Huovinen indicated Lieutenant Toivakka. “Take it from here, Seppo?”
“We have a couple of tip-offs on the cousin, Tagi Hamid. One of his buddies is a Moroccan citizen who has been convicted of narcotics violations. Hamid’s name came up during routine monitoring of the Moroccan. In addition, we have an anonymous tip-off according to which Hamid brought over or had someone else bring over three kilos of hash from Morocco. Since then, we’ve been in contact with Birmingham, where Hamid has lived for over twenty years. According to the police there, Hamid only has minor convictions, but he’s considered a mid-level drug dealer. At this moment, however, we don’t have any information indicating that an Arab-led drug gang is operating in Finland. That’s it.”
“Thank you,” said Huovinen. “As far as the killers, we know that there were at least two of them. They were also dark-complexioned, meaning Arabs or southern Europeans, about forty years old and athletic. That’s as detailed as the description gets.”
“What about the security-cam footage?” Leivo asked.
“We’ve got some images from the rail-traffic-monitoring camera that most likely are of the suspects, but they don’t offer any new information. The shots are so blurry that we won’t be able to get anything close to identifying characteristics from them. The only piece of additional information is that the men approached from downtown on the path that goes past Finlandia Hall and heads along the shore of Töölönranta Bay to Linnunlaulu.”
“What about the cars?”
“The Vartiokylä Teboil security camera gave us some good footage of cars headed towards and away from the auto-body shop owned by the victim named Ali Hamid. Not all of the vehicles have been identified yet, or their owners contacted, but we believe we’ve found what we’re looking for. One was a white Nissan-make minivan with stolen plates. A similar Nissan has been reported stolen. We suspect Hamid’s killers used this vehicle, and an APB has been placed on it.”
“How do we know for certain that the Vartiokylä killings are related to the events at Linnunlaulu?” enquired Deputy Chief Leivo. He was clearly annoyed that the majority of the information he currently possessed had come from the media.
Leivo had only himself to blame. He’d been at a seminar in Lahti and unreachable all day. Besides, he was known for not developing interest in a case until the media started asking about it.
“Through the family connection, as I said,” Huovinen answered. “In addition, the person who was hit by the train had made numerous calls to the owner of the body shop, so the connection can be considered certain.”
I eyed Sillanpää. His dark eyes narrowed. Sillanpää returned my gaze with a piercing look and said: “It would be nice to know how we know about these calls to the body shop. As far as I’m aware, the only way would be accessing the caller’s info. But it just so happens that we have the phone, and it’s only now being unlocked because there’s no PIN code, at least in our possession.”
Huovinen didn’t let Sillanpää’s prickliness bother him. He was much thicker-skinned that he appeared.
“I don’t think we ought to be splitting hairs at this point. I’m not interested in where the information came from, the main thing is that we have it and that it’s been useful to us.”
“Well, we are interested, because—”
Leivo started losing his patience and interrupted Sillanpää.
“Split hairs some other time. Do we have any theories as to what this is all about?”
I’d only seen him at work in a suit and tie. Now he was wearing a dark-green sweater and slacks. Apparently he’d dropped by the house on his way in.
Huovinen nodded in my direction.
“Kafka can report on developments in the field. He has by far the most accurate information on everything.”
I looked at Leivo’s gentle, unlined face. He was exactly what his previous subordinates in central Finland had warned us about: a nice guy, great company and an excellent storyteller, but totally out of place as a cop. Unfortunately, he wasn’t the only one of his kind.
Maybe people like him were a blessing to humanity, but they were also a hell of a burden when they wound up in positions not suited to their character. They never wanted to throw the first stone and always discovered mitigating factors, even in places where they didn’t exist. Thanks to them, the bad guys were back out on the streets faster than you could spit, realizing their true natures through foul deeds.
It was my belief that the world wasn’t ready for nice people yet. Nice people didn’t stick their noses in the business of a neighbour who beat his wife and kids; nice heads of state didn’t attack a neighbouring country, even if its dictator had butchered millions of its citizens. Avoiding inconvenience was a fundamental trait of nice people. That’s why they let unpleasant things happen rather than get involved.
Nice people were in their element as nuns, midwives, nurses, scientists, dentists or activities counsellors, but in the kind of position where you had to be capable of handling pressure and problems, they were in the wrong spot.
“None of the deceased except for Tagi Hamid have a criminal background, and all of them are foreigners from a specific region of the globe. They’re also all Muslims, and according to Hamid’s wife, the man who called Ali Hamid had stressed that Muslims here have a responsibility to aid their fellow believers. Aid them in what? We could propose a couple of theories, but for now, at least, they’re only theories.”
“Do any of the theories have anything to do with terrorism?” Leivo demanded.
Most people in the room had already seen this coming for a while. Still, the mention of terrorism silenced the group.
“If it does, I want to know how,” Leivo continued. “Everything would also fit with international organized crime and a territorial gang war. Killing and mutilating competitors as a warning, forcing compatriots to aid them. Even though most of the deceased don’t have a criminal background in Finland, they might turn out to have one back home.”
The deputy chief’s aggressive stance surprised me. It was no longer pure self-defence. Nor was it his place to offer already-digested theories to the lead investigator.
“Like Toivakka said, we don’t have any hints of organized crime of Iraqi or other Arab background,” I said. “For a territorial war, you need a territory.”
“So what about the mysterious killers? Who were they, where did they disappear to, and what was their motivation?” Leivo wondered out loud.
“Huovinen said that there were at least two of them, I’d say at least four. We know that Tagi Hamid, who was shot and mutilated on the bridge, and the unidentified man who was hit by the train approached the scene from different directions with the intention of meeting on the bridge. The killers followed Tagi Hamid. They were not interested in him, however, but in the man that he was supposed to meet. Ali Hamid, on the other hand, was killed last night, so it seems as if the information about the meeting on the bridge had been tortured out of him. He, in turn, had heard it from his cousin Tagi.”
“Where does the four come in?” asked Toivakka.
“Everyone who has ever been involved in tailing a suspect knows that in order to do it successfully, you need enough people. You have to switch roles, so the target doesn’t start noticing that the same guy is always at his heels. In addition, the killers intended to abduct the other man from the bridge. You can’t drag a man who’s struggling and afraid for his life very far without calling attention to yourself. There had to be someone there with a car. But how did the killers know that the person they were following would take the exact route he did? How did they know to have a car at the right spot? They didn’t. The problem was solved by using two cars. The killers were in telephone contact with the cars and were giving them instructions the whole time. When the target approached the Linnunlaulu bridge, one of the cars was sent to Eläintarhantie, the other to the City Theatre. With only one car, they would have lost the guy by the railway bridge at the latest.”
“So
unds like a police operation,” Huovinen reflected.
“Or military,” I said.
“Are you implying that a group of terrorists has set up shop here and some huge posse of foreign agents is after it?” Leivo snorted, an even more dubious expression on his face. “And why did it all happen right there on the bridge?”
“They were following Ali Hamid’s cousin Tagi, because they were looking for the person he was supposed to meet. Afterwards the target was no longer of any use to them, and he was killed. The victim’s face was mutilated so that he wouldn’t be identified too soon.”
“What do you mean, too soon?” Sillanpää wondered.
“Because they knew that, whether or not his face was mutilated, the deceased would eventually be identified. It’s obvious that it’s only a matter of time. So whatever they’re planning on doing here will take place within a very short time frame.”
My words were followed by a silence. It was broken by Deputy Chief Leivo.
“It seems to me that the theory cuts too many corners. The commander and I – and I have already discussed this matter with the commander – feel that you have much more plausible theories. I mean the one in which two men, potentially skinheads, kill a foreigner who’s waiting for his friend on the bridge. The friend shows up and tries to run from them, but falls in front of a train.”
“That was the best theory until we found the two new victims at the body shop,” I agreed. “After that, it was clear that this wasn’t a coincidence.”
Leivo ignored me.
“Or drugs. Maybe they simply had a drug deal that led to an argument and the murders. That would give them a good motive for keeping quiet. Drugs would also explain Hamid’s torture. He was either being punished, or they wanted information from him.”
“That’s possible, too… but I don’t believe it.”
“You don’t? Well, since you’re sure, why don’t you tell us who the killers are?” Leivo said testily.
“If we’re dealing with the kind of operation I think we’re dealing with, I can only come up with two alternatives. Either a disagreement arose within a terrorist group and the more fanatic wing killed the others, or else the killers belong to the intelligence agency of some country.”
Half a dozen pairs of eyes turned to look at Inspector Sillanpää. We were clearly in SUPO territory now. Sillanpää didn’t even bother standing.
“We don’t have any indication that a terrorist attack was being planned, and I venture to claim that we’re the ones who know most about such matters. In addition, we collaborate with the intelligence agencies of numerous other countries and are immediately informed if even a single suspected terrorist approaches our little northern paradise. Agents of foreign powers aren’t in the habit of coming here to carry out operations, at least on the scale that the aforementioned theory would require.”
Sillanpää’s delivery was convincing. And yet I still sensed that he was steering and slowing the investigation. I was good about picking up on stuff like that, or at least that’s what I liked to believe.
“Simply the fact that all of the victims are Arabs shouldn’t make us jump to hasty conclusions,” Sillanpää continued. “Of course we shouldn’t discount the possibility of terrorism either. We’re looking into the backgrounds of the deceased with the help of our international contacts. I would, however, continue to urge caution in the use of the word terrorism. If it leaks into the papers, we won’t have a moment’s peace. And of course if we’re really lucky, the story will get picked up by the international media.”
“It already has,” Huovinen noted. “Aftonbladet called a couple of hours ago and Expressen right after, and at that point there were only two bodies. Both of them asked if there were any terrorist links in the case. I don’t get where they got that from.”
Deputy Police Chief Leivo still looked peeved. He was probably wishing he could have seen his name, preferably with an accompanying photograph, in the pages of the Swedish papers.
“In any case, we need to agree on the specific communications tactics, down to turns of phrase, that we will all use. And no one slides from them.”
“We won’t be commenting on the case other than to state we are following the investigation, as always occurs in cases like these,” Sillanpää said. “Public mention of terrorism in particular inevitably points at certain states. We can’t prevent the media from speculating. If police command wants to explain matters at the diplomatic level, then go right ahead, but don’t get us mixed up in it.”
Deputy Chief Leivo’s expression grew more concerned. He clearly didn’t want a diplomatic incident, even a minor one.
“If SUPO knows more about this than we do and doesn’t want us fouling things up, they’d better spit out everything they have.”
“I’d tell you if I knew anything,” Sillanpää said. “I was just offering my opinion. I assume that’s the reason I’m here.”
Huovinen turned back to me.
“I propose Lieutenant Kafka decides. He’s got the best sense of the case.”
I eyed Sillanpää, who stared back stonily.
“I agree to some extent with Inspector Sillanpää. We’re going to continue trying to figure out the identity of the unidentified victim with our own resources. If that doesn’t work, then we can reconsider releasing the photograph.”
Sillanpää gave a near-imperceptible nod.
On the way to my office, I remembered that my colleague who sat a few rooms away, Lieutenant Kari Takamäki, had just wrapped up an investigation of the murder of a young Arab man.
I figured I would be at least partially retracing some of the same paths as him, and I wanted all of the advice he could offer. I showed him the photos of the deceased, but he didn’t recognize any of them. We chatted for a minute and Takamäki suggested that I have a word with the communications officer or imam from the Islamic Society, and gave me a name and number for both. I thanked him for the good advice.
6
Imam Omar Nader was evidently a tolerant man. At least he didn’t give the slightest indication that Stenman and I were unwelcome guests, although it was unlikely that a Jew and a policewoman were everyday sights at the offices of the Islamic Society.
I had called the imam at home, and he had suggested that we meet at the society’s offices. Stenman and I had agreed that I would handle most of the talking, just to be sure.
The imam was a gentle-looking man with thick-framed glasses. It was difficult to say how old he was, but I estimated around fifty. I deduced this based on the fact that the beard, which didn’t really suit his round face, was going grey. In a slight contradiction to his role, he was wearing a youthful sweater.
“You said that you needed my help. How can I be of assistance?”
The imam spoke almost perfect Finnish. I had seen him on a television programme once and knew that he had already lived here some twenty-odd years.
“To start with, I’m hoping you can identify someone.”
I handed the imam the photo of the body that had been found on the tracks. The photo had been retouched so that the bruising from the collision wouldn’t be visible. The imam raised his glasses and stared at the picture for a long time.
“I’ve seen him at the mosque once, but I don’t know his name. I got the impression that he was French, that’s why I remember him. Is he dead?”
“Do you know whose guest he was?”
“No. Not necessarily anyone’s. Perhaps he just wanted to pray and meet fellow Muslims during a trip to Finland. That happens often.”
“How did you come to the conclusion that he was French?”
“I think that someone mentioned it, I don’t remember who. That’s the impression I was left with, however.”
I gave the imam three more photos.
“What about them?”
This time a concerned and at the same time mournful expression flashed across the imam’s face.
“Does this have something to do with what was on the
news?”
I answered in the affirmative.
“Are they all dead?”
“Yes.”
“This is a day of sorrow for me, in many ways. May Allah be merciful to them.”
“Do you recognize any of these others?”
The imam hesitated for a moment, but then pointed at Ali Hamid’s photo.
“He was a good Muslim, he came to the mosque often to pray. The whole family did. They’re all good people, good Finns.”
The imam pulled a checked handkerchief out of his pocket and wiped his brow.
“I’m afraid that this is going to bring us a lot of trouble. People have many misplaced prejudices against us Muslims. Finland has treated us well, and we don’t want to repay good with evil. This is why you can be sure that the majority of Finnish Muslims condemn all forms of violence, as does the Koran. It will be sad and unfortunate if we are linked to these violent deeds. I always say that violence begets more violence.”
“According to Ali Hamid’s wife, her husband attended the mosque the night before last with his cousin. Did you see him?”
Once again, the imam hesitated.
“We greeted each other, but we didn’t speak.”
“Did you know his cousin, Tagi Hamid?”
“I’ve seen him a couple of times, nothing more.”
“Did Ali Hamid speak with anyone other than his cousin?”
“Of course. He’s doesn’t go around not speaking when he’s in the company of friends… But I know what you mean. I didn’t notice anything like that.”
For the first time, the imam sounded a little impatient.
“Could you please tell me what this is about now?”
I looked at the imam and believed he was sincere.
“We don’t know yet. The murders occurred in two different places, but we know that they are related. Do you know, did these four men have anything to do with each other?”
Nights of Awe Page 6