Fatal Headwind (25 page)

Iida toddled up to me in the front hall. Her injury didn’t seem to be slowing her down; though, with her eye patch, she looked like a pirate baby. Picking my daughter up, I kissed her little cheeks, which smelled of porridge.

“Let’s go rest for a little while. Mommy’s tired.”

“Iia owie,” was her response, pointing at her eyelid.

“What? Say that again,” I begged, because until now Iida had never said more than one word at a time, and even those were rare. But Iida never repeated her first sentence. She just snuggled deeper into my arms. I grabbed a banana from the kitchen, and Iida demanded half. Antti was perusing the latest issue of
Finnish Nature
in the living room and sat up to kiss me.

“You smell like whiskey,” he said in surprise.

“You caught me. No one can deal with the NBI sober. Let’s go snuggle with Iida.”

“I’m going out for a walk. And you remember that I’m going to that symphony concert tomorrow night, right?” Antti asked. I gave a vague grunt because of course I had forgotten the whole thing. I carried Iida upstairs and listened to her cooing and looked at her little fingers, which alternated between building Duplo towers and playing with my hair. Then she snuggled in next to me with her head against my breast as if she still wanted to nurse.

Nursing had been one of those few aspects of being a mother in which I had felt adequate. My milk had been plentiful, and my baby learned to eat within a couple of days. For me it was fascinating that my body was a source of nourishment and safety for my baby, a big, warm nest where she could doze off after filling her belly with the greatest food she knew. Iida had smiled for the first time at three months old one day after her lunch milk, and I could tell it wasn’t just an involuntary expression. The most enchanting thing about Iida was the sparkling joy in her eyes just after she woke up from a nap, when I picked her up still swaddled and sucking her pacifier. Thank God the corner of the piano hadn’t hit her an inch more to the center . . . I kissed Iida’s eyebrow, snuffling and growling until all both of us could do was laugh and kiss each other’s faces. I didn’t feel the need to open that bottle of anise vodka anymore.

13

When the alarm went off at six thirty, I joined everyone else in cursing my enthusiasm for an early meeting. The light of the moon, one day short of full, cast shadows across the dark, frosted fields. The mercury said twenty-eight degrees. Hopefully our elderly Fiat would cooperate. I hadn’t plugged in the block heater the night before.

After putting on the coffee and Iida’s morning porridge, I padded out to the mailbox to get the paper. The cold stung my face, opening my swollen eyes. The forest smelled of decomposition, as if its potent aroma it was trying to protest the fall and death. The alder leaves collected around the mailbox were dark gray, and the frost had decked them in strings of pearls.

My Fiat started after a little coaxing, but the steering wheel was so cold I couldn’t hold it without gloves. Almost immediately I got stuck in traffic and attempted irritably to find a radio station that wasn’t playing artificially perky music. Fortunately someone else was feeling cantankerous too and one of the stations was playing Apocalyptica. The hysterical cellos on their rendition of Metallica’s “The Unforgiven” almost put me in a good mood.

Puustjärvi and Koivu sat in the conference room, talking about the previous night’s hockey matches and drinking coffee.

“Why’d you disappear yesterday?” Koivu asked when he saw me.

“I was in such a bad mood I didn’t feel like waiting around. Did they keep you long?”

“Forty-five minutes. Some of their questions were really strange, though. Like they asked me if you had any reason to get rid of Ström. They were trying to make it sound like you bribed Väätäinen to get Ström to hit him. I told them you were such a raging feminist there was no way you would ever work with a wife beater like that.”

I gave a feeble smirk. I didn’t quite understand what was going on. If Ström hadn’t suggested the bribery theory to Agent Suurpää, then who did? And who were they trying to get rid of, Ström or me?

Kantelinen came three minutes late. First he gave us a brief overview of the Merivaara Nautical finances, which were unremarkable. The company had survived the last recession without damage, and exports had been picking up, especially over the last fiscal year. Apparently the combination of a tradition-rich family company and a modern eco-friendly approach was appealing to customers. Their accounting was impeccable and their investments sound. In addition to improving the company’s image, purchasing Rödskär Island had been a clever tax trick. The only odd thing about the otherwise flawless financial picture was the shareholding company Mare Nostrum. The company’s papers didn’t have any information about it, other than that odd post-office box on Guernsey Island.

“Does that point to tax evasion?” Puustjärvi asked.

“It could be that or something else,” Kantelinen replied. “The company hasn’t paid much in dividends for the past several years, so this twelve percent stake wouldn’t have meant much. Maybe a million marks total. Is that really enough to make it worth getting into some risky scam? If this were tax evasion, then we’d expect to see that the same people are behind Mare Nostrum and Merivaara Nautical. I don’t understand why that would be the case, though.”

“So what is it, then?” I asked impatiently.

“Mare Nostrum bought its stock in Merivaara Nautical at the bottom of the recession, right when the company started rebranding. What it looks like is that they mostly used the money from this stock sale as startup funds for the eco-paint operation. That’s why both companies having the same ownership doesn’t make sense from the tax-evasion standpoint. Real money changed hands.”

“The members of the board have to know who owns stock in the company, don’t they?” Puustjärvi asked. “Why are we sitting here guessing when we can just ask them? Why not ask Anne Merivaara?”

“I can take a trip to Guernsey to check on that mysterious PO box,” Koivu suggested hopefully.

“Yeah, because that would be much more efficient than sending an e-mail! We’ll contact our colleagues there, but first let’s do like Puustjärvi said and ask Anne Merivaara and Halonen. That was the CFO’s name, right? Puustjärvi, you track down Marcus Enckell. Koivu and I will head over to the corporate offices after the morning meeting.”

“Do you really think this Mare whatever-it-was stock thing is going to mean something?” Puustjärvi asked.

“It could. Juha Merivaara was a little too slick for my tastes, and so far we haven’t found any motive for his killing other than some petty family feuds. Mare Nostrum—isn’t that what the ancient Romans called the Mediterranean? What could that mean?”

Koivu snorted. “Latin wasn’t in the curriculum at my school.”

Kantelinen started collecting his papers, and we arranged that he would contact Scotland Yard’s white-collar crime unit, where he already had contacts. The chances of getting anything on the Guernsey post-office box through them weren’t great, but we had to try everything.

“That Enckell guy is pretty old, by the way,” Kantelinen said with his hand on the doorknob. “He was born in 1918. And I won’t be available the rest of the week. I’m in court today, then I’m taking comp days the rest of the week. Should I have Scotland Yard contact you directly?”

I nodded and left for my office. For once I would have time to prepare properly for the morning meeting. Everyone else’s cases were progressing nicely. Wang had interviewed the missing mushroomer’s coworkers and learned that over the past few weeks, a handsome young Estonian man named Toomas had been dropping by the office regularly.

“So what you’re saying is that this lady really went out looking for Estonian puffballs,” Puupponen said between sniffles.

Wang blushed but maintained her composure. “We haven’t found her passport. According to her husband she always carried it in her purse, which is also missing. Should I pull the Tallinn ferry passenger manifests?”

“Absolutely. What about her clothing? A woman isn’t going to leave for a weekend with her lover in her mushrooming gear,” I said.

“What if it’s one of those weekends where you don’t need any clothes . . .”

“Shut up, Puupponen,” I said like a mother to a three-year-old who won’t be quiet. “Wang, look into this Toomas character too. Check with the Estonians to see if they’ve found any unidentified female bodies.”

Taskinen burst in just as we were wrapping up.

“Good news, Maria. Väätäinen is being charged with aggravated assault. We’re finally going to nail him.”

“Yippee,” I said unenthusiastically. “Was it Väätäinen who started this bribery rumor?”

When Taskinen looked confused, I told him what the NBI agents had asked me and Koivu. He listened silently, but I could see his lips narrowing.

“Let’s go to your office,” he said.

“Koivu, be ready in fifteen minutes! We’ll take my car,” I said and then marched after Taskinen to my office, which strangely transformed from my domain to his as soon as he walked in. I almost sat down on the sofa instead of in my chair behind the desk, but Taskinen chose his place first.

“If Ström cooked up this bribery thing, he could also be charged with perjury!” he said.

“I got the impression they were just vague rumors, not anything directed at a specific individual. Ström denies knowing anything about it.”

“You asked him? Of course he would deny it. Don’t be so gullible, Maria. Ström is never going to get over you stealing this job from him. He knows his career in this department is over, and he wants to try to pull you down with him.”

“Are you suggesting he bribed Väätäinen to accuse me of bribery? I don’t see it. Ström really hates that guy. He’d never do a deal with him.”

Whereas a lot of career cops became friendly with criminals to learn to think the way they did, Ström had always worked hard to separate us from them, cops from crooks. It troubled him that criminals these days weren’t playing on the same chessboard as the police and seemed to be able to turn the rules to their own advantage.

“Maybe Agent Suurpää just wanted to see how we would react. Apparently someone they interviewed made it clear Ström’s exit would only be a good thing for the department,” I said in a tone that made Taskinen glance at me in confusion.

“Are you saying you don’t want him to go?”

“I don’t know!” I said in disgust. “Excuse me, but I have to check a few things before we leave for Merivaara Nautical.”

Taskinen stood up, looking hurt. When the door closed behind him, I thought that the world was turning awfully strange. I had just had an argument about Pertti Ström with a boss I loved and respected and who had always supported me. Ström had claimed that I was promoted because Taskinen and I had a romantic relationship, which wasn’t true. Sometimes I wondered whether Taskinen would have had anything against it, though, and I had to admit there had been times when I had considered it.

Koivu had confirmed that Halonen and Anne Merivaara were at work. Koivu could interview Halonen, and I would try to get Anne to open up with some girl talk. Once again I wondered at her ability to work, even though her husband had been killed and her son was being charged with arson.

At the Merivaara offices, the receptionist downstairs asked Koivu to wait. The chief financial officer would be with him in a moment. Juha Merivaara’s assistant, Paula Saarnio, came to escort me upstairs. A fax machine was humming away in the corner of her office, but she didn’t even glance at what it was printing. Anne Merivaara had moved into the CEO’s office and was currently speaking German on the phone.

“Ja. Sehr gut. Vielen Dank, Herr Doktor Schubert. Auf Wiederhören!”
Anne smiled faintly as she hung up and then stood to shake my hand. Her thin, pale skin shone, pulled tight over cheeks and temple bones. Makeup couldn’t conceal the dark circles and bags under her eyes.

“Paula, please book a room for two people under Dr. Schubert’s name for the nights before and after Juha’s funeral. Preferably at the Tapiola Garden. Please hold my calls and bring us some tea. Would you like anything to eat, Lieutenant?”

“No, thanks.”

“How is the investigation proceeding?”

“We’re making constant progress,” I lied without hesitation. Anne nodded and said that was a relief. She spoke in measured tones, but it felt as if she were a glass balanced on the edge of a table, poised to fall at any instant and shatter on the tile floor. Still, I didn’t bother with small talk. I just sat down and got to the point.

“I want more information about your company shareholders, especially Mare Nostrum. Who owns it?”

Anne’s eyes wandered the room for a few seconds. Since my last visit they had indeed hung a picture of Juha Merivaara next to his father and grandfather. There wasn’t a plaque with his name and dates under the black-and-white portrait yet, though. In the picture Juha wore a skipper’s cap and stared into the distance with his chin thrust forward. His stance made me think of Jiri.

“Isn’t that in the financial documents? That sergeant took all of them.”

“No, strangely enough. The company’s address is just a post-office box on a known tax-haven island. But as a shareholder and member of the company board, you should be able to tell me who owns Mare Nostrum.”