The Defenceless (19 page)

‘By telling yourself you’re fit as a fiddle, that you can carry on with all your bad habits forever.’

‘I’ve just come from the doctor’s. I’m fine.’

‘Is that so?’

‘Yes. I’m supposed to stop smoking, but they all say that, don’t they?’

‘If I’m honest, you don’t look very well. How about the drink?’

‘For Christ’s sake, Pertti, just drop it. You know I do my job far better than many people round here. Did they catch the bugger?’

‘No,’ said Virkkunen. ‘He managed to get away though there
were at least ten officers after him. But at least we’ve been able to disrupt the Cobras good and proper. At this point, that’s what’s most important: making it impossible for them to operate.’

‘Right. And that’s exactly what we’re going to do.’

Virkkunen looked at Esko, puzzled. ‘Is something the matter?’

‘What do you mean?’ Esko snapped.

‘You seem worried.’

‘There’s nothing the matter. I’m a bit tired, that’s all.’

Virkkunen gave Esko a friendly pat on the back. ‘Come round for a sauna some weekend. You haven’t visited for ages. Raija’s always asking after you.’

‘Sounds good,’ said Esko. ‘I’ll do that.’

Esko went into his office to write up his report on yesterday’s operation, but it was hard to concentrate. He kept thinking about the phone call from his informant. He hadn’t said anything to Virkkunen, because he didn’t want to believe what he’d heard. The guy was only after some money; he’d probably invented the whole story. These gang members wouldn’t dare kill a policeman because it wouldn’t do them any good; it would bring them nothing but trouble. The Black Cobras were brutal, but they’d never touched an officer, not even in Denmark. At least, not on purpose. Still, Esko had to admit he was ruffled. Maybe it would be best to remain on his guard, just to be sure. He listened to his heart, to the sensations in his chest. Nothing. Everything felt normal. The cardiograph could wait. Esko looked at the prescription the doctor had given him, tore it in half and threw it into the rubbish bin. He thought of his father, who had smoked like a chimney and lived almost to the age of ninety. I’ve got good genes, he thought and started to write. He wondered how to describe events so as not to draw attention to his own failure. Even an idiot could see that Reza was simply too young to be chased by someone Esko’s age. After typing a few lines he remembered something. He clicked on the bookmark menu. The advertisement was still there, top of the list. He googled the name of the organisation mentioned in the advert. Construction projects in
national parks, teaching in slums, care in orphanages, security work in refugee camps.

You had to buy the flights yourself, but once you were there you were looked after. It’s all a bloody scam, thought Esko. If these people needed a work force so badly, why did you have to pay for your own flight? And God knows what kind of shack you’d have to live in once you got there. You’d doubtless have to share a room with ten sweaty hippies, and the food was probably the cheapest corn gruel imaginable. Esko clicked open the section about security work in refugee camps.
We are looking for security professionals to assist UN troops at refugee camps around the world. Are you looking for voluntary work that offers you real challenges? Are you used to working under pressure in demanding conditions? Do you have experience of the security business? We are looking for people with plenty of first-hand experience in military, police and security positions. Placements from three to six months. Ability to carry a weapon is compulsory.

At least this sounded like something worthwhile. Esko began searching for information on refugee camps without really knowing why. He was surprised. There were lots of camps around the world sheltering a staggering number of people. New camps were springing up all the time, especially in the Middle East, which was going through yet another period of turbulence. For some reason he thought of the Karelian refugees evacuated to Finland during the Second World War.

Esko snapped out of his daydreaming when someone knocked on the door. Virkkunen stood in the doorway looking puzzled, behind him two dark-haired figures, a man and a woman. Esko was taken aback. He hadn’t imagined Reza’s mother would ever get in touch with the police again. He asked Naseem and the interpreter to sit down, asked whether they would like coffee or tea. They both refused, though this didn’t stop Esko fetching himself a fresh cup.

‘Who are they?’ Virkkunen asked him in the corridor.

‘I’ll explain as soon as they’ve gone,’ Esko replied.

‘You’re not up to something I don’t know about, are you?’

‘Of course not. The woman is Reza Jobrani’s mother. I’ve only just tracked her down, but we still haven’t got any significant information out of her.’

‘Come to my office as soon as they leave.’

‘Okay.’

Esko poured himself a cup of coffee and went back to his own office, where a frightened-looking Naseem was sitting next to the interpreter.

‘Has Reza come home?’ Esko asked eagerly. Had the boy taken a scare after the chase and gone running right back to Mummy?

‘I still haven’t seen him,’ Naseem replied and fell silent. She looked uncomfortable, as though it was difficult to talk.

‘What has happened?’ Esko asked, trying to sound friendly.

‘I know something,’ Naseem said quietly.

Right, Esko, keep calm, he frantically told himself.

‘Would you like to talk about it?’ he asked gently.

Naseem nodded and looked at Esko. Tears gleamed in her beautiful dark eyes. Esko felt a wave of pity, a sensation that he didn’t like one bit.

‘I know about the gang. The Black Cobras.’

‘What do you know about them?’

‘It started the first time Reza visited relatives in Denmark. This happened a few years ago, soon after I arrived in Finland. After that trip, he somehow changed.’

‘In what way?’

‘He became secretive. He wasn’t at home very often. Then he dropped out of school.’

‘What was he studying?’

‘He wanted to be a restaurant chef. Not the best career choice, but a career all the same. I wanted him to go to university.’

‘Quite.’

‘In any case, it was a blow to me when he quit school. I tried to talk some sense into him, asked our friends and relatives to talk to
him, but it was futile. It was as though he slipped from our hands, and that’s when things started going downhill.’

‘What happened in Denmark?’

‘His cousins told us that Reza was mixing with the wrong crowd. You know the situation in Denmark; gang warfare is out of hand. That’s when Reza first met the Black Cobras.’

‘Did he tell you what he was up to?’

‘Of course not.’

‘Do you know anything about it?’

The woman looked at Esko with a look of near amusement in her mournful eyes.

‘I’m not stupid. I have my own contacts in Denmark, and besides, I am a mother. Mothers can see everything, if only they open their eyes.’

Esko didn’t respond but waited for her to continue.

‘Reza established the Black Cobras here in Finland – he and his new friends brought it with them like the most prized Danish export. They started putting their operations together at least a year ago. Reza recruited his friends from Vaarala, Rajapuro and across the city.’

‘Why didn’t you contact the police then? And why didn’t you tell me this when I asked you?’ Esko was trying to suppress the note of exasperation in his voice.

Naseem wept. Her tears had created a black blotch of mascara beneath her left eye.

‘It’s not that easy. Perhaps you find this hard to appreciate, but to me, to people like me, the police force does not represent protection – on the contrary. We are all weaned on notions like this, and it’s difficult to change one’s perceptions no matter how much the Finnish authorities try to convince you to trust them.’

‘I understand,’ said Esko, though he didn’t quite understand.

‘I’ve thought about this day and night since your visit. My son is in real danger. I came to the conclusion that I would rather see him in prison than in a coffin. And that is why I want to help the police, to help you, now.’

‘I understand,’ said Esko, and the interpreter relayed this.

For a moment Naseem was silent. She looked at her well-groomed hands, then at the floor, and seemed hesitant once again. A faint blush rose to her cheeks.

‘This really isn’t easy,’ she said and glanced at Esko. Again he noticed the tears welling in her eyes.

‘Of course not,’ Esko said and cleared his throat. ‘Especially when it’s your own child in question.’

‘You are a wonderful man,’ said Naseem and looked Esko full in the eyes. ‘You remind me of my husband.’

Esko was taken aback. He felt suddenly aware of the presence of the interpreter, though the man knew how to sit in the room as though he weren’t there at all. Again Esko cleared his throat, tried to muster something approaching an encouraging smile though he could feel sweat beading on his brow, his cheeks burning. He glanced over at the interpreter, who looked as if he hadn’t noticed a thing.

‘I think I know where Reza is hiding,’ Naseem continued.

‘Where?’ Esko’s voice sounded hoarse.

‘He has two close friends, and they are both involved in the gang. Here are their addresses and their parents’ addresses. Four different places, but Reza is certainly in one of them.’

‘Thank you,’ said Esko. He could say nothing else.

‘There’s no need to thank me. I want to help my son. I don’t want him to end up on the wrong path, or worse, to die. I am trying to tell myself that the police are my friends in this matter.’

‘You are a very wise woman,’ said Esko, to his own surprise.

Naseem dried her tears and smiled at him.

THE AIRPORT CHECK-IN LOUNGE
was surprisingly quiet. The spring break was over, and now planes were filled mostly with slick business passengers whose companies hadn’t heard of such a thing as a conference call. Anna had never understood how a meeting could be so important that it was worth flying people halfway across the planet. The world needed a wake-up call, something to stop it in its tracks and make it realise how crazy things had become. As long as the money kept flowing, there was no incentive to slow down. But right now it didn’t concern her; the main thing was that Ákos got to visit their grandmother.

Her brother looked shaky. Yesterday’s high spirits were gone. Had he hit the bottle once Anna and Gabriella had left? At least budget airlines no longer serve free alcohol, she thought with relief. Once he was back home, surely Ákos wouldn’t dare hit the booze. He wanted to show them he’d changed. Besides, he was genuinely worried about their grandmother. They had agreed that Ákos would call as soon as he arrived.

Ákos checked himself in at the machine in the lobby, or rather Anna did it for him, because Ákos’s hands were trembling too much. Then she accompanied her brother to the relatively short queue at the security gate. Anna stayed behind, watching her brother’s back as he took off his jacket and belt and placed them in a white plastic box, and removed his shoes to reveal an endearing pair of odd socks. As he stepped through the metal detectors, Ákos turned and waved with a smile. His exhausted face lit up with excitement. Anna felt a wrench of longing inside her. I want to go too, she thought and glanced at the clock. Sammy’s interview was scheduled to recommence in an
hour. I’ll take my summer holidays there, she vowed. I won’t spend a single day in Finland.

Hesburger hadn’t yet opened for the day when Esko gripped the handle and tried to pull the large glass door open. A man dressed in a security uniform walked across the room trying to find the right key from a heavy key ring. His figure merged with Esko’s reflection in the glass door; for a moment they were one and the same. The guard found the correct key and ushered in the first customer of the day. Esko mumbled something in reply. Again he chose a spot far away from the windows that looked out on to a busy shopping street. Maybe this isn’t the best meeting place in the world, he thought – but so what? Behind the counter a young girl with a ponytail was waiting, clearly peeved, for Esko to order something, but he never ate hamburgers or drank Coca-Cola. If only they would serve me a cold beer, he thought.

Two teenage girls came in dressed in tight jeans and short jackets, with thick scarves wrapped round their necks like tyres. Their faces were heavily made up and their hair dyed, one bright white, the other light purple. The girls went to the counter and giggled over what to order. Shouldn’t they be at school, thought Esko. Skivers. He looked at the time: five past ten. The damn guy was always late. I should have turned up an hour late, let him wait for once. Esko ordered a coffee and slowly sipped from the paper cup until it was empty. At twenty past ten his informant finally arrived.

‘Am I late?’ he asked first off, then without waiting for an answer informed Esko that he was hungry.

Esko bought him a double cheeseburger and a glass of soda. Here I am, keeping him fed yet again. Jesus, this information had better be worth the trouble, he thought. The man tore into the burger as though he’d never seen food before.

‘You said I’m in danger,’ said Esko, as the man wiped his dirty beard on a napkin and glanced up at the menu above the counter displaying enormous burgers that looked completely different from the ones that customers stuffed into their mouths.

‘Can I have another one?’

‘No. You tell me what the hell’s going on or I’ll leave right now and you can wave goodbye to any food and money.’

The man glared at Esko. Beneath his dishevelled exterior he gave off the certainty of having the upper hand.

‘Whatever, mate,’ he said. ‘You’re the one who’s losing out, not me.’

The two men glowered at one another for a moment. The informant smirked with satisfaction; Esko had to force himself not to punch him.

‘Fine,’ he said eventually and stood up. ‘As you wish. Thirty years in this job means I’m not fazed by anything, least of all a bunch of brats getting too big for their fucking boots. Before long I’ll have rounded up those Paki gangland runts, every last one of them. Then it’ll be time for you lot. Starting with you. I’m sure the Angels would be very interested in your relationship with the police.’

Esko shunted his chair beneath the table with such force that it almost toppled over. He marched out into the street, felt the touch of the chilled spring air on his face, the fug of exhaust fumes in his nose, the incessant hum of the city in his ears. He dug a cigarette from his pocket, lit up and strode off towards the police station.

‘Wait!’ came a desperate voice behind him.

Esko didn’t stop. Let the little fucker run after me. What a satisfying situation.

‘Wait! Hang on, really!’ the man shouted as he ran to catch up with Esko. ‘Have you lost it? Someone’s bound to see us now,’ he gasped and grabbed Esko by the arm.

‘In there,’ said Esko and pointed to a bar across the street, the only place downtown where gang members sometimes enjoyed a morning pint. Not the best place, but it was their only option.

‘Not there,’ said the man in a panic.

‘Get in there. Now,’ Esko commanded him.

Esko bought two bottles of beer.

‘So, now will you talk?’ he said and placed the bottles on the table with a clink.

‘Yeah, but not here,’ said the man, peering nervously around.

‘We’re here now. I haven’t got all day to piss around.’

‘A couple of our guys had a little chat with some of the Cobras the other day. I was driving.’

‘Well, well. A little chat?’

The man smiled. ‘That’s right. A nice, friendly chat, that’s all, to suggest they get the fuck off our turf. Well, during our little chat it turned out they’re planning to take you out. Killing you would be a test of loyalty or something, a dare.’

‘Are they that stupid?’ Esko scoffed, though the idea chilled him.

‘They’re out of control, man. They’ve got so much gear on the streets, new members coming up, back-up from Denmark, money, you name it. It’s starting to go to their heads. They think they’re the fucking Godfather. The Angels are pissed off.’

‘Who was it you talked to?’

‘Reza and his mate from Denmark.’

‘Where are they now?’

‘Dunno. We met up with them out of town. Far away from beady eyes.’

‘How do they get about?’

‘I didn’t see their car. They’d parked well out of view.’

‘I don’t think they’d tell you something like this. You’re lying.’

‘I’m not.’

‘If they’re planning to kill me, why the hell would they tell the Angels? Something’s not right here.’

‘Well, if you want the truth, we met up to try and bury the hatchet, to suggest we work together.’

Christ almighty, thought Esko. That’s all we need.

‘And you’re not on our Christmas card list either. We lost a shit load of money because of you.’

‘And how’s that?’

‘The gear at that small-time junkie’s place belonged to us. The kid was supposed to sell it on to the Cobras, but you lot organised a raid before either of us could get our hands on it.’

‘And who was it gave me the address?’ Esko asked. ‘If you ask me, they’ve got the wrong man in the firing line.’

The young man swallowed, took a gulp of beer. Suddenly he seemed to notice something. A look of panic spread across his face and he quickly lowered his head.

‘Can I have the money? I’ve got to get out of here.’

Esko took an envelope from his jacket pocket and slid it across the table. The man snatched it, peered inside, stuffed it into his own pocket and disappeared into the crowded street without looking back.

Esko calmly finished his beer. He heard the drone of drunken conversation at the next table. Esko glanced over at the people sitting there and recognised at least one of them, an old acquaintance of the police. The man nodded towards him. I hope he’s not involved with the Angels these days, thought Esko. If so, I’m not the only one in danger. Well, my snitch makes his own choices; I can’t be responsible for his safety round the clock. He certainly seemed to be telling the truth, though he clearly hadn’t told everything he knew. I’m just one policeman among many – I’m not even a gang liaison officer. I shouldn’t matter a damn. Why the hell would the Cobras want to take me out? Could this be part of the plan they’d hatched with the Angels? Am I getting too close to something important? He thought of Naseem.

‘You have confessed to the murders of Marko Halttu and Vilho Karppinen. Would you like to change your statement?’ Anna began yet another interview.

Sammy still seemed keen. A little too keen, Anna thought.

‘No. I killed them.’

‘Tell us exactly what happened, in the correct order, in as much detail as possible.’

‘The old guy turned up at Macke’s flat and started sounding off.’

‘When was this?’

‘One night I was there. A few weeks ago. I can’t remember the exact date.’

‘And why was he “sounding off”?’

‘Because Macke had the music up too loud.’

Anna recalled that one of the neighbours had made an official complaint about the noise.
A fene egye meg
– was Sammy telling the truth after all?

‘What happened next?’

‘The old codger stood there shouting and I lost my temper. I told him to shut it or I’d kill him. He wouldn’t stop. I hit him in the face and he fell over, then I smacked his head a few times against the corner of the table. And he died.’

Anna looked over at Ritva Siponen. She shook her head with a look of resignation.

‘Sammy, you don’t understand Finnish,’ said Anna. ‘How could you have talked to Vilho?’

Sammy appeared to think about this for a moment. ‘That must be why he didn’t realise I was serious.’

Anna shivered. ‘Then what?’

‘Then Macke and I threw him from the balcony, dragged him into the car, drove him far away and dumped him in the road. It served him right.’

‘Had you taken any Subutex at this point?’

Ritva cleared her throat, trying to get Sammy’s attention.

‘No. I was completely sober. I only took some once we got back to the flat.’

‘This is a very serious matter.’

‘I know,’ he answered.

‘And what about Marko? Why did you kill him?’

‘I already told you. He didn’t want to give me any subs, even though the flat was full of the stuff. I tried to grab some from him and we got into a fight. He threatened to call the cops and tell them what I’d done to the old guy. I gave him a good beating, punched him in the head, just the way I’d done to that old man. I don’t know whether he died there and then, but I decided to make sure with a little extra Subutex. I injected him with quite a lot. It would have killed a horse.’

‘Why are you telling us this now?’

Sammy seemed pensive. He pouted his red-brown lips, and for a moment he looked like a little boy. Then his expression turned to one of sadness. He lowered his eyes and stared at the floor as though in shame.

‘My conscience has started to plague me. I am a Christian. I want to atone for my sins.’

‘Very well, Sammy. I am arresting you for the murders of Vilho Karppinen and Marko Halttu.’

‘How long will I get?’

‘I don’t decide that. But it’ll be many years.’

‘Ritva, how long?’

Ritva Siponen didn’t answer. She simply stared at the floor in disbelief.

After concluding the interview, Anna called the forensics team and told them to take a closer look at Marko Halttu’s apartment and balcony. Then she telephoned Linnea Markkula to ask about the contusions on Vilho’s head. Linnea believed the injury was consistent with Sammy’s story about the coffee table.

‘I was puzzled by that wound from the start, do you remember? It didn’t look like something sustained in a car accident,’ said Linnea with satisfaction.

Anna remembered. The two incidents had happened so close to one another that the forensics team hadn’t been able to differentiate the wounds. So it seemed that Sammy really was telling the truth. Everything he had said matched the evidence. Anna didn’t understand why she was so upset, angry even. Despite everything, she didn’t want to believe Sammy’s version of events. Sammy wasn’t a killer. The boy could never bring himself to smash a defenceless old man’s head against a table, no matter how many drugs he’d taken; of that Anna was almost certain. Or was she completely mistaken? The most dangerous psychopaths could often seem charming and innocent, more so than genuinely charming and innocent people
themselves. Maybe Esko was right after all and Sammy was the main suspect in the street-gang case too. Maybe Sammy was the reason for the vast quantities of drugs they’d found in Halttu’s apartment.

Anna looked at the clock on her office wall. In a few hours Ákos would land in Budapest and step out of the airport into eighteen-degree heat, into the land of
pálinka
and the
puszta
, surrounded by relatives. The sun shimmered behind the window, the frosted trees glittering in its raw, penetrating light. Why won’t the sun warm us properly, she wondered. The sub-zero temperatures went on and on; that morning it went down almost to -10°C. She’d scraped the car windows so vigorously that her arm ached. The seat had been ice cold, freezing Anna’s bottom. The car had only properly warmed up once they reached the airport. I’ll probably get a urinary-tract infection or something even worse, she thought. I’m sick of this freezing weather. I’m sick of snow, still heaped around the city at the beginning of May. I’m sick of the frost permanently stuck across the car windows, of skiing and the northern wind that seems to rip through everything. I’m sick of the slippery pavements, sick of always feeling cold outside, then sweating beneath layers of winter clothes the minute I step into a department store, only to feel even colder when I walk outside again. I want to look out across the open sea, not a sheet of ice.