Nights of Awe (28 page)

Authors: Harri Nykanen

BOOK: Nights of Awe

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I could only imagine the kind of article Silberstein would hack out in his fury. He was not known for his diplomacy. That didn’t bother me in the least. But it did bother me that Eli was dressing me down as if he were my boss.

“Silberstein and the ambassador can think whatever they want. I’m just doing my job.”

“Don’t underestimate them. They can cause you a lot of trouble.”

Eli’s expression was so full of concern that you would have imagined he was talking about himself. He looked to see what kind of impression his words had made and seemed a little disappointed when I simply stated: “Could be.”

“I think I could set up a meeting where we could settle your differences of opinion. They don’t have anything against you, just your bull-headed way of handling things without taking realities into account.”

“I’m not a politician, just a fucking poorly paid cop who’s never going to make it onto the list of Finland’s richest people. For me, the only reality is what my work happens to demand at any given moment.”

The F-word on Yom Kippur Eve in Eli’s elegant home was as big an offence as bringing a ham hock as a hostess gift. I wanted Eli to understand how insulting I found his offer of reconciliation.

He got the message and melted into misery.

“It wouldn’t hurt. Come on.”

“I’ll think about it.”

“Promise?”

“I promise to think about it.” I had no intention of meeting Silberstein and the ambassador. I didn’t have anything to settle, at least not with them. I just didn’t want Eli to be after me all night. I knew what a nag he could be.

I still decided to give him a little more than the challah to chew on.

“By the way, I ran across yours and Max’s loan business. You brokered a loan for Ali Hamid, who was shot at the body shop and is the cousin of terrorist suspect Tagi.”

It was if Eli had taken a blow to the gut.

He took a deep breath.

“It was… you can be sure that it’s a one hundred per cent honest business loan. The body shop and its contents are the collateral. I didn’t tell you about it because I didn’t want you to be worried for no reason.”

“I would have been less worried if you had told me. How was it that Hamid just happened to end up as your client?”

“The application came through the main bank in Tallinn. The loan had already been approved, I just handled the formalities. Believe me… there’s nothing shady about it.”

“Then why were you scared enough to come ask me about Hamid’s death the night before last?”

“Isn’t it natural that my client’s death interested me? Especially when you’re investigating the case?”

“It interested some other people, too. Silberstein has a Volvo hatchback, doesn’t he?”

“Two birds with one stone. He was interested on the congregation’s behalf. The reason has become obvious enough, I presume.”

When we got back to the living room, I could hear Max explaining to my uncle: “It’s an international investment company that’s looking for a foothold in the Nordic countries. We locked down representation in Finland. If everything goes well, the company has limitless opportunities for growth.”

My uncle’s response was tepid.

“Here and at this interest level? There’s already too much money being shoved onto the market. Who wants to borrow money from a completely unknown company in times like these?”

My uncle laughed.

“Or of course there are people who will take the money, but if you want clients who will pay it back…”

The conversation was interrupted when Silja asked us to the table. Even though she hadn’t converted to Judaism, she had set a half-traditional table in honour of the majority of her guests.

Eli asked my uncle to bless the bread.

I was almost envious of the dignity with which my uncle read the blessing:

“
Barukh ata Adonai Eloheinu melekh ha’olam, hamotzi lechem min ha’aretz
.”

“Blessed art Thou, Lord our God, King of the universe who brings forth bread from the earth.”

I hung around for an hour after dinner, leaving at the same time as my uncle. He looked tired and remained silent during the taxi ride. It wasn’t until we got to Etu-Töölö that he blurted out: “If I were your brother, I’d split the sheets with Max and fast. It’s just a matter of time before he makes an utter mess of his affairs and drags Eli down with him.”

I almost started. Did my uncle know more than he was letting on, or could he really be that perceptive?

“Don’t ask me what I mean. If I were still a bank manager, Max would never get a loan from me. It’s not a matter of not liking him, it’s a matter of understanding human nature.”

I had a photo of Hanna at home that had been taken five years before she died. She had been about twenty then. In it, she is smiling so broadly that it brightens her face and her eyes.

At her neck there’s a gold chain that I had bought her as a birthday present.

Hanna had also been wearing the necklace when she killed herself with barbiturates.

I hadn’t heard from Hanna in over a week, and she hadn’t returned any of my calls. On Yom Kippur Eve I had gone over to her place in Tapiola and forced the super to open the door. She had already been dead for two days.

Next to her on the bed was a goodbye note and photographs from her childhood. She had spread them out like a photo-essay of her truncated life.

Along with Hanna, Eli and Dad and I appeared in the photos. Mum wasn’t in a single one.

There was no one at the new Jewish cemetery but me.

The place radiated an austere melancholy. The gravestones were for the most part dark and looked like they had been cut in the same mould. Paving stones and crushed gravel took the place of lawns and plantings.

The austerity was appropriate, considering that every Jew – lord and labourer alike – is buried in a coffin made of unsanded planks as a reminder that we are all equal before death.

A tall stone wall insulated the cemetery from the rest of the world. The sounds of the city carried over it in a steady hum.

Hanna’s grave was near the wall, under an old bird cherry. In the spring it was white with blossoms; now the leaves were starting to yellow. In contrast to the usual sombre tone, her gravestone was red granite. The stone bore a gold Star of David, the name, the dates of birth and death in Hebrew, and that was it.

I placed a flower on the grave and a small stone I had collected from Hanna’s favourite place to play, Hietanie-menranta Beach, on the gravestone.

Whenever I went to the cemetery, I was compelled to imagine what Hanna might have become if she had had the will to live. Something important, I was sure, because she was exceptionally talented in so many ways. Maybe that’s exactly why she couldn’t take it; she was too far removed from everything normal. A long life filled with mundane worries was meant for mediocrities like Eli and me.

When I found Hanna dead, a handwritten note had been lying next to her on the bed. It read: “Ari, don’t be sad and don’t blame yourself. Live for me, too. That small star near the sun is me, your loving sister Hannah.”

I realized I was wiping away tears, my own. I turned and walked off under the rustling trees. Once I reached the gate, I yanked the yarmulke from my head. My mind had cleared, and I felt strong and sure.

It was time to quit sentimentalizing and wrap this case up.

And Yom Kippur was the best possible day to do it.

Because before I was finished, a lot of people were going to have a real reason to repent.

Josef Meyer was draping a rich brown mink over a mannequin that had faded to a wan grey. When the door tinkled, Meyer tossed a hopeful glance in my direction: the first customer was always the most important customer of the day.

He recognized me and his hopes flew out the window.

He muttered something, turned his back on Simolin and me, and continued dressing the mannequin.

“Good morning, Mr Meyer,” I said in an authoritative voice. “Please get your hat and coat and close up the shop. You’re being arrested on suspicion of complicity in a murder.”

Meyer turned.

“Just leave an old man in peace, Kafka.”

“You decide. You told me that Weiss called from Israel and set up the meeting. We examined the phone logs. We didn’t find any such call. That means you were lying to the police officer in charge of the investigation. Now you will tell us everything, or you’ll be coming with us to HQ.”

“You’d arrest me? Do you really hate me that much?”

I didn’t answer. I could feel my dander-tortured nose beginning to run.

Meyer’s cheeks twitched. He weighed the situation for a moment and then, in the face of the inevitable, gave in.

“If you have something to ask, ask.”

“Who was Ben Weiss?”

“I don’t know, but I can put two and two together. He was Mossad.”

In a small gesture of conciliation, I adopted a less formal tone.

“So what was your role?”

“Weiss needed a front. All they wanted from me was permission to say that we had negotiated some fur deals – if someone asked, that is. They assured me that no one would. I never even met Weiss. I was given a photo so I would recognize him if it proved necessary.”

“Who asked for your help?”

“Kaplan. Or before that, Silberstein called and told me that someone would be in touch… He asked me to assist on behalf of the congregation.”

“Dan Kaplan?”

“Yes. Salomon’s boy.”

“What reason did he give?” Simolin asked.

“That they were tracking some terrorists who were believed to be in Finland, and that’s why they needed my help.”

“What else did he say?”

“Nothing. They’re not a very talkative bunch.”

“What about when Weiss died?”

“Kaplan called again and told me what to say if someone asked… that Weiss was a fur merchant and that he was carrying a lot of cash and that maybe he had been robbed. That’s all I know… I believed and still believe that they were working for a good cause. I wanted to help.”

“Like Oxbaum?”

“Yes. He promised to arrange the car. Then he reported it stolen.”

“And who else?”

“I don’t know.”

“Where’s Kaplan staying?”

“Even if you arrested me, there’s nothing more I could tell you.”

Meyer turned around and began fiddling with the fur on the mannequin.

His back was hunched and his head wobbled.

I thanked him.

I managed to make it into the entryway before sneezing.

I had just turned on my computer when there was a knock at the door. Stenman entered my room.

“Ari, is your phone off?”

I had turned it off at the cemetery and forgotten to turn it back on. I had been in total phone blackout for a couple of hours.

“Vivica Mattsson has been trying to call you. She left her number. She claimed it was urgent.”

I called as soon as Stenman had left the room. I barely managed to say my name before Mattsson asked:

“Can you come here right now?”

“Where here?”

“My place.”

“Is there something—”

“Please come right now…”

Mattsson gave me her address. I shouted for Stenman to join me and we rushed to the garage.

Mattson lived on Castréninkatu in Kallio. We didn’t wait for the elevator; we ran up to the third floor. I loosened my gun in its holster and rang the doorbell. There was movement at the peephole, and the door immediately opened. Mattson hurriedly pulled the door closed behind me.

“Thank God you’re here…”

Mattsson looked genuinely afraid, but I began to wonder whether the actor in her had got the upper hand. Or had she connived to lure me there because she was interested in me? Bringing Stenman along might not have been such a great idea after all.

Mattson’s apartment was the same kind of mishmash of antique and modern furniture as my own place; some of the pieces were clearly inherited. The apartment was spacious and full of light. Her dog came and sniffed me first and then Stenman.

“I saw him.”

“Who?”

“One of the two men who was running on the bridge.”

“When and where?”

“Half an hour ago… I tried to call right away but I couldn’t get hold of you… he saw me and started following me…”

Stenman lowered a hand onto Mattsson’s own.