Raid and the Blackest Sheep (21 page)

14.

“He hasn’t been a father to me for over twenty years. A father is someone who lives with you, carries you on his shoulders, reads a bedtime story, tucks you into bed and kisses you goodnight. I was six when he left. The next time he saw us was two years later, and then again when I was confirmed. Since then I haven’t even…and now you come asking about him as if I’d know.”

    
“You’re still his daughter.”

    
“I have been the whole time, and he still hasn’t come to visit.”

    
Kempas was standing in the entryway and the woman seemed to have no intention of inviting him in. Some children’s clothes hung from the hooks in the entry and several pairs of children’s shoes and some blue rubber boots lay on the floor. Next to the wall was a telephone stand. From the entry, they could see a strip of the living room and a yellow sofa.

    
“Hasn’t he met his grandchild?”

    
“Why are you asking about him? What’d he do this time?”

    
“We’d just like to chat with him about a certain case.”

    
“By case you must mean a crime.”

    
Nygren’s daughter was thin and she had brown hair. Kempas could see Nygren’s resemblance in her.

    
“Yes.”

    
“I want to know what he’s done.”

    
“A man was shot and your father may have been involved.”

    
“Did he die, this man?”

    
“No.”

    
“He’s not a violent man, you know.”

    
“Who, your father?”

    
“Yes.”

    
“We could use some coffee…it might be more comfortable to chat inside.”

    
She wasn’t going to be softened up that easily.

    
“I can’t help you…and why would I? He’s my father, after all.”

    
“What do you do? For work, I mean.”

    
“What does that have to do with anything?”

    
“I’m a policeman investigating a serious crime. Can’t I indulge my curiosity a bit?”

    
“I work at a travel agency. Does that help?”

    
“You sell vacations?”

    
“Yeah.”

    
“It’s commendable when people do honest work. There’d be no need for us if everybody supported themselves with honest work. People who do honest work can help the police solve crimes. You have a child. Apparently a boy, judging by the color of those boots. How old?”

    
“Six.”

    
“I want the world to be a better place for kids, including yours. That’s why I’m a cop, and that’s why I try to keep criminals from committing more crimes.”

    
“My father might be a criminal, but he’s not a bad person.”

    
“When’s the last time you saw him?”

    
“Am I being interrogated?”

    
“No. You can refuse to talk or you can lie. But I hope you don’t.”

    
The woman bowed her head. She took a moment before making her decision.

    
“A few days ago.”

    
“Where?”

    
“Here…in the yard. He was just passing through and came to see me…only for a couple minutes. He didn’t even come inside.”

    
“Where was he headed?”

    
“He said north to Lapland, nothing more.”

    
“What did he want?”

    
“I think he just wanted…wanted to see me…and his grandchild.”

    
“What did you discuss?”

    
“We didn’t talk much…he apologized for being a terrible father… Read a poem and left.”

    
“Read a poem?”

    
“He wrote a poem about me when I was little. He had saved it and gave it to me.”

    
“What else?”

    
“He told my son he’s going to Lapland and he’ll say hi to Santa Claus…then he left…”

    
Kempas scrutinized the woman’s every aspect, the movements of her eyes, the wrinkles in her brow, her hand gestures.

    
“Is there anything else?” said Kempas. He always asked the question just to be sure. It had scored him many bonuses. This time he knew there was something more.

    
“He left me…gave me some money…”

    
“Money? How much?”

    
“Twenty thousand euros.”

    
“Oh!” Kempas breathed. “A large sum. Did he say where it came from?”

    
“He just left a package that I didn’t open till I got inside. I thought it was a toy for Jari…otherwise I wouldn’t have taken it.”

    
“Was there anything else in the package?”

    
“A note.”

    
“What kind of note?”

    
“It was a message…for me…”

    
“Yeah?”

    
“It said…that he loves me…”

    
The woman’s voice cracked. She covered her eyes with her hand.

    
Kempas put his hand gently on her shoulder.

    
“You’ve been a huge help. I only have a couple more questions…if it’s alright.”

    
She wiped her eyes and composed herself. Kempas didn’t hurry her.

    
“Did he leave any contact information? An address, a phone number or a name?”

    
The woman shook her head. She kept sniffling and she wiped her eyes again.

    
“Do you know if he has any acquaintances or relatives up north?”

    
“No, and if he does I don’t know them. We’re not exactly a close family.”

    
“What about his ex-wife, your mother?”

    
“She lives in Espoo. I doubt he’s been in contact with her. She called yesterday and she certainly would have said something.”

    
“Did you tell her that Nyg…your father came?”

    
“Yes.”

    
“What did she say?”

    
“That it was just like my father to drop by unannounced for five minutes and take off.”

    
Kempas thought for a moment. The sweatband of his hat was damp and his scalp began to itch. He scratched at his hairline. Some dandruff dropped onto the shoulders of his coat and stood out clearly against the black fabric.

    
“What should I do with the money?”

    
“Where is it?”

    
“It’s here…I haven’t spent any…”

    
“Spend it however you deem fit. We’re not aware of the money being linked to any crimes.”

    
“You mean…can I really…”

    
Kempas raised his right hand in the scout’s oath.

    
“Cops don’t lie. You’ve got my permission to spend it.”

    
She smiled for the first time.

    
“One more thing. Was he alone?”

    
“No.”

    
“Was he accompanied by a man named Raid?”

    
She nodded.

    
“Did this Raid say anything?”

    
“No. Not a word.”

    
“We’d like to know more about him…especially how your father knows him.”

    
The woman looked at Kempas, somewhat surprised.

    
“You mean you don’t know?”

* * *

Nygren’s daughter’s apartment was on the fourth floor. Kempas decided to take the stairs down, though the elevator had already been waiting.

    
The yard and playground were visible from the windows in the landings. A group of boys had gathered to build a race track in the sandbox. Kempas walked over to watch them play.

    
“Is one of you Jari?”

    
A boy with a ball cap looked up.

    
“Are you Jari?”

    
“Yeah.”

    
“How’d you like to help me out with a top secret detective case?”

    
“What case?”

    
Kempas took out his badge.

    
“Do you know how to read?”

    
“Yeah…I’m in kindergarten.”

    
“What’s it say here?”

    
The boy studied the word and sounded it out.

    
“Po…pol…police…you’re really a policeman?”

    
“Sure. I’m gonna ask you a couple of detective questions…should we go over there? To the swings?”

    
Kempas settled into a swing. The boy hesitated before hopping onto the neighboring one.

    
“Your grandpa stopped by a few days ago, isn’t that right?”

    
“Yeah…he promised to say hi to Santa.”

    
“Did your grandpa give you anything?”

    
“No, but he said he’d ask Santa to give me something. Grandpa said he’s good friends with Santa.”

    
“Did grandpa say where he was going?”

    
“To Santa’s workshop.”

    
“Did he say anything else?”

    
“No…I’m not sure I like grandpa…he made my mommy cry…”

    
“Mommies do that sometimes.”

    
The boy beamed. “But the good thing is he’s really rich.”

    
“I guess so…do you know how to use the telephone?”

    
“Yeah, that’s easy.”

    
“Let’s make a secret pact. If your grandpa sends you a card or a present, call me right away. I’ll give you some police stuff as a reward.”

    
“A gun?” the boy perked up.

    
“Well, not quite, but something really cool. What would you think about handcuffs? You could catch criminals with ’em, right?”

    
“Yeah! I want some handcuffs!”

    
Kempas underlined the cell number on his business card and handed it to the boy.

    
“But don’t tell your mom. You’re never supposed to tell moms about secret pacts.”

15.

A man stepped out of a black 1970s Cadillac and glanced around. Under forty, his short hair had been dyed blond and a gold ring pierced his right ear. His black trench coat seemed too tight and he walked with his arms akimbo like a body builder. Though the sidewalk was bustling with traffic, he lumbered through unhindered.

    
“Rusanen is paranoid. He’s afraid the cops are following him,” said Nygren as he observed the man through binoculars from the back window of the Mercedes.

    
“I’m afraid of that, too,” said Raid.

    
“They’re not. I know.”

    
“How?”

    
“I read it in the horoscopes.”

    
The man loitered around, shifting from spot to spot and glancing this way and that. He had been doing the same routine for ten minutes, despite the drizzling rain. On one occasion, he had stopped to sit for a couple of minutes in his black Cadillac.

    
The Mercedes was far enough away that there was no danger of being discovered.

    
“Go inside already, we don’t have all day,” Nygren muttered to himself.

    
The man made his decision and headed toward a moss-green two-story job site trailer. The trailer sat within a fenced-in storage area full of scaffolding, dismantled cranes, pallets, rusty piles of rebar and concrete tubes. Just next to the fence was a gray metal pole building. The drizzling rain only highlighted the grunginess of the area.