Harri Nykanen - Behind God's Back

“Yeah, I thought that was understood.”

“That’s what I thought, too. It’s just too bad that the man who killed Oxbaum on his boat and fled by kayak wasn’t Nurmio, or even Meir.”

When it came to the affairs of Finnish Jews, I had an advantage, and not simply because of my background. I’m referring to the fact that my uncle Dennis was the first one to hear about anything that happened in the community. He was one of the congregation’s most liberal supporters, and all doors were open to him. It was high time to pay him another visit.

He lived alone in a large apartment in Töölö. It was surrounded by parks, and had a view of the Rowing Stadium and the sea. A museum-like stillness prevailed inside, even though details revealed that a living family had once resided there. That family had dwindled as one of Dennis’s sons died of a drug overdose, his daughter moved to Stockholm, and the second son to Israel. His wife had died over ten years earlier. The deaths of his son and wife had struck a deep wound in my uncle’s soul, but he had engaged in a long, grim monologue with God and they had come to an understanding.

My uncle had suffered a severe heart attack early that summer, and as a result had been spending more and more time alone by choice. He told me that he wanted to reflect on things in peace. I still visited him a couple of times a month, and phoned him more often.

I was fond of my uncle. He had helped Mom out after Dad died and lent her the money to buy a hair salon. He was the only one of my relatives who had supported me when I had applied to the Police Academy.

My uncle was sitting in his patinated club chair like Marlon Brando in The Godfather. He was wearing a light-blue plaid shirt under his V-neck sweater. Despite his casual dress, my uncle radiated an uncommon dignity, and his soft, wandering gaze could sharpen bright and diamond-hard at any moment. He knew I was there on business. A steaming cup of tea stood on the cigarette table. After his heart attack, he had hired an elderly housekeeper. She had carried in tea and sandwiches for us.

“All right, let’s have it.”

I protested innocence: “Let’s have what?”

“The question you want to ask.”

“We’ll have time to get to that.”

“But I’m not just impatient, I’m also curious.”

“It has to do with Jacobson’s death… and Max’s.”

“I heard about Max. He’s the last one I’d have expected… I mean that he’d get himself killed. I was certain that with all those extra pounds and cholesterol levels like that he’d die of a heart attack or a stroke. I suppose my heart attack didn’t ask what my cholesterol levels were, though. Which, if anything, taught me that I’m mortal, too. Somehow I’d managed to forget. I’m sorry, go on.”

“I believe that the murders are not only linked to each other, but to something else, something bigger. One possibility is that Jacobson was first pressured into getting involved in something. After that, the killer came after Max, and I’m afraid that won’t be the end of it. The killer needs help, and he’s looking for a new helper.”

“So the killer must have had some sort of hold over Jacobson and Max?”

“So it would seem.”

“Then it must have to do with Max’s business dealings. I’ve always suspected that they wouldn’t stand the light of day. I warned your brother, but evidently he didn’t listen to his uncle.”

“That’s what I think, too. Max had brokered loans for Jacobson’s company. The lender was an outfit named Baltic Invest.”

“I’m familiar with it. I can’t imagine ever being desperate enough to borrow money from them.”

I believed my uncle. On the other hand, it was easy for him to say. His financial affairs were more than in order. He had been a bank director for over thirty years, and in addition was a partner in a successful investment company. I was certain that he had a seven-digit account balance; in other words, four digits more than my own. I hadn’t inherited the knack for moneymaking that was considered the birthright of every Jewish boy.

I had thought on many occasions about how different brothers can be. My father was the scientist type, a humanist and a nature lover. He was more at ease during his work trips to Lapland than he was in his own home. My uncle, on the other hand, was an urban, cigar-smoke-scented businessman down to the tips of his fingers. He had softened with age, but I still couldn’t imagine him walking down a hiking trail in Lapland or binding birch whisks on the sauna steps.

“When he was in Israel, Max wandered off the straight and narrow, and someone videotaped it. He, at least, was being blackmailed with those tapes. Samuel Jacobson was probably being blackmailed with something else, but what that was, I don’t know. I don’t even have a good guess.”

My uncle listened, apparently absent-mindedly. But I knew he heard every word, including the ones I left out.

“Samuel intended to pay off that loan. He came here to discuss the matter, and I gave him some advice. Despite the fact that things weren’t going quite as well as they had in the past, his company had considerable assets. So it can’t have had anything to do with the company’s loan.”

“His son Roni’s loans were also arranged through Max. He took out loans totalling almost a million euros.”

“Still.”

“You know that Jacobson’s daughter Lea is married to the Israeli director of Baltic Invest. Maybe the killer threatened to do something to them?”

My uncle’s hands started to tremble as he sipped his tea. This was due to his age, though, not the topic of conversation.

“Did Jacobson offer any reason as to why he intended to pay off the Baltic Invest loan?” I asked.

“He had heard that they were under investigation in Israel. He thought there was something fishy about the company. He was angry with his son-in-law because he had recommended a loan from them even though he was perfectly aware of the scandal.”

“Did he use the word ‘angry’?”

“No, but it was clear from his tone. He told me he had read his son-in-law the riot act, and also spoken to his daughter about it.”

“What feelings did he have about Max’s role in the matter?”

“He was irked about that, too. He felt that Max just skimmed off his share and bore no concern or responsibility for the company’s credibility. Max had boasted about what a financially solid company Baltic Invest was. Samuel said that he had given Max a piece of his mind, and your brother, too, even though Max was the one who handled all the loans.”

“Did Roni intend to change lenders, too?”

“We didn’t discuss that.”

“What’s your opinion of Roni?”

I valued my uncle’s knowledge of human nature. As a bank director, he had learnt to assess people’s character. I remember him telling me that not a single one of his customers had skipped out on a loan. Or one had, but he had a good excuse: he was hit by a car and died.

“Roni is the type who tears down everything earlier generations have built up. There’s no way he would have ever been a director if he hadn’t been Samuel’s son. Samuel would also bemoan Roni’s tomfoolery from time to time.”

“What did he mean by tomfoolery?”

“Oh, most recently he’d complained about the affair… When Roni started seeing that former beauty queen.”

“So it wasn’t about money or anything more serious?”

“If it was, he didn’t tell me.”

“You said that the company’s loans couldn’t have been used to blackmail Jacobson… But what if Roni had screwed up his finances, and that was used to blackmail his father? How do you think Jacobson would have reacted to that?”