Jansson would have never imagined winding up as Kempas’ confidante, especially not while sober.
“You’re considered a good cop.”
“I’m not asking for sympathy. I only want to be frank with you. I want us to agree on things.”
“We do, in many respects,” Jansson reflected.
“I respect your work and I hope you respect mine.”
Something in Jansson’s brain clicked into place and the truth dawned. The only reason Kempas was gushing was to soften him up. Kempas’ methods exceeded all measures of crookedness by a long shot, but for some reason, Jansson was okay with it. He was almost pleased when he anticipated Kempas’ next move.
“I need your help. If we can get Raid, we’ll get Nygren too.”
Kempas took a map out of his pocket. Here and there were red x’s, which he had jotted with a marker. He tapped the left lower corner with his finger.
“Turku. That’s the first place Nygren and Raid went. We know he met a friend of his who runs a kind of makeshift church down there. From there they went northeast toward Kuopio.”
He tapped on the next x.
“Here’s where they first ran into Sariola and Lehto. Then they continued here to Nygren’s place. That’s where the trail ends.”
Numerous red question marks also dotted the map.
“These indicate the homes of Nygren’s past accomplices. Some have already been questioned.”
Jansson glanced at the map. The northernmost question mark was in Lapland, near Rovaniemi.
“Where’s Nygren from?”
Kempas pointed to the map.
“Somewhere around here.”
“If he’s saying his final farewells, you’d think he’d visit his childhood stomping grounds.”
“Same thing occurred to me. The problem is that we’re not sure where that is. By the time he was ten, he’d already lived in three different places.”
“What about his daughter? He’s got a grown daughter.”
“I see we’re on the same track. That also occurred to me.”
Jansson’s cellphone rang. The caller was Raid.
“Can you talk?”
“Hold on.”
Jansson got up and withdrew from the table.
“They’re after you guys for attempted murder.”
“That’s why I called. It was self-defense. Sariola shot first.”
“You’d best come in with Nygren and explain.”
“Can’t do it.”
“Why not?”
“Gotta take care of a couple things first.”
“How long’s that gonna take?”
“Couple days.”
“There’s a cop sitting about ten yards away who’s after you and Nygren. He’ll get a lot done in a couple of days.”
“Tell him I said hello.”
“Where are you?”
“Still hard to say.”
“When will it be easy?”
“Be patient. You’ll be the first to know. Trust me when I tell you we’re doing the right thing.”
“You forget that I’m a cop. You’re asking too much.”
“You forget that I’m a robber. I ask even more of myself. I’ll call you tomorrow.”
“That’d be best.”
Jansson joined Kempas again.
“My wife. She’s coming to visit on Saturday.”
Kempas’ expression didn’t show whether or not he believed it. He was already on a new topic.
“When was the last time you ran into Nygren?” he asked.
“At least three years ago. Back when he was suspected of that bank robbery in Stockholm.”
“You also investigated that casino shooting where Nygren was shot…”
“Been almost twenty years since then.”
“When you questioned him in connection with the bank robbery, did he say anything new about the casino case?”
“If he didn’t twenty years ago, why would he later on?”
“The case had exceeded its statute of limitations. He didn’t have anything to fear anymore.”
“He didn’t say anything.”
“Didn’t mention any names?”
Jansson shook his head, unsure of what Kempas was getting at.
Kempas could see that Jansson wanted an explanation.
“I’m looking for names. I think Nygren’s aiming to meet up with some old friends. I got a tip on the casino case…”
Anna was coming from the swimming pool with Huusko when Kempas fixed his eyes on her. As she turned to look at Jansson, she noticed Kempas. Suddenly, she turned on her heels and hurried away without a backward glance. Huusko looked confused for a moment before hurrying after her.
“What got into her?” wondered Jansson.
“Sometimes it scares me how much of an effect I have on women.”
Jansson couldn’t help laughing at the remark.
Kempas stood up, buttoned his coat and offered his hand to Jansson.
“Thank you.”
As soon as Kempas had left, Huusko appeared.
“Fuck, what a suit.”
“What got into Anna?”
“Women. She remembered something important.”
“What’s the topic for the lecture this afternoon?”
“Viagra and other sex drive stimulants. Fifty plus only.”
“You’re lying.”
“Yeah, I’m lying. Actually, it’s much more interesting. The effect of fiber-rich foods on intestinal activity. Sixty plus only.”
“You’re lying.”
“What do you want it to be then?”
“What’s for lunch?”
“Rainbow trout casserole and zucchini au gratin. What’d Kempas want?”
“The same stuff.”
“In other words…”
“You were there when Nygren was interrogated for the Stockholm bank robbery. Did he say anything about any old gigs?”
“All I remember is he was quite a riot. We had a hell of a laugh. The guy’s had some pretty amazing exploits. This one time…”
“Huusko…the casino case.”
“I don’t remember him saying anything. Why?”
“Nygren was there gambling when the shooting happened. He was shot in the stomach and nearly died. I investigated it…”
“He didn’t say anything.”
“Kempas asked about it even though the case is ancient history.”
“Why?”
“Something to do with a lead.”
“If you investigated it, you should know better than I…who owned the casino?”
“Matti Salmi. We couldn’t prove anything, but got some reliable tips. We never figured out who shot Nygren and the other gambler.”
“What if they shot each other?”
“No weapons were found, and neither accused the other.”
“Weren’t there any other eye witnesses?”
“No…”
Jansson searched his memory.
“There was one… I think he was a maintenance guy. He heard the shots and saw the crowd pouring out of the casino. He was the one who called the ambulance…”
As Jansson rubbed his temples, the memories began to come back.
“We checked the maintenance guy’s background, and it turned out he’d been in prison at the same time as Nygren. Because of that, we were suspicious of him, but found no evidence to indicate that he had anything to do with the casino.”
Jansson took out his cellphone and punched one of the speed-dial numbers.
“Susisaari.”
Susisaari’s voice was always cool and businesslike, a potent tool for keeping client’s emotions in check.
“It’s me. Could you do me a little favor?”
“How little?”
“There are some files in the lower cabinet in my office. Find the one labeled, ‘Casino Shooting.’”
“And?”
“There was a maintenance man who heard the shots and we interviewed him. Check the n
ame, figure out where he lives and call me back.”
“Is this urgent?”
“Not a matter of seconds.”
“So ASAP.”
“Right.”
13.
Nygren was dozing in the back seat, looking utterly drained. Raid had given him a dose of morphine, but physical exhaustion wasn’t his only problem. Raid could see from Nygren’s eyes that the man’s desire to surrender was beginning to triumph over the final special offers of life. Raid knew from experience how difficult it was to pull a man back once he understood how easy it would be to let go.
“You’ll be back home soon.”
Nygren perked up some. He hauled himself up, scooted over and all but pressed his face against the window.
“It’s a long loop a man’s gotta do before he gets back home.”
“It’s not over yet.”
“The final leg, anyway.”
As the town came into view, it seemed as though a theater curtain was opening. They passed through a deciduous forest and the hill dipped steeply toward a lake. Just beyond that was the town.
“Stop!”
Raid pulled the car to the side of the road and stopped.
Nygren gaped at the town in amazement.
“It looks almost the same. Has time come to a standstill?”
Raid glanced at his watch.
“Nope.”
“When I left home at fourteen, I climbed up this very hill. I stood in this very spot and I looked back. I had my father’s old rucksack, a pair of oversized pants and a pair of socks. My mom had stuffed some sandwiches and a vodka bottle full of milk into my bag. I was wearing a cap and had a harmonica I’d stolen from the neighbor boy in my pocket. Looking at the town from this hill, I had to fight back tears…but I was too stubborn to turn back…and here I am on the same path…”
A hint of a smile crossed Nygren’s face and he looked at Raid.
“I never thought I’d fall for this sentimental bullshit.”
“I’m happy to listen.”
“Let’s move.”
The newer part of the town came into view on the far side of the hill, a strip mall and a few apartment buildings.
“Used to be fields where these are…the bridge seemed a lot bigger then…”
Raid stopped for a moment on the bridge.
“Always were lots of fish at the base of the pilings. Probably not anymore.”
“Take a look.”
Nygren glanced at him uneasily.
“Go see if there’s fish. Then you won’t be wondering.”
“Well, why not.”
Nygren rose from the car and walked to the railing. Raid watched as he looked over. He stared into the water for a moment, then got back into the car.
“No fish…and just as well.”
The streets of the old downtown were lined with large wood and stucco buildings.
“The bank, fabric shop, general store, book shop.”
Nygren pointed to a fire station that was visible behind one of the wooden buildings.
“The school’s behind the fire station.”
Raid circled the building. Behind it was a Kingdom Hall for the Jehovah’s Witnesses, but no school.
“They tore it down.”
Nygren looked disappointed. His childhood memories had been stolen, and no one had told him.
“Let’s go to the cemetery,” said Nygren. “Unless they tore that down too.”
Nygren navigated the walkways through long rows of graves. He seemed familiar with the place.
“The last time I was here was over thirty years ago when my father died. It was winter, almost thirty degrees below zero, and I didn’t have a hat. I thought I was pretty cool. Everybody else was country folk, pretty much dressed in potato sacks. I was like a movie star from the big city. People were watching me and whispering… I enjoyed it.”
A small front-end loader was digging a home for a new customer—a studio with eighteen square feet. Raid peered into the hole. The soil was ideal for digging, soft and yellow, but moist enough that it held together well. Tree roots hung from the sandy walls.
The wooden church was in the shape of a cross. Nygren rounded it and headed toward the eastern end of the graveyard. He stopped near a low wall constructed of large boulders.
Just next to the wall was a squat, wide gravestone inscribed with two names:
Aini Sofia Nygren
Born 17.7.1911
Died 14.9.1953
Eero Veikko Nygren
Born 16.2.1907
Died 8.2.1970
The stone had been neglected and the names were hard to make out under the moss. The grass on the grave had been cut by the church, but there were no flowers. A shrub that had been planted at the grave a long time ago had died and its dried limbs jutted out of the ground.
“Mom and dad.”
Nygren folded his hands and let them hang at his waist as if in prayer.
“A son visits his mother and father’s grave for the first time in thirty-plus years and he doesn’t even bring flowers.”
A sprawling rose bush was growing on another grave a few yards away. Raid cut off a single rose and handed it to Nygren, who placed it on the grave.
“It’s pretty easy to talk about death when you still have time. But when it’s actually standing at your door, an inescapable fact of life, you forget the bullshit and all you have left is your fear. You can’t think up a single smart-ass comment, even if your head was full of them before.”
The gravedigger’s shift was over. The drone of the front-end loader ceased.
“You just wonder if it hurts when a maggot burrows through your skull, and if you can see when your eyeballs dry into two gooey lumps…”
Nygren glanced at Raid.
“Pretty gruesome thought, huh? Sure, I could picture the flowers growing over me in the summer, the whispering winds rushing over me in the fall. And in the winter, I’ll lie under a fresh white blanket of snow as lovers ski over my grave…”
“Right.”
“There was a time when I was convinced I’d die with dignity. I pictured how calmly I’d watch the sunset and say, ‘it’s a good day to die.’ Seemed so festive and beautiful that I almost looked forward to it.”
“Aren’t you convinced anymore?”
“I’m finally convincing myself that it won’t be like that. That I’ll whimper in terror and won’t give a shit about dignity. I’ll probably be bargaining with the devil for an extension.”
Nygren looked at Raid inquiringly.
“Hard to say,” said Raid.
“My mother had been dead for many years before I visited her grave for the first time. I pulled up the weeds around the grave and planted that shrub… An old woman stopped next to me and said, ‘There’s a fine resting place for a pious woman,’ then smiled and walked away. Always kind of bothered me. I always wanted to know how she knew my mother. Were they classmates or something? One thing I’m sure of is that she wasn’t speaking generally; by ‘pious woman’ she meant my mother… Mother was…”
Nygren became suddenly aware of his own words.
“We should get going.”
On the left side of Nygren’s parents’ grave was a vacant strip with no headstone, but it clearly belonged to the same plot. Nygren noticed Raid looking at it.
“That one’s mine.”
Nygren’s boyhood home was a good half mile from the church. Once past the church, the downtown area ended abruptly. Two-story wood and brick houses, some old, some new, drifted past on the roadside. They passed a small-engine repair shop, a dressmaker’s shop, a bar and a pharmacy on the right. On the left, a 1970s white stucco school building loomed behind a sparse pine forest.
“The last time I drove this stretch there was no pavement,” Nygren remarked. “No school, either. I had a fire-truck-red Porsche that I’d bought with some of the spoils from a gig. The way people stared at me, I should’ve pitched a tent and charged admission.”
; The roadside dwellings petered out for a while. On the right was a field, and on the left, a slope carpeted with pines.
Some modern row houses could be seen on the far side of the field.
The road climbed and curved gently to the right.
“Take a hard right at the top of the hill.”
The road came to an end behind a pale-yellow house. A rusty van was parked in the yard.
“The addition wasn’t there before…and the house was red.”
Raid shut off the engine.
“The aspen’s gone,” Nygren noted.
“What aspen?”
“There was a big aspen growing over the root cellar. We had a fort there.”
“You want to take a closer look?” asked Raid, but Nygren didn’t seem to hear.
“The shed used to be on the left side of the house and the sauna was on the far end of the lot…”
Nygren fell silent and gazed at the yard.
“My mother planted the apple trees. I remember when she did it. She dedicated one tree to each child. The furthest one was Hanna’s tree, Sylvi’s is in the middle and mine is the closest to the house.”
Nygren’s tree seemed to be faring poorly. Some of its branches had dried and a few stunted apples hung in the canopy. The two other trees seemed to be growing well, with abundant fruit. The apples on the furthest tree were pale, and the other’s were dark red.
Raid got out of the car and walked through the yard. A woman with a child in her arms was standing at the porch window. Raid waved and picked several apples from each tree. The woman opened the door and came out onto the stairs.
“Hello,” said Raid.
She nodded stiffly, clearly frightened.
He took a twenty-euro bill out of his pocket and offered it to the woman.
“Six apples for a twenty. Fair?”
Raid left and the woman stood staring at the money in amazement.
Nygren studied the apples and smelled them with his eyes closed.
“I remember the smell.”
He held the apple from his own tree in his palm. It was small, and some kind of apple blight had speckled it with black spots. He bit into it and grimaced, then opened the door and tossed it out.
“Let’s go.”
The town had only one hotel—a small inn in the old downtown. The lower level of the plastered brick building had once been home to a bank. Now it was occupied by the hotel’s reception area and a restaurant. Upstairs were about ten rooms. Nygren had reserved two adjacent ones.
Raid and the Blackest Sheep Page 12