Helsinki White (16 page)

Twenty minutes later, the car exploded. Kaarina Saukko had been moved a safe distance from the vehicle, bound hand and foot but uninjured. The man in the rear of the vehicle beside her was discovered to be a mannequin fastened upright in the car. The lone kidnapper appeared to have left the scene of the explosion on a small motorcycle, probably a dirt bike. Kaarina reported that during the time she had spent abducted, she received good treatment in the basement of a home. During transport, her eyes were covered, but it had been a long journey. She also stated that she and Antti had been separated, and that she never saw him during the time of her abduction.

That evening, on the bank of the Aurajoki River, which runs through Turku and into the sea, the body of Jussi Kosonen was found. He had been murdered by a single gunshot to the back of the head. His body was near a speedboat that he had purchased in Turku, with cash, three days previously. The money and paintings were nowhere to be found. Multiple sets of Kosonen’s fingerprints were found in the wreckage of the burnt-out car used in the crime. Fingerprints also proved Kaarina had been held hostage in the basement of his home, which he had soundproofed.

Investigation into Jussi Kosonen raised many questions but answered none. He had been a forty-four-year-old corporate lawyer employed by the University of Turku. Kosonen had studied in Turku and Stockholm and spoke several languages fluently. His profile bore no resemblance to that of a high-stakes kidnapper, and according to his employer, he didn’t have money difficulties.

The Turku branch of the Social Democratic Party was flabbergasted by the revelation. Kosonen had stood as a Social Democratic candidate in the municipal elections in the autumn of the previous year. He lost the election. Kosonen was the father of three and in the process of getting a divorce. He was supposedly tending to the children while his wife was on a two-week vacation in Tenerife. The children hadn’t attended school during that time. Kosonen had informed the school that he had decided to take the children and join his wife on holiday, in an apparent attempt at reconciliation.

Antti Saukko wasn’t returned to his family and remains missing, raising the question of whether he took part in the crime or was murdered by his kidnappers. Kaarina Saukko was assassinated with a high-powered rifle while strolling outside the family villa three days after her release. The bullet entered one temple, passed through her head, and exited out the other side. The bullet was never recovered. However, the wound channel suggested the bullet had been fired from a.308 caliber rifle with a full metal jacket. A simulation of the sniping, guesswork at best, and a calculation of trajectory based on it indicated that the shot had been fired from about seven hundred fifty meters.

If the killer were proficient enough, he could have fired a sniper rifle with the intent of passing the round through her head without hitting hard bone, and he would know what lay beyond her, and could have intended to ensure that the bullet came to rest in a place from which it would be impossible to locate and recover. For instance, in a patch of grassy lawn, where the bullet would bury itself and be impossible to find, or into the sea. Such an assassination would require a marksman of significant prowess.

No progress whatsoever has been made in the case since her murder.

I got an e-mail from Milo. He spoke with Ismo, the pathologist, about Lisbet Söderlund’s head. Ismo hates to be called and asked for synopses of autopsies. He expects a detective either to take enough interest to show up at the autopsy, or wait for the transcription, which may take months. I’ll send him a bottle of scotch. Grumpy though he was, he informed Milo that Lisbet was dead when she was decapitated. Her neck was severed through to the spine with a single ring-like cut, and then her spine was severed with a fine-toothed electric saw. The act was smooth enough to be worthy of a talented butcher. More expertise and professionalism. My talk with Moreau tomorrow seemed of growing importance.

S
unday, March twenty-eighth. The day of my “Welcome back to the world” party. It’s a misnomer. I was only in the hospital for a short time after my surgeries and became semi-active almost immediately upon returning home. I had a feeling it was really Milo’s party. It was his idea, and he decided the guest list. Just me, Kate, Sweetness, Arvid, and himself. Every time the subject came up—and he often mentioned it—he radiated exuberance. He set the time at three o’clock. I had invited Moreau to come at four, so Milo could unveil whatever treasures he had for us to behold.

Kate and I spent the morning in bed. We made love for the first time since Anu was born. Technically speaking, she had been able to have sex for a couple weeks, but she was nervous about it and we waited. Afterward, we lounged with Anu and Katt and talked. Just small talk. Her lack of work and reticence on both our parts to discuss mine limited our topics of discussion. But having both an infant and a kitten—both were growing fast—filled the void.

Around noon, the door buzzer rang. Kate sighed. “None of them would dare show up this early, would they?” she asked.

“No,” I said, “it’s something else.”

Two deliverymen brought in massive boxes. I asked the men to open the boxes for me, and they unveiled a massive man’s chair covered in soft blue-gray fabric, a stool, and a reading lamp.

Kate watched, astonished and amused, as I directed where they should be placed. I gave them a generous tip, and the deliverymen left.

I plunked down in the chair and put my feet up. The seat was four feet wide, had plenty of room for both of us. I patted the seat beside me. “Try it out,” I said.

She sat snuggled up next to me and interlaced her feet with mine on the stool. She asked, “So, what prompted this?”

The dining and living room are one open space. Only a low dais separates the two rooms. Our couch faces away from the dining room toward a big flat-screen TV and entertainment center. A built-in bookcase composes the wall to the right. Besides these things, the living room contained only a couple chairs for guests. Usually, Kate sat on the couch beside me or lay on it in front of me, with my arm draped over her, especially if we were watching TV.

“It’s just something I’ve never had but always wanted,” I said. “I spend a lot of time at home. I can sit here with my laptop if I’m working, and it’s big enough for the whole family to sit in together if we like.”

She nodded her head in agreement. “Pretty cool,” she said. “It’s really high-quality. How much did it cost?”

I said, “Don’t ask.”

She didn’t, just buried her face deep in my shoulder for a little post-coital dozing. Katt sat in my lap and purred. Anu lay in her crib, and I heard barely audible snoring. She was having a nap, and I did the same.

Around one, I woke and told Kate I had to get ready for the party, and that Moreau, a French policeman, would be coming at four for a brief discussion about the murder investigation.

“It takes you ten minutes to shower and shave,” she said.

“I have primping to do,” I said.

It was a strange word for her to hear come out of my mouth as a way of describing my ablutions.

“‘Primping’?”

“Yes, primping.”

She scooted over so I could get up. “Far be it from me to interfere. By all means, primp.”

I went to the bathroom, locked the door, and set about dyeing my hair. After I was done and it was dry, I realized I didn’t own a comb, hadn’t in over twenty years. My hair hadn’t been long enough to warrant one. It was still pretty short, though, and I just sort of mussed it forward with my fingers and thought it looked all right.

I examined myself in the mirror. I was thirteen pounds lighter from not working out, was down to a hundred and eighty, but had no fat on me. My scar was gone. My hair was auburn. I wasn’t sure who I was looking at.

I realized that my vision seemed sharper. Everything seemed sharper. Memories seemed muddled compared to my current perceptions. I felt my thinking had become more focused, more insightful. I wondered if the empty space in my skull was filling in, if I would regain my emotions anytime in the near future.

I walked out of the bathroom naked, without my crutches, forced myself not to limp, and found Kate in the kitchen, drinking a glass of water. She dropped it, and it shattered on the floor. She stammered out, “Oh my God.”

“Is that a good or bad ‘Oh my God’?” I asked.

Her stare was intense and she couldn’t seem to stop. “I don’t know. In my mind, I see my husband of three months ago, but I look at the man in front of me, and the two don’t equate. You look like a different person. And ten years younger.”

I flashed my practiced smile and started picking up shards of glass. “That was my intention.”

A
RVID SHOWED UP
half an hour early. I had dressed in case someone did just that, put on jeans and a new sweater. He took off his shoes in the foyer, pulled a small gift-wrapped box out of his jacket pocket and looked me up and down. “Nice job,” he said, “you’re almost unrecognizable.”

“Good,” I said.

“Sorry to come early,” he said, “but I need a few minutes to talk to you.”

He walked into the living room. “Goddamn. Nice chair.”

“Try it out,” I said.

Arvid plunked into the chair and put his feet up.

Kate came in and moved to sit with us. I gave her a look that said we needed a moment, and asked her if she would be kind enough to make some coffee. She gave us privacy.

“Here.” He handed me the box. “Open it.”

I sat down on the couch at an angle from him and tore off the wrapping paper to find an old and worn hinged box. Inside the box was his Winter War medal. Only a few men left alive had earned one, and God knows how much blood was spilled and suffering endured to earn it.

I held it, turned it over in my hands, admired it, put it back in its box and tried to hand it back to him. “I’m honored, but I can’t accept this.”

His hands were on the chair’s armrests, and he refused to lift a hand to take it back.

“I’m giving this to you, and telling you something now, because I can take advantage of your post-surgery condition. You’re emotionless, and you won’t protest or argue with me. It’s true, that medal was my most prized possession, but it’s symbolic of something else. I’ve seen a lawyer, had the papers drawn up, and made you my heir.”

This confused me. “Why?”

“I have no family. My friends are all dead and buried. I just turned ninety. I needed to make a decision or when I die, my estate will go to the government, and they’ll spend the majority of it on things I disapprove of. Your position is tenuous. You may not be a policeman much longer. My home is spacious and comfortable, a good place to raise a family, and it’s paid for. Plus, I have considerable assets. They’ll make you safe from the vagaries of political misfortunes.”

“But still, why me and why now?”

“Don’t make me uncomfortable. You know why. You’re a good boy, I’ve enjoyed your friendship, and you’ve made me feel a part of your family. Why now? I’m ninety fucking years old. Don’t be thick.”

I sat for a moment, overwhelmed. I searched for words, but only found two. “Thank you.”

He smiled. “You’re welcome. Let’s not speak of it again.”

We enjoyed a comfortable silence. Kate didn’t bring coffee.
She had lived in Finland long enough to know we wanted peace, not caffeine.

The buzzer rang again. Milo and Sweetness arrived at the same time. They were weighed down with packages. They looked at me and gawked. Sweetness dropped his armload of gift-wrapped boxes. “Damn,
pomo
,” he said. “You look great, but I wouldn’t have even recognized you.”

“You two laughed at me when I told you to keep a low profile, so I decided to set an example.”

“You did a good job,” Milo said. “You look so … young.”

They had to make three trips to get all the boxes into the apartment, and they piled them in the middle of the living room. They kicked off their boots and found places to sit. Arvid kept my new chair. Kate sat on the couch beside me, and Sweetness on the other side of her. Milo swept the house for electronic surveillance, then sat on the floor, in the middle of his treasure trove.

“Well, Kari,” he said, “welcome back to the world.”

“I never left it.”

“You came close enough.”

“Not really.”

Milo had on an exquisite new leather jacket. Must have cost a fortune. Our talk about anonymity must not have quite taken hold. I didn’t comment on it.

“Does anyone notice anything unusual about this coat?” he asked.

No one did, and he kept waiting, so finally Kate said, “Well, it’s very nice,” so he would get on with it.

“It’s custom-made to conceal this,” Milo said, and drew an antique sawed-off double-barreled shotgun from a soft and thin
leather holster sewn into the coat’s lining. He handed it to me. It was the most beautiful firearm I’d ever seen.

“It’s a 10-gauge Colt Model 1878 Hammer shotgun. When it first came out, it was the most expensive gun Colt made. It’s a side lock, double-hammer, double-trigger gun with brown Damascus pattern barrels, blue trigger guard and break lever.”

I looked it up and down. It was covered in gorgeous floral scroll engravings. The barrels extended just past the fore-end, and the buttstock had been cut down to the pistol grip with such skill that it looked as if it had been designed that way. The modifications to the checkered walnut and ebony were the work of a master craftsman.

“When it was manufactured, it had thirty-two-inch barrels,” Milo said. “Before it was turned into this hand cannon.”

I passed it around so the others could admire it. “Can it handle modern ammunition?” I asked.

“No. It would explode like a grenade. I got everything so I can make shells just like they were in the 1880s. The same gunpowder, paper shell casings, wadding. Everything is perfect. Cut down like this, the shot pattern is wide enough to take out a room full of men with a single blast if I let both barrels go. But you have to be careful. If you shot it with one hand, instead of keeping the other on top of it for ballast, the gun would rear up and backward, maybe break your wrist and split your head open.”