Allan Martin - Death in Tallinn

Having familiarised himself with his space, Hallmets decided to get some lunch. No point in trying to do everything at once.

He suspected the cafes in Pikk Street would be full of policemen, so he walked down to the city wall at the Great Coastal Gate, next to the squat bulk of the ‘Fat Margaret’ tower. From here it was only a short walk to the harbour area, where he found a reasonably comfortable cafe, and enjoyed a mushroom pie with a bottle of kvass , the slightly alcoholic drink made from fermented rye bread.

He knew this wasn’t going to be an easy case. He hadn’t seen any of the paperwork yet, but he had the feeling that it wouldn’t tell him much more than he already knew. Yes, the post-mortem would tell him the exact cause of death, with hopefully an approximate time, and it would be important to confirm that Vaher fell onto the kiosk from the direction of the viewing platform. He wondered if anything had been found up at the platform itself.

He wondered also about Vaher himself. Once he’d settled in and read the paperwork, he must begin the dissection of Vaher’s life, for there he would find the reason for his death.

At another cafe, a little to the south, on Narva Street, two men were eating sauerkraut with sausage and drinking beer. One was a thin young man with a tuft of moustache below his nose and sandy hair which flopped over his forehead. The other was older, with sparse dark brown hair, greying in parts, a red nose, a paunch and a complexion to which time and alcohol had done their worst. This was Jaan Kallas, crime reporter of the Pealinna Uudised . His companion was Artur Simm.

Kallas was talking whilst he ate. “Listen to me, Artur. I appreciate that you’re keen to develop your career, and that you want to get away from the tedious stuff that you’re having to do at the moment. But let me tell you, there are no short cuts in journalism. You’ve got to learn from experience, and from those who know what they’re doing. And that’s especially true when it comes to crime reporting, because the only advantage we’ve got over the police is that we can talk to the criminals without threatening to arrest them. But that needs trust. I get exclusive stuff because I’ve got informants who trust me. That took a lot of time and effort, and alcohol. But it’s not just the informants, Artur. You have to build up a picture of the whole crime scene in the city. Who the syndicates are and what they control, who the hitmen are, who the various enforcers work for, and where they operate. There’s a geography and an economy of crime, and if you don’t know it, you can run into some real trouble.

“See this Vaher business. Take my word for it, this means real trouble. Senior cops don’t get killed without there being some very heavy stuff out there. If they killed Vaher, they’ll kill you without a second thought. Why? Because you’re nobody. And the reason I’m saying this is that I can see what’s going on in your little head. You’re thinking you’re going to dash out there when I’m not looking and with a few phone calls uncover a giant criminal conspiracy that caused Vaher’s death. Well, forget it. First, because nobody will tell you anything, and that’s because they don’t know you. And second, once you start snooping, they’ll simply bump you off. One morning you’ll float into the harbour on the tide, dead as you’ll ever be. No indication of who did it, or why. Just another corpse of a bit player who thought he could be a star.

“Yeah, go on, smirk at me. But I’m telling you, your life depends on your listening to me. I won’t be doing this forever. I’m happy for you to take over when I’ve gone. But if you want to do that, you need to learn the job. I’m offering you a good deal here, as well as a free meal. Work with me and learn the trade. Sure, at the moment it’s my name that’s on each piece. But one day it’ll be yours, if you do it right. Just don’t try running before you can even crawl. There’s the deal, take it or leave it, buddy boy.”

There was a touch of irritation in Artur’s frown. “OK, OK, Jaan, I take your point, no need to overdo it. I’m glad to work with you, learn a few tricks. But I’m not just your errand boy, I want a bit of the real action too. If it weren’t for me, you wouldn’t have this morning’s exclusive.”

“Sure, kid, that was quick thinking. You happened to be in the right place at the right time, and you made the most of it. You’ve got an eye for an opportunity, and that’s one of the talents any good journalist needs. But you were lucky, the opportunity just fell into your lap. Do you think that’s going to happen, week in week out, for the next thirty years. No way. To be successful you’ve got to make those opportunities happen, pick them off the tree before they fall. Stick with me, and you’ll learn how to do that. And as a bonus, you get to stay alive. Now, if you want to work with me, let’s get down to business. If you don’t, then piss off now.” Kallas shovelled a pile of sauerkraut into his mouth, so that loose strands hung out the edges, like skinless worms struggling to free themselves. He shoved them in with the edge of his hand, and took another swig of beer.

Artur nodded. “OK, Jaan, let’s get to it. Where do we start?”

Kallas scratched his stomach and burped. “We need to dig up some shit on Vaher. It seems to me this was a revenge killing. That’s why it was so public. You don’t throw somebody off Toompea Hill unless you want to make a point.”

“So what is the point?”

“If I knew that I’d already be writing it up. My guess is that he’d seriously pissed off somebody in the criminal world. Somebody big, somebody who doesn’t mind throwing people off Toompea Hill. So we’ll need to look at all the people he put away, see if there was anyone well-connected enough to stir up a response. Why don’t you do that? I’ll contact a few of my ears in the underworld, see if they’ve got anything to report. A twenty-crown bill buys plenty of talk, but it’s working out how much of it was worth twenty crowns that’s the tricky bit.”

“Maybe I could come along to meet them.”

“Is that a joke? Listen, sunshine, to a good reporter, his contacts are part of his body, that’s why I call them my ears. If you want some ears, you’ll need to grow them yourself. Now, clear off and do some work!”

Artur hadn’t finished his beer. But he took the hint. Even though he considered Kallas to be a pompous and self-satisfied asshole, working with him was an opportunity. And despite what Kallas had said, he would do a little digging on his own too. He knew the other man was simply trying to keep him out of his patch. But, he thought, talent will out. He got up, nodded to Kallas, left the cafe, and walked off, trying to effect a relaxed swagger.

A thought occurred to him. What if he were to follow Kallas, then he could find out who his ‘ears’ were. But that wouldn’t happen during the day. Kallas would probably sneak into some dive down by the harbour; maybe he even disguised himself as a sailor. Well, two could play at that game. He needed to write that folklore piece for Hunt, too. Who the hell wanted to read that some old farmer thought it would rain when he saw a mole in his field? There was a weather forecast at the bottom of page four, why didn’t they just read that?

Jaan Kallas finished his beer and ordered a coffee. He needed to think. And he had no intention of sharing his thoughts with Artur Simm. He realised that Artur’s deference was a sham, that the ambitious little turd simply wanted his job. Nevertheless, Hunt had ordered him to work with Simm. Perhaps Hunt was lining Simm up as his next crime reporter, and wanted Kallas to train him. He couldn’t refuse. But he would have to use Simm carefully, give him plenty of legwork, but keep him away from any real insights.