was smoking as I walked, and I tried to suppress my cough when the smoke entered my lungs.
David, for you I’m willing to get cancer
, some pathetic creature squeaked inside Reiska’s head. He shooed Hilja away quickly.

Hietalahti Street was completely empty. The cemetery was already closed. As a kid I had believed skeletons really climbed out of their coffins during a full moon and made a racket with their dancing. Or at least the remaining skeletons would have—my mother had gone to space in a space capsule. I had to admit I still wasn’t entirely convinced there were no ghosts. I occasionally saw people who had already passed on: my mother, Uncle Jari, sometimes even a child who hadn’t grown any more than an inch. The ghost ride inside my brain was alive and kicking.

Along the shore I saw an old white-haired man approach me with two large brown dogs that jumped around energetically, seeming to enjoy the nippy weather. The puddles on the road weren’t frozen over yet, but the sky was full of bright stars, and the strips of clouds were thinning before my eyes. Sunglasses were a ridiculous accessory in this weather, but I still put on my aviators when I hid behind a large spruce to wait for Rytkönen. The glasses would turn darker in sunlight, so right now they were fairly light—but at least they covered my eyes a little.

The island was surrounded by docked boats, packed away for winter. I could always hide among the boats if the situation got sticky. I looked for security cameras, but I couldn’t locate any.

Rytkönen arrived a few minutes before our meeting time and parked in the one remaining spot in the lot. I’d told him over the phone that he had to come alone, but there was no way I could verify that he’d actually followed my orders. The entire Hietaniemi beach could be littered with police, and Rytkönen could have carried at least a recorder or a video camera, but I had taken risks like this before, too. And like I had once confessed to David, I actually enjoyed danger. Mike Virtue considered this the worst mistake a bodyguard could make. Danger should be nothing to get excited about, and if it was, you were in the wrong line of work. This time, though, I was ready to defy Mike. Jumping into the frying pan wasn’t an option right now.

I observed Rytkönen for a few moments before I stepped out of the shadows. He looked confident, as if he had the situation under control. I on the other hand could feel my unease growing.

Just march ahead and forget about Hilja
, I told myself.
You are Reiska, who knows something important about David. You have the upper hand. You’ll be fine
.

“Evening, Rytkönen.” Reiska’s tone was practically boastful. He walked over to Rytkönen but didn’t shake his hand, and Rytkönen didn’t extend his hand, either. He just nodded.

“And who might you be?” he asked after eyeing Reiska up and down.

“My name doesn’t matter,” Reiska tried to say in their common language, but his Savonian lilt slipped out.

“As you know, I’m a police officer. I can force you to tell me your name.”

“Your work buddies might not like it if I told them your name is Kassi. Or that you claim to be by phone.”

“What do you know about Kassi?” Rytkönen stepped away after realizing he was right under the glare of the streetlight.

Reiska felt like a lynx balancing on a tree trunk, stalking a deer. One wrong move, and he’d scare his prey. However, if his risky move was successful, he wouldn’t be hungry for days.

“You hear all sorts of things when you hang around with the right kind of people,” Reiska said.

“You know our mutual friend Finnjävel. Or what’s the name you use for him?”

Reiska backed up, too, although the cap shaded his face well.

“Finnjävel, Daniel Lanotte, Bengt Näkkäläjärvi. David Stahl has many names.” Reiska made up Bengt just to throw Rytkönen off, but he didn’t even look surprised. He wouldn’t be easy to confuse.

“He probably doesn’t remember who he is half the time, or whose side he’s on. Who do you work for?” Rytkönen asked.

“The highest bidder. Just like Stahl.”

“Did Stahl send you?”

Oops. My lynx claws were slipping off the angled tree trunk, and my tiny tail wasn’t enough to keep my balance. Reiska noticed the man with the two dogs approaching again behind Rytkönen, and the dogs were off their leashes. Was this Rytkönen’s backup? Did the dogs sniff out the lynx?

“I’m here on my own behalf,” Reiska told Rytkönen.

The dogs ran over and sniffed at Rytkönen’s dark-blue wool pants.

“Santtu, Pumba, come back here!” the owner yelled. He had to stroll over to put his dogs on their leashes. Rytkönen did his best to ignore the dogs while one of them was still sniffing his shoes. Reiska was amused; maybe Rytkönen had stepped in dog shit.

“They’re fine. They wouldn’t hurt a fly,” the owner continued, but Rytkönen didn’t pay any attention. When the man had finally leashed his dogs and pulled them away, Rytkönen walked closer to Reiska. Reiska had a hard time analyzing Rytkönen’s features due to his sunglasses.

“You want money for your information?” Rytkönen asked. “Sorry, but our informant budget is empty—even that fund wasn’t spared from the budget cuts. And how would I know if you have info I’d want? Do you know where Stahl is hiding?”

Obviously Rytkönen was clueless about Stahl’s whereabouts. Reiska was annoyed.

“You can tell your employers that they’re not the only ones who want Stahl. It sounds like your camp was behind Dolfini’s murder because you have my number,” Rytkönen said. “You’re probably pissed off for letting Stahl get away. I don’t know where he is, but you can’t touch him. Of course you want revenge, but it won’t work. The Belarusians know what they’re doing, and once they’ve finished with Stahl, you’ll have nothing left. Not even a scrap. Finnjävel has always overestimated himself, thinking he can juggle four balls when he can barely keep two in the air. Stahl’s not dead yet, but I don’t think he’s going to live much longer. Guy thinks he’s a cat, and soon his ninth life will be up. Don’t waste your time on him. Just be happy someone will kill him for you.”

18

With these words Rytkönen turned around and walked away. Reiska watched him go. Even I didn’t understand what Rytkönen’s little rant was about. Reiska took stock of the situation. Rytkönen was clearly shorter than him, but the man was pure muscle, and he didn’t seem like the type who’d start talking after a couple of broken ribs. Besides, he was a cop.

Reiska walked back to the shore and lit a cigarette to calm down. So David had not been killed in Italy, or at least whoever had killed Dolfini hadn’t killed Stahl. That was slightly comforting. Reiska began to kick a nearby tree. Fucking, fucking, fuck. He didn’t know if Rytkönen was just putting on a show.

Although it was near midnight, traffic was still flowing on the Lauttasaari bridges. An ambulance howled its sirens, rushing toward Espoo, past the night shifters who occupied the brightly lit buses on their way home. Reiska started his walk toward downtown; the last number eight tram had already gone. A couple of dives had to be open somewhere near the city center, and he could use a beer, if not two. Reiska was both grumpy and feeling righteous, which wasn’t a good combination.

Halfway toward downtown I felt Reiska come loose. Although I was still wearing his clothes, in my thoughts I was Hilja. And they weren’t pretty, either. I felt humiliated, disappointed, and scared. David trusted Rytkönen more than he trusted me. Rytkönen knew where David was, and his news wasn’t good. I marched Reiska to Yrjö Street to sleep, and he listened to me. He’d been back in the closet for so long he hadn’t had a chance to strengthen his willpower. I could easily silence him.

Silencing myself was harder. I had to employ a couple of tequila shots to do the job. When I poured the third shot, I dug for David’s pictures and the ring in my bag. I hadn’t tried the ring on since I’d found it, but now I slipped it on my left ring finger and downed a shot. I yelled the worst words I could think of at David’s pictures, shouting so hard that sweat started to bead on my brow. I took the pictures and the ring to the bathroom and held them over the toilet.

“Fucking Stahl, just see me get rid of you,” I hissed, but I couldn’t force my hand to throw in the pictures and the ring. That was the kind of softy David had molded me into. His pictures seemed to be winking at me and giving a victorious grin. I had a fourth shot of tequila.

I spent Monday in bed. I just didn’t feel like getting up. Everything was wrong. Sans Nom was hit by the flu again, so I had to work around the clock for the rest of the week. Friday evening was the worst. A group of Finnish-Swedish ladies had come in for an early Christmas party, and despite some of them being Monika’s old friends, they were demanding and gave the poor waiters the runaround. I fed root vegetables into the peeling machine and listened to their whining. I went to check on the security cameras to see whether the ladies were really behaving as poorly as it seemed. The monitor blinked; the memory card needed replacing, but I spotted a familiar face sitting near the group of women and forgot about it. Of course it was Martti “Mara” Rytkönen.

“What did that short jock order?” I asked Helinä.

“The man sitting alone? Tofu skewers.”

“I’ll take them out to him. Did he order anything else?”

“Yeah, another orange juice with sparkling water. He already finished one. I guess he was thirsty.”

I collected Rytkönen’s order and walked over to his table. The ladies whooped loudly at the table next to his, but he didn’t seem to mind. He sat at his two-person table like a king.

“Good evening,” I said, then pretended to be surprised. “My goodness, haven’t we met? At Chief Constable Laitio’s place?”

Rytkönen wasn’t the least bit surprised to see me at Sans Nom, it seemed.

“Hilja Ilveskero, yes, I remember you. Laitio was the one who recommended this restaurant. I thought he was more into eating meat. So, what are you doing here? Have you quit the bodyguard gig?” he asked, staring at his plate as if trying to figure out what he ended up ordering. The hemp-infused tofu marinated in sesame oil and chili sauce was skewered with shallots and cubed peppers, served with a side of steamed millet and garlic corn gravy. Monika and I had picked the corn ourselves earlier in the fall at a farm in Pikkala, and the corn leaves had cut my fingers.

“Restaurant work suits me fine right now,” I told Rytkönen. “The security business hasn’t had much to offer recently.”

“It sounds like you also screwed up your previous jobs a bit. Or well, a lot. One of your clients was killed, the other was kidnapped.”

I eyed his drink, which was close enough for me to grab and pour onto his head.

“How’s your boyfriend?” Rytkönen asked smiling.

“Which one?”

“That half Estonian, David Stahl. Or is he your ex now?”

“I don’t talk about my current or ex-boyfriends,” I said and turned toward the kitchen. I was startled when Rytkönen grabbed my wrist. His grip was like a vise, just like when we’d met at Laitio’s.

“You know what? I could take you for a little chat at the Bureau’s headquarters anytime. I could even arrest you for harboring an international criminal. If you know where Stahl’s staying, it’s in your best interest to let me in on it real soon. Or do you prefer charges for abetting a murderer?”

His face was flushed with anger, which had also made him slip back to his Savonian dialect. I calmly placed my available hand over his and sunk my nails in. Although I kept my nails short, the pinch was painful enough. Rytkönen grunted and let me go. The ladies nearby were giving us curious stares. They hadn’t been prepared to see a proper show at Sans Nom tonight. Once again I, the leading lady, didn’t know whether it was a farce or a tragedy.

“What murder? I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I told Rytkönen.

“Stop lying. Your lover is wanted for murdering Carlo Dolfini and dumping his body into a marsh. You were in Italy when Dolfini disappeared. His wife supposedly left for the United States, but she’s probably deep in some other marsh, because she hasn’t been found.”

“Why would Stahl kill this Dolfini?”

“He worked for Gezolian and could have recognized Stahl. The Russian and Italian mobsters are entangled. Teppo Laitio has been trusting you quite a lot, and that Stahl character. He ought to retire when he can’t tell a crook from an honest man.”

Although I wasn’t sure where the script would go next, I could at least change the way I played. I walked away from Rytkönen. On my way to the kitchen, I told Helinä that she should take care of table four’s dessert orders and bill. I’d just dropped by to say hi. Rytkönen could very well take me in for interrogation and even arrest me. He could always make up an excuse. Come to think of it, I hadn’t been in a real jail yet, although we’d practiced tolerating the conditions at the security academy in Queens. I’d been held for forty-eight hours, and I knew it was just a test, but I was still on the brink of getting badly claustrophobic. Lynx didn’t belong in a cage.

Because I wasn’t needed any longer in the kitchen, I went to swap out the memory card in the camera monitors. The red light was still blinking. Once done, I checked the monitors to see how Rytkönen’s appetite was doing. I had to do a double take when I saw that Rytkönen was no longer alone. Yuri Trankov had joined him.

Luckily Helinä was picking up orders from the kitchen. I stopped her.

“That guy who joined the bodybuilder at table four, were they on the same reservation?”

Helinä gave me a broad smile.

“It’s your fan again. The place is full, so I asked him if he minded sitting with the other gentleman. Do you want to serve him?”

“No. And if he asks for me, send him to the kitchen. Or rather, the surveillance room.”

I went back to the room and turned the camera from the table of women to focus on Rytkönen and Trankov. Rytkönen had to know who he was sitting with, or he hadn’t done his homework.

Trankov wore his silly mobster outfit again: a black three-piece suit and a dark tie. He looked even paler than before with his face framed in his five o’clock shadow. I wondered whether Syrjänen’s trip to Moscow had gone downhill, or was Trankov experiencing an artistic crisis? I caught myself feeling slightly disappointed when he hadn’t asked anyone if I was working. Our painting was still unfinished.

Rytkönen was in no hurry to finish his meal. I saw Helinä take Trankov’s order while she handed Rytkönen a menu—looked like he was going to get dessert. Trankov flirted with Helinä, and she flirted back. My fault; I’d told her at the grand opening that he was all hers, so why was I was so annoyed by this? Suddenly everything pissed me off, including Jouni, who had walked into the monitor room to scream at me that I was needed in the kitchen to chop parsley and oregano. I followed him without protest.

I slaved away in the kitchen, filling dishwashers and wiping floors. As I got up with a soiled rag in my hand, I felt a touch on my shoulder. Then hands covered my eyes. I heard Jouni say that outsiders weren’t allowed in the kitchen. The cologne and the wool I felt on me revealed who the intruder was.

“Yuri!” I quickly turned to face him, and he put his hands back on my shoulders, as if he were going to embrace me. “You’re back from Moscow.”

“Are you happy to see me?” Trankov asked without a smile, but his eyes gave me a look that would have melted even the weakest soul. Not me, though.

“Of course I am. When should we continue with the painting?”

“Whenever’s good for you. Do you work tomorrow?”

“Unfortunately yes, but I’m off Sunday night. Would that work?” I pretended to be as excited as he was.

“Syrjänen will be around then, too. I’ll introduce you to him. Should I give you a ride?”

“No need. I’ll borrow the van, and I remember how to get there. Is six a good time?”

Trankov nodded, now with a smile on his face. “It’ll take a few more hours to finish the painting, but there’s plenty of room in the villa. You can spend the night.”

Artist Trankov didn’t seem to be bothered at all by the fact that six in the evening in November meant it was pitch-black in Finland. Either he had already finished figuring out the lighting on the painting or he wasn’t as artistically ambitious as he claimed to be.

As soon as he left, Jouni came around muttering how I used his kitchen for dating and was carrying around a gross rag full of bacteria. I went to the monitor room and wound the tape back to watch Trankov and Rytkönen eating. They seemed to exchange only a few words. Trankov spent most of the time staring at his plate of cabbage rolls. Only when Helinä brought Rytkönen his bill did Trankov smile, but the smile was aimed at Helinä. When Rytkönen took off, the men shook hands.

I kept on thinking about Rytkönen and his contradicting words. He had told Reiska that David was a prisoner of the Belarusian mafia, but he’d asked me where David was. What a schizo.

Laitio hadn’t told me that David was wanted for Dolfini’s murder. He should have known about it, unless Rytkönen was just trying to fool me. I couldn’t wait to get home and go through the Bureau database again. Monika was dragging her feet; she kept checking her list of fresh ingredients to pick up from the outlet on Saturday and how much cash was in the register. The loud ladies had spent almost three thousand euros, so tolerating their mood swings had definitely been worth it.

At home I took a shower and pulled on my pajamas, a sweater, and knitted socks. Then I used Laitio’s login information to browse the Bureau’s database. I looked up the Dolfini file Rytkönen had originally saved. There were more details now.

“Italian police have a warrant on Daniel Lanotte for the murder of Dolfini. Those boys are a bit slow.”

I looked up Daniel Lanotte’s file. It was in English, so Rytkönen hadn’t created it. The information was marked as highly classified. Daniel Lanotte’s real name was noted as David Stahl, and according to the file he had also appeared as Anton Kallas. Stahl was a Finnish citizen, Lanotte had a Swedish passport, and Kallas came from Estonia.

According to the Italian police, Lanotte had been a double agent who had defected from Europol during the delivery of Strontium 90 and had killed Boris Vasiliev and his three minions in the boat explosion. Then he returned only a portion of the isotope to Europol, although he had claimed to have returned all of it. Europol intelligence found out what the quantity was supposed to be, but by then the Belarusian businessman Ivan Gezolian, who had been the source for the isotope, had sent his representative, Carlo Dolfini, after Stahl. Stahl had killed Dolfini and disappeared.

The Italian police had received an anonymous tip about Dolfini’s body, but they didn’t find it in the apartment Lanotte had been renting. Dolfini surfaced six months later a couple of miles away from Montemassi in a marsh. Lanotte is suspected to have killed Dolfini’s wife as well. An international warrant is still out on him. He should be apprehended if possible. There were suspicions that Stahl might come back to Finland to see his girlfriend, whose part in the events in Italy is unclear.

A note had been added to the end of the memo: “A tip we have just received reveals that Stahl has one more fake identity, that of Bengt Näkkäläjärvi. The last name sounds Sami. The fugitive may have either a Finnish, Swedish, Estonian, or even Norwegian passport.”

Despite everything, I started to laugh. Reiska had really pulled a fast one on Rytkönen. I just couldn’t believe that Rytkönen would be so stupid, and he hadn’t tried to figure out who Reiska was. Surely he had. Also, why was I still roaming free and not brought in for questioning? They knew I had been in Italy when Dolfini died. Was Laitio still influential enough to protect me, or was someone else vouching for me? The former prime minister?