“That doesn’t make us friends,” Maria snorted.
That wasn’t what Klara Nylund had told me. She said the two women had been inseparable. I wondered if my theory was correct. If there had been a man, Maria must have known something about him but been too afraid to tell. Why? Because she also knew that the man was dangerous? A thug? Would responsible Nellie have fallen for a man like that? Or it might have been someone powerful. Someone important.
A man who could offer a better future to Nellie, her son and her unborn child. A man who had killed her instead.
8
Chief Inspector Mustonen
For a man like Jokela, a clear conscience was a sign of a bad memory. I knew he’d forget this, too, as soon as our visitor walked out of the restaurant. The consequences would be mine to handle, while Jokela would reap the benefits.
Of course, as my boss liked to point out, it was not as straightforward as that. I would reap the benefits too – indirectly. The police chief, Dr Palmu, was on the verge of retirement, and Jokela was well positioned to replace him. And if Jokela climbed to the top of the career ladder, I could take his place as head of the homicide squad. The youngest ever, as Jokela reminded me every time we talked about it. Just think of it, my boy: head of the homicide squad and you’re not even thirty-five yet, not a wrinkle on you, not a grey hair. Think about how your father-in-law will see you once that happens. Some respect there, yes? He won’t be embarrassed any longer that his only daughter married a farmer’s son.
With this in mind, the man facing us across the table was a godsend. Police Chief is a political nomination. You don’t climb that high if you’re not vetted by the ruling party. Jokela had their support but he wasn’t the only one; every sabre-toothed rat in the police ranks was vying for the position. Now that was about to change. Unless, of course, I refused to cooperate.
The man sitting across from us was small, wizened even. He looked like some sort of crooner, a Sinatra in miniature. But his name was typically Finnish: Alvar Virtanen.
“So, how about it?” Virtanen said, spreading his tiny hands on the table in a gesture meant to show that we were all good friends here. “I suppose we agree that Ahti is guilty of nothing more serious than being a high-spirited young man with natural appetites.”
Jokela glanced at me sharply. “What do you say, my boy?” As usual, he was waiting for me to compromise myself before he even uttered a word.
“Let me see if I’ve got this straight,” I said. “Your nineteen-year-old son, Ahti, was out on the town yesterday, and he had a bit too much to drink.”
Ahti’s father leaned back, frowning. “I see no problem with that. Ahti is of age.”
“Naturally.” I shifted in my chair. I needed to be careful about what I said next.
“Ahti was driving a car he borrowed from you, a red Chrysler Newport.”
A tiny nod from the father.
“He lost control of his vehicle and smashed into the boulders just outside the West Harbour terminal.”
“That’s right.”
“Ahti was unharmed, except for some minor cuts and bruises, and so was his passenger – who was she, by the way?”
“We know who she was,” Jokela interrupted. “Her name’s irrelevant.”
“Not if I have to go and explain to her why she needs to keep her mouth shut.”
Ahti’s father and Jokela both winced.
“My dear boy,” Jokela said, reproachful, “no one’s asking you to cover up a crime.”
“No,” Virtanen added in haste. “Because there was no crime.”
The man didn’t like me, I could see that. Still, Virtanen was stuck with me, and if we were playing, it was on my own terms. I waited, thinking about my police career and the irony of this request. Somewhere, some evil god was clutching his side in a fit of hysterical laughter.
“Her name is Elena,” Ahti’s father said at last.
“Is she of age, too?”
“She’s eighteen. Her aunt is a very diligent woman, she examines the girls’ papers before she hires them.”
“Right,” I said. “I’ll take your word for that. What about the car?”
“Ruined.” Virtanen shrugged. “But it was insured, and the ice on the road is the municipality’s fault, not my son’s.”
There was silence. They were pussyfooting around the real issue. But once it was said out loud, it couldn’t be undone. I chose a different approach.
“What does Ahti do? Is he a student?”
“My son is reading law.”
“And I trust he intends to follow in his father’s footsteps?”
The father nodded cautiously. “Ahti has a passion for civil service. It would be a pity to ruin the boy’s future career over one unfortunate accident.”
“Of course,” Jokela said. “Of course. Chief Inspector Mustonen will make sure that doesn’t happen.” He stomped on my foot under the table to drive his point home. Bastard.
A doe-eyed waitress came up to our table offering a coffee refill, but Jokela sent her away. “What is your problem, Mustonen?” he hissed. “The matter is pretty straightforward. The young woman was drunk, she was incoherent. Even the witness recognizes that. The fact that she insisted on going to the police … she probably regrets it as we speak, but what’s done is done.”
“Forgive me if I’m wrong,” I said to Virtanen, ignoring my boss. “From what I understand, the young woman is claiming that your Ahti was holding her against her will, and that his idea of a fun night was a bain de minuit in Helsinki Port.” Virtanen closed his eyes briefly, a picture of human suffering, a man misunderstood. I pressed on: “And when the witness rushed over to help the passengers out of the car, he saw that the girl’s hands were tied?”
Virtanen’s eyes flew open; his fist landed on the table. “They were just messing around, for Christ’s sake! I recognize that the idea of tying up the girl was unfortunate, and that the midnight ice dip, with or without the girl, was plain stupid. But young men make mistakes. That doesn’t mean they – and their families – should have to pay for that with their careers.”
There we were, at last. “Well,” I said, keeping my eyes on the father, “as long as we all recognize how important that is for the careers of all the parties involved. I’ll interview the girl and the witness and see what I can do. You’re probably right and the girl just panicked because she heard the stories going around. Let’s hope it was just that. In the meantime, I recommend that you keep Ahti home for a while, make sure there are no other unfortunate accidents. It could draw unwanted attention to what happened yesterday night. Are we clear on the terms?”
“Yes,” the father said. “We are.” He was looking at me when he said that. Not at Jokela.
9
Hella
I didn’t know what I was expecting. Crimson silk, certainly, and velvet and lace. Tall champagne glasses and sensual girls in negligees. But during the daytime, at least, Klara Nylund’s establishment looked like any other house: freshly painted woodwork on the outside, the smell of cooking on the inside. Roast lamb. My stomach growled.