Nights of Awe (31 page)

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Authors: Harri Nykanen

BOOK: Nights of Awe
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“The plane’s about to leave.”
“Come with us. It won’t take long to clear this up.”
A member of the El Al ground personnel rushed up, loudly demanding an explanation. An airport police officer grabbed him and half-forcibly dragged him off.
“I’m just going to inform the captain,” said the man in the co-pilot’s uniform, pulling out his phone. I snatched it from his hand.
“I want you to call the Israeli embassy immediately,” the woman demanded sharply.
We guided both of them into the customs officers’ room, where they and their belongings were searched. After that, Sillanpää ordered that they be taken to the airport jail and detained in such a way that they couldn’t speak to each other.
 
The crate was waiting for us at the air-freight office. It was a solid plywood box, a good three feet long, about thirty inches wide, and eighteen inches deep. The contents had been noted as computer equipment on the airway bill.
The clerk brought Sillanpää a crowbar. Sillanpää shooed him off before twisting the lock open. The lock bore the diplomatic mail seal of the Israeli embassy.
The interior of the crate was lined with cellular shipping plastic. A tightly bound, grey-haired man lay there, legs bent and mouth gagged. He was secured at the hands and feet to hooks in the sides of the crate so he couldn’t budge. He appeared to be unconscious.
“And now we’ll find out who the hell you are,” Sillanpää said.
The man’s eyes remained closed. I felt his pulse. His heart was beating slowly but steadily. Sillanpää gave me a self-satisfied smile and held out his hand.
“Are we square?”
I shook.
Simolin examined the man and his confined quarters.
“So this is going to turn into an international incident, isn’t it?”
We both looked at Sillanpää.
“No, not necessarily.”
“What do you mean, no?” I asked, surprised.
“We’re not going to broadcast this one to the world yet. Every move has to be considered carefully. If we play our cards right, we have a gold mine on our hands.”
“What do you mean, play?” I asked. I was getting a bad feeling. Whenever black or white started being tinted with grey, I feared the worst. I was a police officer, and a police officer didn’t play or cut deals, except in the traditional sense.
“So what’s the plan, squeezing a special price on oranges out of them?”
Sillanpää could immediately tell that he needed to choose his words more carefully. We knew far too much, so it was in his best interests to maintain a working relationship with us. I was the lead investigator and I answered for communications about the case. All the trumps were in my hand, if we started playing for real.
“I mean that that investigation is still under way. At least your friend Kaplan is still missing.”
“If you’ve been shadowing the Israelis the whole time, maybe you have some idea of where he might be.”
“Not the whole time, only since yesterday.”
Sillanpää’s phone rang. He glanced at the screen and pressed the speakerphone so we could hear the conversation.
“Hello, Mr Klein.”
Sillanpää smirked.
“
We received a call that the police have arrested two Israeli citizens who are El Al employees.
”
“Your sources are accurate and fast.”
“
What’s it all about?”
“Routine criminal investigation.”
“
What type of crime is in question?”
“A very serious one.”
“
How can a flight attendant and a co-pilot be involved in a serious crime?
”
“Anyone can. Even a police officer.”
“
The flight will be late if they’re not released.
”
“Unfortunately that can’t be avoided. You’ll have to find new personnel to replace them or cancel the flight.”
“
What if I arrange to have a representative of your police force accompany them on the flight?”
“The Finnish police don’t interrogate suspects in aeroplanes, they do it in jail. And anyways, I don’t make those decisions.”
“
Have you taken into account the possibility that this might simply be a misunderstanding? Do you understand that this incident could have extremely grave consequences for relations between our countries?
”
“I understand the gravity of the situation all too well. It’s part of my job.”
“
Would it help at all if our ambassador contacted someone?”
“I don’t think so. Besides, if the media discovers that you’ve tried to exert pressure and prevent the police from investigating a serious crime, then…”
“
I’m not talking about exerting pressure… this just happens to come at a very delicate time. Our foreign minister will be visiting Finland, and at the same time citizens of our country, who are in the service of the state no less, are arrested during the Jewish New Year, and on Yom Kippur of all days. You know how sensitive we are in Israel about things like this.
”
“At the moment they’re only simply in detention.”
“
Who’s investigating the case?”
“I hear it’s Detective Kafka’s.”
“
Why? He’s also the one investigating the Linnunlaulu case, isn’t he?”
“I don’t know yet. I haven’t spoken with Kafka, and it’s not my jurisdiction, at least not yet, not as long as it’s a matter of a common crime. But unfortunately, I have to go now.”
“
Could you keep me in the loop? Please understand my position. This could not have happened at a worse moment, with the foreign minister’s visit and Yom Kippur.
”
“Of course I understand, but Kafka can be touchy. He won’t tell us anything, and he’ll tell you even less.”
“
We need to meet as soon as possible to discuss the minister’s visit. You do understand, don’t you, that I will be forced to report this matter to the ambassador, and that won’t be the end of it, either. From there it will go to the Ministry of Foreign Affairs and who knows where.
”
“Of course. You’re just doing your job, but I’m not worried. Luckily, Israel is a democratic country, and everyone there understands how things work in a democracy.”
 
The airport doctor arrived five minutes later and examined the man, who had been lifted from the crate onto a sofa.
“He’s been given a powerful sedative. He’ll probably still sleep for hours.”
“Is he in any danger?” I asked.
“I don’t think so. His heart is beating steadily, but it would be wisest to move him without delay to a place where he can be monitored safely as he comes to.”
I asked the doctor to order an ambulance and choose a suitable hospital.
Sillanpää stood off to the side, talking into his mobile and glancing at me intermittently. He hung up and walked over.
“I spoke with the commander. He feels that due to the delicacy of the situation, it will be to everyone’s advantage for the Security Police to take over communication responsibility for this. We’ll also handle the interrogation of the suspects and the man from the crate. All information necessary from the perspective of the criminal investigation will be delivered to you immediately.”
“So you’ll decide what’s necessary?”
“Sorry, but that’s how this one’s going to go. The higher-ups called it.”
I had forgotten Simolin, but he hadn’t forgotten me. When Sillanpää went over to consult with the doctor, Simolin walked up and pulled me aside.
“Did you get information on the listening device?” I asked.
“The guys from the phone company went and retrieved it. It was probably being monitored from a vehicle in front of the house. The range is about a hundred yards… And the fingerprints of the man who got hit by the train came in from French Interpol. Looks like we’re on the wrong track when it comes to him, and the other guy too.”
“What other guy?”
“Weiss’s killer, the Focus man. The fingerprints found in Laya’s Focus have also been identified.”
By the time Simolin finished, I knew I’d sleep just as poorly that night as I had the night before.
22
 
Although I had wriggled my way free of many traditions, there were a few I still clung to. Yom Kippur was one. I knew I would never completely free myself of it, nor did I want to. Even though working as a cop could harden just about anyone, Yom Kippur still managed to rouse memories in me that were both poignant and as tender as an open wound.
Yom Kippur was like the mournful melody of the
Kol Nidre
that welled up inside you and brought you so close to tears that the only way to avoid them was to close your eyes. It was also loved ones remembering their dead with the
Yizkor
prayer, downcast faces, and the synagogue growing dim as the
Al Chet
prayer drew near.
On Yom Kippur, Dad was always at home and there was no arguing. When I was a child, Dad read Eli, Hanna and me a blessing that every Jewish father read to his children before leaving for the synagogue. During the blessing, he asked God that we would become like Ephraim, Rachel and Leah. As he finished, he would smile at us and read his personal addition: “If at all possible.” Eli, Hanna and I would look at each other and giggle.
Those four extraneous words were like Dad’s secret gift to us, a gift that Mum knew nothing about. If I ever have a child someday, I’ll continue this tradition and complete the blessing by adding, “If at all possible.”
My uncle must have been waiting for me in his entryway, because he opened his door as soon as I stepped out of the elevator. The clank of the elevator carried into the apartment, so he knew I was approaching. He was wearing a dark suit with barely discernible pinstripes. He held the door wide and let me in. We looked at each other, and my uncle, brows knitted, clapped me lightly on the shoulder.
My uncle muttered something in Hebrew but so softly I couldn’t hear what it was.
He noticed my puzzlement and said: “It seems as if God and I understand each other better and better every year. When you’re as old as I am, you don’t have the time or the energy to commit much concrete evil, but you commit all the more in your thoughts. You’d never believe the nasty, ugly things that go through my head. Only a scribe or a lawyer could ever imagine that listing your sins one by one will earn you forgiveness. And God is neither a scribe nor a lawyer.”
“Or a policeman,” I said.
My uncle laughed.
“And yet God has granted the powers that be a sword so that it might be used wisely and for the good of all.”
It was as if my uncle had once again read my mind. I explained briefly what we had discovered during the investigation and what I intended. He lowered a hand onto my shoulder.
“I don’t envy you, Ari, but as I said, you have been given a sword so that you might use it. I know you will do the right thing, and that it would be impossible for you to do otherwise.”
It was as if my uncle’s words had swept away all my doubts and fears. I was in the right, and it was impossible for me to do otherwise.
 
Both floors of the synagogue were full, the women bareheaded above and the yarmulke-capped men below. In addition to my uncle and me, the Kafka family was represented by my brother Eli. Next to him sat Max Oxbaum and his teenage son.
Dan entered in the middle of the service and sat at his father’s left side, his eyes nailed to the floor. Suddenly he turned and looked at me. We were about six yards apart. At first Dan sized me up, then he smiled.
I stood and moved sideways towards the exit. Dan stood too. I made it into the foyer before he did and retreated towards the main doors.
“I’m here to pray, but it looks like you’re here to work. What would our old religion teacher Rabbi Motzkind say?”

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