Behind God's Back (21 page)

“No, nothing out of the ordinary.”

“Hmm. That's strange. I heard that Haim Levi, the new Israeli Minister of Justice, would be visiting the synagogue during his trip to Finland. Has the visit been cancelled?”

This time Silberstein thought for at least three seconds. “There has been some correspondence about the matter, but —”

“But what?”

“He has preliminarily promised to attend, but —”

“Don't you find the visit worth mentioning?”

Silberstein pouted.

“Did Max have anything to do with the visit?”

“He had been in touch with the ministry, but —”

“I don't want to hear any more buts, just the facts.”

Even Silberstein leant back when I raised my voice. I was a criminal investigator, after all, and had all of the authority bestowed by my office behind me.

“I can hear perfectly well without you shouting,” Silberstein said, his voice dripping indignation.

“You're sabotaging the investigation by holding back critical information.”

Silberstein's face darkened storm-black. Before long, lightning would strike. “Now you're going too far. You can be sure that I'll speak to your superior about this. You've underestimated me badly. The chief of staff at the Ministry of Justice is a good friend of mine —”

“Why don't you just talk to me instead? Max was in charge of arranging the minister's visit, and you didn't say anything about it. You also didn't say anything about Samuel Jacobson being involved in the arrangements, and to top it all off, that he knew minister Levi. We're trying to come up with a motive for Jacobson and Max's deaths, but you're holding back information. Why?”

Silberstein struggled with his outrage for a moment and then said, in a surprisingly compliant tone: “There's no proof that the murders are related to the visit. The last thing I want to do is spread rumours that would hurt the congregation.”

“They
are
related, and you know it full well. Were you afraid the visit would be cancelled if there was some remote chance that risks were involved? That the congregation, or you, would forfeit an amazing PR opportunity, and you'd lose out on a new photo op that would look great hanging there next to Spitz?”

“What have I ever done to you? You're intentionally trying to offend me. The Israeli Ministry of Justice is aware of what has happened. We were also informed in no uncertain terms that the unfortunate incidents that have taken place here will have no effect on Levi's visit.”

“Not even the agenda?”

“We haven't been informed of anything of the sort, at least.”

“Jacobson knew Levi personally. Levi lived at his home during his year as an exchange student. Isn't that true?”

“So I was told.”

“Was Levi supposed to visit Jacobson at his house?”

“No, at…”

“At?”

“At his cottage. Levi had such fond memories of the place when he lived in Finland that he wanted to visit there again, to go for a sauna and a swim.”

“What about now that Jacobson is dead? You just told me that there weren't going to be any changes to the agenda.”

Silberstein stared out of the window. A busy arterial ran past, and more dreary grey element-construction buildings stood on the other side of it.

“Samuel's son Roni has promised to act as host during the visit to the cottage.”

“At Emäsalo?”

It wasn't really a cottage, but an old farmhouse on the sea. The sauna was right at the waterline. I had been there with Lea once. After bathing in the sauna, we had skinny-dipped under the August moon.

“And are you participating in this jaunt to the cottage?”

“That was the plan.”

“Who else is going?”

“Of the trustees, myself, Josef Mayer and Jari Kantor; and then Roni, of course, and his friend Dani Pasterstein, who also knew Levi; Joel Stern, and your brother Eli.”

I felt a twinge in the pit of my stomach.

“Why is Eli going?”

“He returned to Max's place on the executive board. He's taking over Max's duties during the visit.”

21

If Eli had been a little tipsy the last time we met, this time he was dead drunk. And he didn't even try to hide it. When he tossed soil onto Max's coffin, I was afraid he would fall into the grave. I could see the tears stream down his cheeks, even though he clumsily tried to wipe them away.

“
Barukh atah Adonai Eloheinu melekh ha'olam
,” Eli mumbled in Hebrew. It meant:
Blessed are you, Lord, our God, sovereign of the universe
. After that, he tore so violently at the collar of his shirt that his top button flew into the grave. Rending one's clothes was part of the Jewish burial tradition, but Eli's interpretation was in a class of its own.

He had started drinking before Max's funeral, and started right back up after the ceremony, out of a pocket flask. Some of the attendees eyed him in amusement, my uncle Dennis in concern and Silberstein in disapproval. Silberstein's expression augured a short career for Eli in the governing bodies of the Helsinki Jewish congregation. This time, none of the glares had any effect on Eli. He could be thick-skinned, especially when drunk.

After the funeral, I offered him a ride, because he had come by taxi. I wanted to get him home as directly as possible.

“No chance, little brother. I feel like stretching my legs.”

He shambled off, reeling like a sailor headed towards a ship waiting at the docks. I played bodyguard and shadowed him. The first signs of autumn were already showing in the cemetery. Some of the flowers were starting to wilt, and a few yellow leaves could be spotted in the birches. The sun was shining from the direction of Kaivopuisto, giving off a pleasant warmth.

Eli stopped and, leaning against a large oak, lowered himself to the grass. He took another swig from his pocket flask and offered it to me. I sat down next to him and wet my whistle on his cognac. Two days' worth of stubble shadowed Eli's cheeks, and there were stains on his white shirt.

“Are you wondering what happened to your brother, since he's looking so much the worse for wear? I'll tell you. The last time I was at home was the day before yesterday, and I haven't changed shirts since then. What would Mom say if she could see her son now?”

Mom wouldn't say anything
, I thought. She would have just got a good grip on Eli's hair, dragged him to the tub and scrubbed him with a hard brush till his skin was raw. Mom had always preferred action to words. The fact of the matter was, though, she was also perfectly capable of tossing barbs so sharp that their target felt like a dartboard. I had put my mind to it, but I couldn't remember a single tender word ever having passed Mom's lips.

“I'm not wondering what happened to you. I'm wondering what's happening to you.”

“Well, what do you think? Let's hear your analysis, Sherlock Holmes.”

“At least Silberstein didn't care for your little show.”

“Good. Silberstein can kiss my ass. He's nothing but a pompous old scarecrow. I've had it up to here with his bossing me around. The old fart thinks he's Moses reincarnated, leading his people to the Promised Land.”

“I'd rather talk about you and Max.”

“Leave poor, dead Max alone. If he fucked up, he took responsibility for it. There's not a whole lot more you can do, is there?”

“Responsibility for what?”

“I wish I knew. Max is six feet under now. That pretty much put an end to everything, so why don't we, too?”

“You know I can't. The investigation is still ongoing.”

“Baby brother. I'm going to tell you to your face that you don't know what you've stuck your big fat nose into. You're like a flyweight in a heavyweight match. That always ends badly. Here, have a swig.” Eli shoved the flask into my hand again.

I handed the flask back. “The fight's not over until the last round. Besides, I'm fast on my feet.”

Eli looked at it and said: “Do you want to hear why I'm drunk?”

“Because you feel guilty that you went and screwed Max's wife, on the sofa in your office no less, and it's too late to ask for forgiveness.”

The flask paused on its way to Eli's mouth. “She told you?”

“Who else?”

“Why would Ruth tell you that?”

“Because I asked her.”

Eli glared at me accusingly. “You fucker. Why'd you have to go and ask her about stuff like that?”

“How could I have known what you and Ruth had been up to? I just asked a general question.”

Eli shook his head and finished taking the swig. “You're right. I feel bad about that too, but right now I'm mostly drinking because I'm so fucking afraid… And because I'm mourning what happened to Max. Max could be annoying and smug, but he had his good sides, too. You don't know about them. To you Max was just a clown: Maxwell Smart. You're the one who came up with that name.”

“What are you afraid of?”

An inquisitive squirrel circled down the trunk of a tree and bounded onto the grass. Eli held out his flask to it. The squirrel eyed it in an evaluative manner and twitched restlessly, as if unsure of what he was supposed to do with it.

“Would you care for some Hennessy XO, Mr Squirrel? XO means extra old. The best that money can buy… and there's more where this came from.”

Eli pulled a flat half-litre bottle of cognac from the pocket of his trench coat.

“No? Squirrels sure are picky these days… When I was a little boy, squirrels ate whatever they could get their hands on. Those were the days of the post-war shortage, though… What am I afraid of? I can't tell you, otherwise you'll be afraid, too.”

“Try me.”

“No way. I don't want to get you mixed up in anything, even though you seem to be getting me mixed up in just about everything. You are my baby brother, after all, despite the fact that you're a fucking cop and you have the soul of a boy scout.”

“You've already mixed me up in whatever it is, whether you like it or not.”

Eli jabbed me in the ribs with an outstretched finger. “I don't have anything to do with that… Max did, unfortunately. He paid a high price for it, the highest imaginable, even though I warned him a lot of times. Why the fuck did he have to be so cocky?”

“Are you talking about Baltic Invest?”

Eli grunted, but didn't answer. “You cops are always so fucking nosey. Why? Tell me why. Is it something you're born with?”

I knew from experience that Eli could be hard to manage and irritating when he was drunk, so I proceeded with caution. He was already so agitated that he was saying whatever popped into his head.

“Do you know who killed Jacobson?”

“You guys are the ones who should know.”

“If I tell you that we do know, what would you say to that?”

“Ari. Ever since we were kids you thought you were smarter than me, but you're not.”

Eli leant back against the oak's rough surface and closed his eyes.

Slightly modifying the truth, I said: “We know who killed him. The killer is a criminal named Nurmio, who now goes by Leo Meir. He works for Baltic Invest. He needed Jacobson's help and tried to blackmail him. Jacobson refused, which is why he was killed. I'm sure that Nurmio or someone else was also blackmailing Max.”

Eli kept one eye closed, and for a second I thought he had passed out. He eventually continued: “So you're sure. Well, go on then.”

“We believe that Nurmio is in Finland to kill Haim Levi, Israel's new Minister of Justice, who has ordered the Hararin and Jakov investigations reopened. You know that Levi is coming to Finland in a few days.”

Eli cracked open both eyes warily, as if the light pained him.

“Have you noticed that there are lots of gorgeous women in Tel Aviv? Too many. Fuck! And you think you're being careful,” Eli said angrily. He took a long swig from the bottle.

“I already know that you and Max were being blackmailed about women.”

“It's thousands of miles away. For once you think you can have a little fun without someone you know coming out of the woodwork right when you're feeling up a blonde.”

Eli's words would have amused me if Max weren't dead and he wasn't in such bad shape.

“There were no blondes in Tel Aviv, even though I said there were… no, no one was using women to blackmail me, because my wife doesn't care, believe it or not. Max, on the other hand, thought that his wife never noticed anything, but she noticed everything. Ruth told me that she knew about Max's flings, but didn't want to make a big deal about them. Pretty civilized… Let's not make a fuss out of this. But Max went all soft because he was afraid the photos would be sent to Silberstein and the rest of the conclave and they'd be posted online and he'd be a laughing stock. He was jiggling like a bowl full of Jell-O.”