Harri Nykanen - Behind God's Back

“No… He said he wanted to tell me something that would help me with the investigation. This morning at the funeral he was still claiming that everything was fine and he didn’t know anything about anything.”

“I wonder what made him change his mind?”

I didn’t bother answering. I was mad at myself for not having raked Max over the coals and demanding more information on the phone.

The forensic specialist found footprints on the deck of the yacht. I told her that I had been inside and would definitely have left footprints on the deck, too. She took my prints for later comparison and elimination.

“Could you please check the pockets of the deceased? I need his car keys… and cell phone.”

The investigator passed my request on to her colleague inside, and I got the keys.

“There’s no phone. This victim was also shot with a.22, by the way. That means it could be the same perp as with the Tammisalo murder.”

The matter would resolve itself as soon as tests were conducted on the bullet that would be retrieved from Max.

I thanked her and climbed back onto the dock. The first drops of rain fell softly on my face. It was almost dark now, and the city lights gleamed beyond the channel.

My phone rang. It was a patrol reporting that they had found the kayak potentially used by the killer at the West Harbour. There was no trace of the kayaker.

“I’ll go have a look at the car before I leave,” I said to Simolin. Oxbaum’s car was in the lot, just like the guard had guessed. I circled it and looked in. Then I opened the door and climbed in behind the wheel. There was nothing on the seats, but there were a few CDs in the door compartment. I opened the glove box and emptied the contents onto the passenger seat. Meanwhile, Simolin examined the trunk.

Vehicle registration, a Swiss army knife, a parking fine in a plastic sleeve, a few parking stubs and a receipt from a gas station. It indicated that Max had bought thirteen litres of gas at the ABC service station in Vantaa. There was another receipt for two coffees from the same place. I shoved the receipts into the plastic sleeve containing the ticket, and put it in my pocket.

Simolin opened the door and looked in. “I found this in the spare tyre compartment,” he said, showing me a small, battered handgun. “What would a lawyer need a gun for? Unless he was afraid of something… But why didn’t he take it with him onto the boat?”

“Because he was expecting me.” I took a closer look at the gun. I picked it up and examined it very carefully. Simolin handed me his LED lamp. The pistol was a 1938 Beretta. There was a chip in the right-side Bakelite plate, and the front of the grip had been roughened with a file.

The gun had been my father’s. He had got it from his own father, who had brought it home from the war. It was one of thousands of illegal firearms that were souvenirs of the war.

I handed the weapon back to Simolin, who looked a little baffled at it.

We went back to the marina and I asked the forensic investigator to tow Max’s car in for examination. I wanted them to get everything they could from it, down to the last fingerprint, hair, fibre and skin cell.

By now it was almost ten. I drove Simolin downtown so he could continue by bus to Puistola, where he and his girlfriend had just bought themselves a town house. He was excited about having his own sauna and about the hobby room that had been built in the basement. Someone at work had asked about a housewarming party, but Simolin had awkwardly dodged the question. He didn’t want to admit such a large crowd of co-workers into his private sphere.

I was envious of the enthusiasm he had for so many things, which he could delve into at any time and escape the pressures of the job. I, on the other hand, had one final unpleasant task before me — or two, to be exact. First I had to inform Max’s wife Ruth what had happened, and afterwards I had to pay Eli a visit. Then again, I guessed both meetings would be even more unpleasant for them than for me.

“Max murdered. I can’t believe it,” Eli said. He went so white I was afraid he would faint. He stared at me with a mixture of incredulity and fear. “I talked with him just a few hours ago,” he said, hammering at his forehead as if trying to wake himself up from a dream.

We were at Eli’s. He was alone; his wife was at the theatre and would be going out for dinner afterwards.

The living room was as big as a basketball court and had a view of the water. I was sitting on an expensive-looking leather armchair with a hardwood frame. I knew that the chair cost more than three months of my net salary.

“What did you talk about?”

“It had to be a hit,” Eli insisted, not hearing my question. He was lost somewhere inside his head. “We’ve owned that company together for over fifteen years. Most people thought Max was annoying, but he wasn’t actually as big an asshole as he seemed. I know you didn’t like him.”

Eli was right, but speaking ill of the dead wasn’t the thing to do, so I kept my mouth shut.

“You said you talked just a few hours ago. I’d like to know what about.”

“Have you already told Ruth?” Eli asked.

“Yes.”

I was glad Eli didn’t ask how Ruth had taken her husband’s death, because she hadn’t taken it at all well. Who would? She had sat there for a moment in silence, and then started wailing at the top of her lungs. It wasn’t pleasant to watch or listen to. I called her sister, who lived nearby, and stayed with Ruth until she showed up. The sister promised to call Max’s children and have them come and be with their mother. Neither of them lived at home any more.

“What did you talk about?” I asked for the third time. Eli managed to shake himself out of his stupor.

“It was pretty strange, actually. Max called and asked if he could come by. He did, and he asked me to prepare the Jacobson loan papers, because Roni wanted to carry out his father’s wishes: pay off the company’s loan and take out a new one from a Finnish bank. I found that odd, because that had always been Max’s job, and because he had assured me he had been able to get Roni to simmer down. Max said that he had to go out of town on business for a few days and wouldn’t have time to take care of it.”

“That was it?”

“What else should there be?”

“Dad’s pistol.”

“What about it?” Eli asked, avoiding my gaze.

“Did you give it to Max?”

“Yes. How did you know?”

“It was found in Max’s car.”

“That’s just great,” Eli snorted. “Are you going to tell whose weapon it is? It’s not like it’s on the books. I doubt anyone’s interested in it; it’s not the murder weapon, is it?”

“Luckily not. Both of us would be screwed if it were. Why the hell didn’t you tell me about the gun?”

Eli was right in that the weapon was of no significance to the investigation proper. But the thought of concealing the gun’s origins felt distasteful. I started fuming, at myself as well as Eli, and decided I’d tell Simolin and Huovinen about the weapon.

“There wasn’t a good moment.”

“There wasn’t? It doesn’t matter; I still have to tell my boss about it.”

“Why? It won’t look good if a well-known detective is found in possession of an illegal firearm,” Eli said.

“Actually, the gun was in the possession of a well-known lawyer.”

“It was both of theirs; a family heirloom.”

“Why did Max need a gun?”

“He said he had received some threatening phone calls. Didn’t give me any more details. I could tell he was really scared, so I gave him the gun. I shouldn’t have, I know. But what’s forcing you to be such a goody-two-shoes and tell about the pistol?”