“Something is wrong. I call police.”
“You fucking will not. Get inside, woman!”
Accustomed to the more Slavic conversational style, she obeyed immediately.
Mara slid the desk aside. Behind it, built into the brick wall, was an opening covered with a piece of particle board. Mara bent down and pulled out a metal box. He put it in his lap and nearly dove inside.
“Twenty thousand even,” said Mara as he snapped the case shut. He tried to squirrel it back into the hole as though all was settled but Nygren snatched it away.
“We’re not in that much of a hurry.”
The box contained some more money and a black booklet. Nygren briskly counted out the money.
“Another twenty-grand. I’ll take that too.”
“No, you fucking won’t…”
The futility of Mara’s words sank in as Nygren leafed through the booklet.
“You seem to be doing pretty well. According to this you have a few hundred grand in Spain. I’ll take this as a keepsake. If the rest of the money isn’t in my account by the deadline, the tax auditor’s gonna have some interesting bathroom reading material.”
Mara made an attempt at humility.
“Please, I guarantee you’ll get your money…just don’t take the ledger. It’s no use to you. I use it every day. Some of my cars are on loan, and my debts are in there… I’ll give you something extra. You want a new car? What about your friend? I can arrange something…”
“If it weren’t for your lousy memory, I might consider it. But you tend to forget those pesky details like paying debts. Anyway, I already have a car.”
Nygren slipped the ledger into his pocket.
Mara clenched his teeth, but remained silent.
“You know the account number. We’ll be waiting for you to remit the balance.”
Mara hurled the empty case into the corner of the garage.
“And don’t think you can get out of this by surrounding yourself with more muscle. Until you pay up, every night could be your last. And you can be sure the interest will keep accruing.”
Tatjana was waiting in the yard with a worried expression. Once Raid and Nygren were in the car, she made a dash for the garage. Mara came out and roughly shoved her aside.
“The perfect Finnish family. Brick house by the lake. Who could ask for more,” Nygren reflected. “Or maybe you could. You can’t buy happiness, after all…”
He waved the wad of bills in Raid’s face.
“But you sure can try. Over forty thousand. Our plain honest boy from Savo’s gonna cry his eyes out over this.”
“What about the rest?”
“He wouldn’t dare stiff me.”
The satisfaction on Nygren’s face suddenly vanished, as though wiped away. His eyes became bleary and he clutched at his stomach.
Raid pulled over at a bus stop.
“Think I… Got a little overexcited… Well worth it, though…”
Nygren began to shiver.
“Why’s it gotta act up now…”
Raid reclined the passenger seat to a nearly supine position and spread a felt blanket over Nygren.
“I feel better already,” he said, though he didn’t look it.
“You sure you can manage?”
“Can’t stop now… The fun has just begun. Let’s stick with the original plan.”
6.
On Thursday morning, Jansson decided to stay in bed.
They had stayed at the Millhouse Tavern until last call. After Anna’s departure, Huusko had turned to the bottle for comfort. The fact that the relationship wasn’t going to be revived was finally hitting home for him.
The conversation between Jansson and Huusko had centered around one topic: women. Huusko rattled off his heartaches one by one. He confessed to having changed his attitude toward women after his wife left him when he was recovering from the gunshot.
Jansson had championed the female cause and kept Huusko’s generalizations at bay.
As the evening wore on, Huusko had softened up, and when the band finally struck up at nine, he was ready for a new conquest. He focused his efforts on a woman at the neighboring table who turned out to be a Finnish language teacher at the local high school.
In the end, Jansson wound up heading back to the physical rehab center alone. Huusko headed for the woman’s nearby home.
The decision to stay in bed had nothing to do with a hangover. Having only drunk moderately, he felt reasonably alert. He simply had no desire to submit to the hazing of another physical therapist: “Doesn’t Jansson’s back bend? Jansson, tuck in your belly. Jansson, breathe deeply…”
He was an adult, and known as a deliberate man. He knew how to take care of himself and his body. And even if it wasn’t in tip-top shape, it got him where he needed to go.
His final reason for staying in bed rolled in with the weather. The first real fall storm was raging outside. Jansson had opened the window as far as the latch allowed, taken a blanket out of the cabinet, and wrapped it around his shoulders. He enjoyed the gusts of wind as they banked off the window and swept across his face. The light patter of rain on the window sill only increased his pleasure.
Jansson began to doze lightly. He was unruffled by the subconscious knowledge that breakfast was sailing past: an assortment of fish, hard-boiled eggs, low-fat cheese, whole-grain bread, high-fiber muesli, and herbal tea. Jansson disdained all of them.
He felt the same triumphant joy that he had as a child, after exaggerating his ailments to his parents and getting permission to stay home from school. His brother and sisters always stopped by to drop a few jealous comments, but he only burrowed deeper into the softness of his bed. Mom always came to give him a kiss and dad smoothed his hair with his coarse hand.
Then the two went to work at the factory.
His father had occasionally suspected that Jansson would become an everlasting sloth, but becoming a police officer had changed him completely. Jansson had become extremely conscientious. If he were ill with a fever under 102°, he still stumbled into work. For over thirty years, he had taken care of his job without once shirking responsibility. Now, it seemed he could allow himself to take things a little easier again. He didn’t have to lie to his mother and father, nor explain to the overzealous therapist. It was enough that he said what he did and didn’t want. He wanted to sleep and listen to the wind and rain.
A knock came at the door, and though Jansson heard it, he resolved to ignore it.
“Wake up, it’s Huusko!”
Jansson pulled the blanket over his head.
Huusko just thumped harder.
“Everything alright?”
Jansson peeked out from beneath the blanket.
“Yeah.”
“You have a hangover?”
“Let me sleep.”
“Open the door.”
“No.”
“You sure everything’s alright?”
“Yes. Go away.”
“Come on. Let’s get some breakfast.”
“No.”
“What’ll I tell ’em?”
“Whatever you want.”
“And you’ll take the rap for it?”
“Go away!”
Jansson banished Huusko’s visit from his mind and sank once again to the verge of sleep.
Over thirty years as a cop with ten more years till retirement, and he was already sick and tired of this line of work. There had been countless mornings when he would have rather stayed in the warmth and comfort of his bed, but had forced himself to get up and go in.
Jansson opened his eyes.
Why don’t you quit then?
It seemed to Jansson that the question was posed by a second self hiding within—one braver than the first.
But the first wasn’t about to cave.
Grown-ups have to take responsibility. Adults don’t give up when it’s not fun anymore. Life ain’t no joyride. Boredom and suffering are part of the deal.
&n
bsp; You’ve already been dealt your share of that.
This was not Jansson’s first such internal battle. Every time he was called to investigate a death at somebody’s home, he had fought a similar one. In a city the size of Helsinki, hundreds of deaths with no criminal involvement occurred in homes every year: a middle-aged man goes to bed after reading the newspaper, kisses his wife and rolls over, never to wake again. At least not in this place or time. As he drifts off to sleep, he’s oblivious to the fact that he’ll never again taste the fresh coffee his wife makes in the mornings, never smell the fresh ink on the daily edition of the Helsingin Sanomat. To Jansson, it didn’t seem fair. A person should get some kind of final warning, he thought, a chance to settle up with themselves and others.
Just two weeks before coming to physical rehab, Jansson had been the on-duty lieutenant on a particularly quiet evening. To burn some time, he had gone to investigate a body found in an apartment in Töölö. The man had been dead for a couple of days. His son, a college student coming home to visit, had found the body.
Jansson had noticed the name on the door. When he saw the deceased, he recognized him as a friend from high school.
Suddenly he had realized that the ranks of his peers were thinning out. The following morning, he noticed that the first thing he read in the Helsingin Sanomat were the obituaries. Huusko claimed that reading the obituaries was a sign of surrender. Once it came to that, he had said, it was time to start shopping for cemetery plots.
Another knock came at the door. Jansson plugged his ears, but this time it was relentless.
“It’s Anna. Huusko’s worried about you and I promised I’d come have a look…”
Jansson got up and wrapped the blanket around himself. He opened the door a crack. Anna was wearing a white pant suit. Her hair was tied back in a ponytail, lending a somewhat more girlish look than the previous evening.
“Nothing to worry about. Just tired…”
“Can I come in anyway?”
Jansson stepped aside and opened the door. A large mirror hung in the entry and he realized how laughable he looked swaddled in his blanket. A single feather for his head and he might have passed for a balding Indian chief.
Jansson took a seat on the bed and gathered the blanket into his lap. He had a nagging suspicion that he looked no less laughable sitting on the bed with a blanket in his lap.
Anna glanced at the window. The wind was tossing the drapes nearly sideways.
“Can I shut the window?”
“No.”
“You wanna freeze to death?”
“Sounds good.”
She sat quite naturally on the edge of the bed.
“Feeling a little down, I guess?”
“Just thinking… And I like the wind and rain.”
“You should join us… Did I offend you somehow?”
“No.”
“Some people don’t like to be bossed around, but it’s part of my job.”
“I suppose so.”
“Will you come later?”
“A little later.”
“Glad to hear you’re not contemplating suicide…”
“Nah. Just in a contemplative mood.”
Anna realized she was toying with her ring, and she set her hands firmly in her lap.
“Has Huusko said anything about us?”
“A little.”
“We got involved in a relationship while he was recovering from a gunshot wound…”
“You’re both adults.”
“It wasn’t real… I felt pity for him… Close to dying and his wife leaves him… I don’t understand women like that…”
“But you… Your relationship helped him.”
“It still wasn’t smart… My own life was messed up too… Now everything’s finally back in order, at least sort of. I wouldn’t want to mess it up again…”
“With Huusko?”
“Yeah…and I doubt he’s ready for a relationship anyway.”
“Best if you’re frank with him… Or would you like me to say something?”
“I’m a grown-up. I have to handle my own problems.”
“Same goes for all of us.”
“But thanks anyway.”
As she gazed at Jansson, her serious expression melted into a smile. Jansson could see why Huusko was obsessed, even if his type was usually younger. Anna had a rare blend of warmth and sexiness.
She was just the type that every young man would love to lose his boyhood to. Without fear, and without guilt.
“Mind telling me what you’ve been thinking about here all by yourself?” She smiled wryly. “In the blowing wind and pouring rain.”
“A boring man’s boring personal matters.”
“You’re not boring, much to the contrary.”
“Boring personal matters, then.”
“I’d still be interested.”
Jansson considered lying, but decided to tell the truth.
“Just wondering how I’ll ever make it to retirement when I’m already tired of being a cop.”
“I understood from Huusko that police work was your calling.”
“It was…and still is sometimes.”
“You do important work, you’re valued, and you’re in a leadership position. For most that would be enough.”
“I’m fifty-four. If I ever wanted to do something else, now would be the time.”
“Like what?”
“Move to the country and raise chickens. Or to an
island in the Gulf of Finland and fish for a living… Fix up old cars…”
Anna laughed.
“Good choices. But you’ve got thirty years of work that you enjoy under your belt. That’s nothing to sneeze at.”
“What about you?”
“I’d have been a pediatrician or an architect… I guess I wasted a lot of time when I should have been soul-searching.”
“You have a fine profession.”
Anna looked almost bashful when she asked, “And your wife? Would she move to the country with you?”
“Maybe.”
“You must be happy together.”
“I have a good wife.”
“And she certainly has nothing to complain about.”
“Well, I’m old, tired and bored.”
“I wouldn’t say so. Sympathetic and safe, with a good sense of humor. You wouldn’t believe how much women appreciate those things.”
“That so?”
“You bet. And fifty-four’s not so old, at least not for a man. I’m forty-two myself.”
“Now that I don’t believe,” said Jansson.
Anna smiled at his politeness. She took his hand and held it between hers.
“Will you at least come for lunch?”
“I guess so,” he shrugged.
“Good.”
She rose, but hesitated before leaving.
“You’re a good listener… It’d be nice to talk more sometime… Just the two of us.”
Anna left, leaving only the scent of her perfume in the room and a restless feeling in Jansson’s chest. Was it really just a chat she wanted, or was that a sign that she wanted more?
Over the course of three days, Jansson had noticed that many couples had formed among the men and women at the rehab center. He also knew that some of them had arranged to meet again.
Jansson had been faithful for all thirty-two years of his marriage. As far as he was concerned, his wife hadn’t shown adequate appreciation for his faithfulness. Unlike the other women Jansson knew, his wife was nearly devoid of jealousy, so devoid that it sometimes troubled him. Did she think he was unable to attract other women?
Unable to sit still any longer, he stepped into the shower. On his way downstairs, Officer Susisaari called to tell him about Lieutenant Kempas’ request.
“I just chatted with him yesterday.”
“He wants all the files on Raid. Didn’t you have a whole binder on him?” she asked.
“Go ahead and send it. It’s
filed in the archives.”
“You know…Kempas is a good detective and all, but I don’t like his style.”
“Neither do I. Try to put up with it.”
“How’s Huusko managing?”
“Huusko manages no matter what.”
“Are we talking about the same guy? Detective Hannu Huusko?”
“One and the same.”
“Tell him I said hi. You guys are missed over here, even him.”
The lounge in the lobby was nearly empty and the veterans’ table was deserted. Jansson grabbed the day’s edition of the Helsingin Sanomat and started to leaf through it. From the lobby, he could see the cafeteria where they were preparing for lunch. The staff was setting piles of food and plates onto the buffet.
A group of women in white terry cloth robes with towels wrapped around their heads was coming from the direction of the swimming pool. Huusko was lagging behind a bit, his arm around a woman in a bikini who was laughing at his banter.
“See you tonight,” said Huusko as he cut off in Jansson’s direction.
“What’s going on tonight?” asked Jansson.
“A dance. Nice to finally see you among the living again. I was afraid I’d have to break down the door.”
Jansson marveled at Huusko’s carefree manner. He would have expected the setback with Anna to have slowed him down a bit.
“Susisaari called and sends her greetings.”
“I’m gonna toss my bag in the room. You’re coming to lunch, right?”
“I guess so.”
Huusko hurried off to his room. Apparently forgetting that he was a patient at a physical rehab center, he bounded up the stairs by fours.
The war veterans seized their regular table again. Jansson’s cellphone rang and he withdrew to a quiet corner.
“It’s me.”
Jansson recognized the voice immediately.
“Hope it’s not a bad time. I heard you were in physical rehab.”
“Not a bad time at all. I heard you were in Finland.”
“Right.”
“Work or play?”
“Tough to say.”
“Why?”
“Sometimes it feels like work, sometimes it feels like play.”
“What does?”
“You don’t know?”
“Yeah. You’re on the road with Nygren. Should I know why?”
“Not as a cop.”
Raid and the Blackest Sheep Page 6