Holy Ceremony

by Harri Nykanen

  “Sometimes it seems as if God punishes wrongdoers on our behalf. I believe one punishment is enough for Oksanen.” She fingered her spectacles nervously as she said: “What if I told you I wanted to retract the allegations against Detective Oksanen?”

  My phone vibrated, indicating an incoming message. I glanced at it: Call!!! It’s important. Seija Haapala.

  Laurén’s ex-wife’s text message and its three exclamation points made me momentarily lose my train of thought. I had to focus to get back on track.

  “Then I’d discuss the matter with my superior and we’d consider how to proceed. It won’t necessarily change anything. If we determine that in our view Oksanen has committed a crime, we have a duty to investigate.”

  “I’m not saying that Detective Oksanen didn’t do wrong, but it seems as if he has already received his punishment. So let’s call the whole thing off, no matter what you may think of me.”

  Ms. Vartiainen took her notes from the table and shredded them. “No copy of these exists.”

  “I didn’t tell you about Detective Oksanen because I wanted to pressure you either way,” I said. But the truth was, I had manipulated Ms. Vartiainen, whether I wanted to admit it or not.

  “If I thought you had, I’d be demanding Detective Oksanen’s punishment even more vehemently. I consider myself a good judge of character, and I can see you’re an honest man.”

  “I hope so.”

  I didn’t know which I meant myself: that I hoped I was honest, or that I hoped she believed I was.

  I called Seija Haapala the moment I got outside. “You tried to reach me.”

  “Is it true Kai Halme was murdered?”

  “Where did you hear that?”

  “Ola called and told me. Was it Reka?”

  “We don’t know who did it. Were you the one who warned him we were coming?”

  “Absolutely not. I’m the last one he’d tell where he’s hiding out.”

  “Maybe you heard from Sotamaa. You two are on good terms.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Are you telling me you aren’t?”

  “Not as good as someone might think, reading between the lines of what you just said.” The realization came like a bolt out of the blue, the way they usually do. I remembered Laurén’s bitterness when he talked about Halme’s intrigues with women.

  “You and Halme had an affair, too.”

  I heard a deep sigh. “That was over fifteen years ago. It was as short as it was hot.”

  I continued taking potshots to see if my luck would hold out. “Is Mandi Halme’s daughter?”

  “You’re letting your imagination get the better of you. Halme knew how to make a woman feel good; we had our fun. Everything would have been just fine, but Ola found out by accident and had to go and spill the beans. In any case, Reka is Mandi’s father and that’s that. No need to start coming up with far-fetched theories.”

  “Are you afraid your ex-husband killed Halme out of jealousy?”

  “It occurred to me, when I heard where the killing took place. I don’t get why Reka would have done it, though. It’s been so long he would have had no shortage of better opportunities if he wanted to kill Kai. The more I think about it, the crazier the idea sounds.”

  “Does the name Ossi Hätönen mean anything to you?”

  “No. Who’s he?”

  “The current headmaster at the Daybreak Academy. Attended at the same time as your ex-husband. Reka clearly had something against him.”

  “Then I know who he is. Hätönen showed up once by chance when Särkivaara or whatever that teacher’s name was—”

  “Särkijärvi.”

  “—when Särkijärvi was fondling Reka in the music room. Reka asked Hätönen to tell the headmaster what he’d seen. Hätönen chickened out and claimed he didn’t see anything. Reka hated him.”

  “What about Heikki Moisio? Does the name say anything to you? He’s Ilta-Sanomat reporter Jyri Moisio’s brother and another former boarding student from Daybreak.”

  “I’ve never heard of him, but his brother, that reporter, wouldn’t stop calling me about a year ago.”

  “Why?”

  “He asked me to let Reka know he wanted to get in touch with him.”

  “A year ago?”

  “At least. Something occurred to me: since you guys are so set on finding former members of the Sacred Vault, I’m assuming you know the Daybreak Academy is celebrating its centennial this spring, and alumni from around the world will be attending. Former members of the Vault will definitely be participating. Reka got an invitation, too.”

  21

  I had to admit that I would have been up the creek if Simolin had stayed in Canada contemplating Native Americans. The case Laurén had kicked off was swelling to such dimensions that we were drowning in leads. Luckily Simolin was an organized man. He didn’t need any convoluted Excel spreadsheets to put the pieces we’d gathered into place and concentrate on what was relevant. I’d asked him to prepare an interim summary of the investigation; the big picture was easier to grasp when you intermittently reviewed what information you had. Getting a handle on this disintegrating case was like trying to get a grip on wet toilet paper. It was also time to re-evaluate the overall tack we had taken.

  Simolin browsed through his notebook, where drawings of Native American headdresses and other regalia appeared among the notes. My personal preference was for coloring in squares and doodling jagged lightning bolts.

  “We have five homicides, all of which have taken place within a three-year period. Kivalo was the first to be killed, then Sandberg, then Anteroinen, then Moisio, and last of all Halme. On top of that, Silén is missing. Five unsolved homicides. That’s a lot in such a short period, especially if we assume that it’s the same perp. Is it possible someone could have murdered five people they knew without anyone being able to connect the cases…”

  “That’s hard to believe; you have a point,” Stenman conceded.

  “I don’t believe it, either, even if the killer would have had the fact going for him that the crimes took place all over Finland and abroad. I don’t think it’s the same perp in every case. I met the investigator from the Moisio stabbing and don’t believe it’s part of the same series. Moisio used drugs, amphetamines and cocaine, and a small amount of cocaine was found on the body. The investigator thinks the stabbing was drug-related. The word was the attorney had crossed swords with his client, a big-time drug dealer. The crook suspected Moisio ratted him out to the cops about a money-laundering operation so the police wouldn’t look too closely at his own affairs. And the MO was so different than in the other four cases. On the other hand, Anteroinen’s criminal activity might also have been the motive for his murder.”

  “Do you think Anteroinen could have been using drugs… or selling them? That might be a link between the cases,” Stenman pondered.

  “Moisio lived in Helsinki; Anteroinen lived in Kouvola. The attorney would have had no trouble getting his fixes without Anteroinen. Anteroinen’s case also diverges from the others in two more ways. Number one: Anteroinen’s is the only case where revenge dating from his time at Daybreak makes sense as a motive. He molested students, so it’s easy enough to imagine that one of them, or even a loved one of a suicide victim, would have wanted revenge.”

  “Why hasn’t anyone killed Särkijärvi?” I asked.

  “He’s been living abroad.”

  “That didn’t protect Kivalo.”

  “Kivalo was married; same goes for Sandberg. Both had kids. No one has even hinted that they had anything to do with molesting the boys. And Silén’s disappearance more likely has to do with his own business affairs than Daybreak.”

  “So we still don’t have much to work with.”

  “What was the second factor that set Anteroinen apart from the other cases?” Stenman asked.

  “Of all the victims, Anteroinen was the only one who was working class. All the rest were educated.”
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br />   “What could that have to do with the case?” I asked.

  “Anteroinen was a big guy, violent. Maybe someone used him as a bodyguard or to intimidate…” Simolin was clearly thinking out loud. “Or maybe Anteroinen was hired by someone to kill Kivalo or Sandberg, after which he was killed to keep him quiet or when he started blackmailing whoever commissioned the hits.”

  “We’re sliding into speculation. Which of the homicides do you think are the handiwork of the same perp?”

  “Sandberg and Kivalo. One was burned, the other drowned.”

  I noticed that I had scribbled in my notebook a lightning bolt over a three-tiered pyramid. “Fine. Sandberg and Kivalo were both in leadership positions at Daybreak; in other words, they were both responsible for the fact that Anteroinen and Särkijärvi weren’t called to account for their actions. Both of them were more concerned about the academy’s reputation. Is that enough of a motive?”

  “Maybe.”

  Stenman gave her two cents: “And Halme was killed because he knew something about the perpetrator.”

  “Why now, though?”

  I remembered Laurén and the cottage at Marjaniemi. “There are two alternatives to what happened at the allotment gardens. Halme either met Laurén at the cottage and only at that point learned something dangerous. Or, as Laurén himself claims, Halme tried to see him, which was enough to spook the murderer.”

  We had come full circle again. The killer had to be someone from Laurén’s or Halme’s inner circle, someone who knew about the cottage and the meeting.

  “According to Laurén’s daughter, Sotamaa has the hots for her mother. Halme had an affair with the former Mrs. Laurén, too. Maybe Sotamaa was afraid Halme would steal her a second time. And he knew about the cottage. That would mean the motive wouldn’t have anything to do with the other cases.”

  My idea didn’t generate any support, which was fine; I didn’t believe it myself.

  “I’m still more of a mind that Halme found something out, for instance who killed Kivalo or Sandberg, or why. Knowing the reason can be just as dangerous as knowing who did it.”

  Halme had made a positive impression on me. He’d felt guilty that he hadn’t told anyone about what his friend had been forced to suffer. I was sure he wouldn’t want to give someone away who had simply avenged injustices he’d experienced, and I said so to Simolin and Stenman.

  “You might be right,” Simolin conceded, jotting down something in his notebook. “But the opposite might be true, too: maybe he had something to hide. Maybe he was complicit in the abuse of his classmate, helped Särkijärvi in hope of some benefit, and Laurén lured him into a trap.”

  “Halme and Laurén have been friends this whole time. I doubt that would be the case if Halme had helped Särkijärvi or Anteroinen. But go on.”

  “The technical investigation of Halme’s car didn’t reveal anything new. They found dark-blue fibers on the passenger seat, but without anything to compare them to, they’re no good. The shooter probably drove to the scene. After all, he was carrying a rifle; transporting it would have been difficult without a car.”

  “Unless it was in a guitar case,” I said, thinking of Sotamaa.

  “Vuorio is the only person related to the case who has a rifle permit. And his .22 is equipped with a silencer. But it’s the wrong make. He has a Sako; Halme was shot with a Russian Toz. There are thousands of them in Finland.”

  “What do we do with Vuorio?” I asked. I had told both of them about the house call I had paid to the medical examiner.

  Simolin wasn’t the type to throw the first stone. “I believe he helped Laurén by leaving the door to the morgue open or moving the corpse outside, but that’s all.”

  “There’s no point wasting energy on that now. We can’t prove anything. He’s a sly old fox,” I said.

  “What did Huovinen say?” Stenman asked.

  “Let it be for now. We’ll take another look at it once we’ve apprehended Laurén. Besides, I’m starting to think we set off in the wrong direction. We believed Laurén was involved in the killings and was planning more; he certainly wrote as if he knew more. But it’s possible he simply heard about them, like many other former students of the academy. He’s just come up with an interpretation compatible with his worldview and is talking about God’s vengeance now.”

  “This would be easy if you always knew the right direction to take from the get-go,” Simolin said.

  “Daybreak turns 100 a week from now. Former students have been invited to the celebration. I’m going to meet the headmaster today. You guys concentrate on the Halme case. A quick run through his phone logs, but before that I want you to go to his home and his office. Look through his notes and his diary, talk to his secretary and wife.” I turned to Stenman. “What did our new bishop know about the Sacred Vault, by the way?”

  “A few names. Laurén, Halme, Moisio, and that professor at Oxford. Thought it was juvenile foolishness. Knew Laurén had had psychological problems, and admitted Laurén had phoned him and called him a traitor after he’d been made bishop. Didn’t know Sandberg or Silén. Remembered Kivalo and Anteroinen, of course, but didn’t know they were dead. But the second I asked about pedophiles, he got cagey. Maybe bishops are supposed to be cagey, but he claimed he didn’t want to spread malicious rumors.”

  My phone rang. I could tell the call was from Ilta-Sanomat: I’d come to recognize the first few digits. The two last digits were the same as Moisio’s. I rejected the call and said: “I think that was Moisio. It looks like he’s doing a story on Laurén’s plans.”

  “I’m guessing he’s not going to tell us if he learns something?” Simolin said.

  “I’m guessing you’re right.”

  “If I were Laurén, I’d cause some sort of uproar at Daybreak’s centennial.”

  Simolin’s remark was like being whacked over the head with a log. How had I missed such an obvious connection? The celebration was a week away. If Laurén was planning public revenge, he wouldn’t have a better opportunity. And the reporter and his photographer would have seats reserved in the front row, of course.

  “I think I’ll call Moisio back after all.”

  We met on neutral territory, the cafeteria at the Eläintarha gas station.

  “I was a little impolite last time we spoke,” Moisio observed, with a humble look. His right hand was stroking his expensive watch.

  “You wanted to talk about something?” I said.

  “I thought it might be my turn to offer something. When it comes down to it, we’re on the same side.”

  “And whose side would that be?”

  “The public’s. Source protection wasn’t created as a prop for the media so we’d be able to shoot innocent people from the bushes, but so we’d continue to learn about injustices in the future, too. Sounds pretentious, but that’s the way it is.”

  “What are you proposing?”

  “You know how I’ve been in touch with Laurén? He has given me stories, and I can assure you he’s working for a good cause.”

  I had heard this before. It was almost verbatim what Vuorio had said to calm me down.

  “I’d sleep better if I knew what that cause was.”

  “He wants to use the media to bring Daybreak’s deep dark secrets into the light. That’s all he cares about. You don’t have anything against that, do you? That I expose individuals who sexually abused students?”

  “Expose whatever you want, as long as you don’t aid and abet criminal activity. Laurén is being sought on suspicion of having committed a serious crime, and if you know where he’s staying, that’s exactly what you’re doing.”

  “I don’t know. Can I ask you something? You don’t think Laurén killed Halme, do you?”

  “No comment.”

  “If that’s what you think, you’re way off base. My brother went to school with Laurén, and I’ve known the guy for years. If anyone despises violence, it’s him.”

  “It doesn’t sound like it.�
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  “He might go a little overboard in his letters and stuff, but that’s more a stylistic conceit. The Bible is chock-full of crimes and violent threats, too.”

  “Did you know Halme?” I asked.

  “I met him a couple times at my brother’s parties. He had a lot of enemies, mostly cuckolded husbands,” Moisio said, with a wry smile.

  “What about your brother? Who killed him?”

  The reporter’s expression cooled a few degrees. “I’m still waiting for the police to figure that out.”

  “Is Laurén planning on organizing some sort of upset at Daybreak’s centennial celebration?”

  “How would I know?” Moisio said brusquely. He was clearly less than thrilled by the question. Evidently he feared for his scoop.

  “I guess we’ll be seeing each other there,” I said.

  22

  Luckily we didn’t have to drive ninety-odd miles to see Headmaster Hätönen. He was attending a two-day seminar right across the bay in Espoo, so he and I agreed to meet when it broke for lunch. I brought Stenman along with me.

  It’s hard to imagine a less inspiring site for a seminar than a dismal hotel complex located between an industrial park and the freeway, and yet the surroundings had done nothing to dampen Headmaster Ossi Hätönen’s aura of energy. He bustled in swinging a black satchel. He was somewhere between forty and fifty, with short bristly hair. The overall effect was one of an irritable badger.

  He gave me a superficial handshake but took his time with Stenman, then immediately dictated the conditions of our meeting: “Twenty minutes max.”

  “Let’s get right down to it, then,” I said. We were in a quiet corner of the lobby, and I lowered my notebook and pen to the table. “We’re looking for your former student, Reijo Laurén, on suspicion of criminal activity.”

  “You mean the Academy’s former student, not mine,” Hätönen interjected. “To be frank, I’ve been perplexed by your inquiries and what you think you’ll find. Those matters are ancient history, and it would be best to forget them.”