The Bodyguard (22 page)

There were no lynx tracks and just a couple of swans were out on the bay. I asked Helena to stay indoors. When the blinds were drawn, you couldn’t see even a speck of light from outside. Rain began coming down harder again, so Helena could read her reports in peace while I went to Helsinki.

I left the rental car in Hanasaari and hopped on a bus. I rang the buzzer at one minute to two and wondered why the name was Pepponen and not Laitio. When Laitio’s familiar growl echoed through the speaker, I told him my last name and he let me in. I walked the stairs up to Laitio’s door, which was already open. He was waiting for me in the foyer.

“Come in.” This wasn’t the kind of meeting that began with handshakes and mild comments about the weather. Laitio was puffing on a cigar again. His outfit matched—it was cigar brown, too tight around the shoulders. He had a brown leather shoe on his right foot, a worn-out tartan slipper on his left.

“And you shut up,” he said when he saw me smirking at his slipper. “These are trendy now—even rock stars wear them. They’re all the rage. And that’s why I fucking hate it that I can’t fit anything else on this damned foot. Even my daughter said my slippers are cool. Ha!”

I sat on the familiar couch; Laitio took a seat at his desk. I was barely able to breathe in his office-cum-humidor. Laitio turned the recorder on and rattled the usual interrogation information to start off.

“So, you’re here to confess, eh? Finally got a guilty conscience?” he said while offering me a cigar. I declined.

“I suppose you could charge me with unlawful battery for what I did the other evening. But that’s a minor detail. You’ve been on the wrong track, Laitio, but then again, so have I. Valentin Paskevich didn’t have Anita Nuutinen murdered.”

Laitio’s mustache vibrated for a second, and his eyebrows became a marquee over his deep-set eyes, almost reaching over his thin-rimmed glasses.

“What sort of a story did you and your employer cook up this time?”

“Listen. This is an entertaining one, where the bad guys get their comeuppance.”

I told Laitio about Sunday evening. He tried to interrupt to ask a question, but I told him to shut up. When I described the lasso scene, he began howling with laughter and then was so embarrassed by his reaction that he kept his eyes focused on the tape recorder for quite a while. The only thing I didn’t tell him was the information about David. That man was my prey—I’d let others handle Vasiliev, Syrjänen, and the lot. When I was done with my story, Laitio sat still for what seemed like an eternity. Then he offered me a cigar, again. This time I took one. I snapped the head off with the cigar cutter. I really should buy one of those for my tool kit. It had turned out to be pretty useful at Paskevich’s villa.

“So you’re not one of Paskevich’s girls?” Laitio finally asked when I was on my second draw from the cigar. I had to admit it tasted nearly as good as Uncle Jari’s pipe tobacco.

“I’ve never been one.”

Laitio stared at me in disbelief.

“But I thought Paskevich had bribed you to leave Nuutinen alone. I was so sure of that. So damned sure! It was the logical explanation. But that this Vasilie
v . . .
and even Usko Syrjänen, for fuck’s sake! I almost admire the man. He’s not some Swedish fag flaunting his inherited money—he’s a decent Finnish guy who built his empire with hard work! And now he got weak and buddied up with that Russki.”

“Syrjänen might not know what Vasiliev’s motives are. Are you familiar with this Boris Vasiliev character?”

“Vasiliev? I’ve heard the name. My colleague in Europol is on his tail. There are rumors about Vasiliev being tied to terrorists in the Middle East, connected to some kind of joint oil venture. I bet Syrjänen’s cheap gasoline comes from there, too.”

“Is this colleague of yours David Stahl? He used to work for Paskevich, too.” My voice was now trembling, and I was sure I was blushing. At least, my heart was suddenly beating a hundred and forty times a minute. Didn’t Laitio hear how it was trying to break out of my chest?

“How do you know about Stahl?”

“It’s part of my job description—to know about stuff. But Stahl is not important. Do you think the Moscow militia would reopen Anita Nuutinen’s murder case if you gave them this new information? This Vasiliev guy isn’t on the best of terms with the prime minister. Catching Vasiliev might even make the militia look good, get some promotions going.”

“Or it could be a one-way ticket to a bloodbath. I’ll have to make some queries with my trusted men in Moscow. I’m trying to think of a good excuse to visit Paskevich in Bromarf. I wouldn’t mind having a go at scaring the shit out of him. But I guess you already made him wet his pants real good.”

Laitio’s smile was distorted, his expression slightly lopsided. His cheeks and eyes were surrounded by wrinkles that made him look like a friendly but mischievous Santa Claus. A daddy figure in tartan slippers, oh dear God.

“You better be available—or at least respond to voice mails. There haven’t been any official police reports about Lehmusvuo’s disappearance or about anything that occurred in Bromarf that night. So far I’m the only one who knows. Here is what will happen to the tape.” Laitio yanked the tape out of the recorder, mangled it, and then lit it on fire. Now the smell of burning plastic mixed with the disgusting cigar aroma. Finally he opened a window.

“What I mean is, this will be just between the two of us. And what does your girlfriend think about you staying with Lehmusvuo? Then again, Helena Lehmusvuo isn’t a complete troll, either.”

“I don’t sleep with my clients. I never have.”

“Neither have I, but that doesn’t mean I didn’t want to!” Laitio let out a guffaw that was supposed to indicate that us guys knew the truth about women, nudge nudge. Before long he’d be asking me to join his sports team. I took off as soon as I could. Now wouldn’t that be something; Laitio and I becoming buddies.

I spent the night lying awake, listening to Helena toss and turn in her sleep. Thanks to my dongle, I had been able to check my e-mail. My friends back in the States were having heated conversations about the presidential election. Most of them supported Barack Obama, but some of the more conservative types thought that it was an abomination for a black man to serve as president. Just as I was about to turn my laptop off, I received a message Mike Virtue had sent out to the group:

It is our duty as bodyguards to keep Obama alive, should he be elected. Whoever you support, it is always your duty to protect our democratically elected president. Remember what I taught you: your job is to protect your clients; killing is only acceptable if it is absolutely necessary in order to do your job.

I thought about David Stahl and I knew his time was coming. Sometimes it was necessary to kill the person you’d mistakenly loved. In his twisted way of thinking, my father had done what he’d had to do; the rest of us knew he’d been wrong. What Uncle Jari had had to do was awful, but it was the only option.

When I was eight, I was too young to understand that having a wild animal as a pet just didn’t make sense. I didn’t even think of Frida as a pet; she was more like a family member. Of course, she never learned how to properly hunt because she was living with us. She had no mother to teach her. She occasionally caught some mice and moles like a farm cat would, and sometimes she ran after a squirrel. But hares were always too cunning for her. Only later did I understand why Uncle Jari continued to break the laws by going out to shoot hares, ducks, even seagulls, all outside hunting season—we couldn’t afford to feed Frida store-bought meat.

When Frida was a cub, she always stayed in Hevonpersiinsaari, and the first year and a half went well. Even if she took off, she wasn’t gone for long. Neighbors sometimes reported seeing lynx around, and during the winter we kept ourselves busy by erasing Frida’s tracks in our yard and on the lake ice. I figured the Hakkarainens had to know we were keeping a wild lynx, but as Frida never did any harm to their animals, they let it be. Hevonpersiinsaari had its own rules.

We began to run into trouble in the spring when Frida was almost two and in heat for the first time. She needed a mate. Usually she liked being alone, but on these March and April nights, her calls echoed far. There was one moonlit night when the light bounced off the lake ice so brightly that I didn’t need a flashlight. Frida was in the yard, wailing, and her cries were probably heard all the way to Rikkaranta.

And then someone responded. A male lynx was somewhere near Kaavi. Uncle Jari had been pretending to sleep, but even he had to get up and watch from the window as Frida went running over the ice, heading north.

She was gone for days, but then finally returned. She was alone, but soon unfamiliar lynx tracks appeared on the ice. One warm winter night, when icicles were spontaneously cracking off the gutter, I was on my way to the outhouse when I spotted them. Frida and her mate. Frida was leaning onto her front paws, hips shot up high, and her mate pushed himself inside her, biting her on the neck. Frida growled and swiped at the male when he pulled away. I was only ten then, and I didn’t know much about sex. Still, I knew I had been privileged to witness this.

Frida’s heat passed. I was sad when her friend was gone, but Uncle Jari told me it was just how lynx lived. Uncle Jari also knew that I shouldn’t be expecting any lynx babies; usually the first time wasn’t successful. Frida turned into a domestic cat again, running on the road after Uncle Jari’s car. When Minttu Hakkarainen’s pet bunny went missing from their yard, we panicked. It looked like our lynx had finally figured out how to hunt, and it might cost her her life.

We never discovered who ran her over. Some lousy coward who didn’t even stop to see what had happened—she had been left on the side of the road, barely alive, less than a mile from our house. I found her on my way home from school. I ran all the way to the cabin.

“Uncle Jari! Come! Help! Frida is bleeding!”

Uncle hopped in the car with his elk rifle. He told me to stay in the cabin, but I told him Frida was my sister. I was coming with him. She was still alive when we got there, and I could tell she recognized us. The car had injured her hind legs and back so badly that a vet couldn’t have done anything to save her.

“Hilja, she’s suffering. I have to end it. Just one shot, and she won’t be hurting anymore.”

I looked away when Uncle shot her, but I saw his face, wet from tears. We buried her in the Hevonpersiinsaari forest next to a large rock. Uncle Jari sang the first verse of “Suvivirsi
.
” Later the Hakkarainen family and visitors to Hevonpersiinsaari wondered why a rose bush was growing among the heather. Uncle Jari and I knew. My sister was buried under the roses.

22

When you’re going to meet a woman, bring a whip. When you’re going to meet a traitor, don’t forget your pistol. Of course, David would know I was armed, and would be similarly equipped. It was just a question of who would draw their weapon first.

I debated between driving or biking to the inn, then decided to load my bike into the car and drive almost all of the way there. I left the car at the last turnoff next to a pedestrian rain shelter. I rode my bike the rest of the way. It was drizzling again, so I was a little worried that David would think it was suspicious if my clothes looked pristine. I wore my rain gear, but my pants were hiding a pair of black panty hose and a red leather miniskirt that I hadn’t worn since my days in New York. I’d thrown my jacket over a boxy blazer, which I’d bought because it hid my gun so well. I wanted to look sexy, to turn David on and leave him defenseless, without a gun and naked.

Only when I was parking my bike did I realize how scared I was. Luckily I’d had extensive training in biofeedback. I took some shallow breaths to lower my pulse while I dispassionately analyzed my emotions. I had to admit that the woman in me was nervous about meeting David, although I couldn’t let myself fall into bed with him again. I had to keep my clothes on.

David had sent me a message about staying in our old room and that I should just go there and knock on the door. He’d also mentioned that no one else was in the building, hinting that this time nobody could hear us. How much did David assume I already knew? He didn’t think I was stupid enough to believe his real estate story, did he? I planned on leaving the door to the building open.

One of the options I had was to go for a surprise attack—I could walk into the room with my Glock out. I decided to leave the gun in the holster. I had hesitated to shoot Paskevich, and this time there would be no room for hesitation. It may very well have been David who had slaughtered Anita, force-fed the drunkard enough booze to kill him, and then planted the gun in his hand. My chest was heaving like a starlet’s in a 1930s Finnish movie, and I could tell my pulse was beating visibly in my neck and my wrists as I knocked on David’s door. He didn’t ask who it was, which was stupid. I could have been anyone, although right now nobody else was as dangerous to him as I was.

“Hilja!” David beamed. He pulled me to his chest and locked the door behind us. He wore jeans and a thin shirt. There was no sign of a gun underneath, nor could I feel one in his back pants pocket. I squeezed my left arm tightly to my side and hugged him with my right. I instantly knew that this sham would never work. David’s hands were already roaming over my body, my rain gear transferring droplets onto his clothes.

“Just a second. I’ll take my coat off,” I said and pulled away while pushing him onto the bed. First I removed my pants, then my jacket, doing my best to keep a horny expression on my face, although I must’ve looked more like a jittery guinea pig. I pretended to unbutton my blazer, but instead I pulled out my gun and aimed it straight at David’s head. His smile went quickly from tenderness to confusion; I could even see a hint of rage in his eyes.

“What the hell is going on?”

“Game’s over, David Stahl. Or is that even your real name? That’s how you’re known in Europol. I know you’ve talked with Chief Constable Teppo Laitio. What’s your code name among Vasiliev’s mobsters? Hands up and put them behind your head! And stay still. I won’t hesitate to shoot a rat like you.”

David put his hands up but I was sure he was calculating how to get out of the situation. I didn’t think he would start screaming for help—neither one of us wanted to get anyone else involved in this. I avoided yelling; my voice became a cat’s rabid hissing. I didn’t know how many guests were at the inn on an October weekday; with some luck we were the only ones. David probably already knew this, and I had to take my cues from the way he acted.

“Who do you work for? Paskevich?” he asked.

“Shut up! I’m the one asking the questions here. If you want to live a little longer, you’ll answer them like a good boy.”

David shook his head in disbelief. I searched for his gun. I really could’ve used a pair of handcuffs to tie David to the bed: the slats of the headboard would have been perfect for it.

“I don’t need to tell you anything. Go ahead, shoot me.”

“You fucking murderer! Double agent! Traitor!” I didn’t know how to curse in Swedish, so I had to switch to Finnish. This only seemed to amuse David, which in turn made me grip the gun tighter. “How much did Vasiliev pay you? What were you hired to do? Your former boss Paskevich knows that Vasiliev is going after Hiidenniemi, and that Usko Syrjänen is just a front. I’ve shared this piece of information with Laitio. Helena Lehmusvuo and Marina Andreyevna Mihailova also know.

“And Lehmusvuo is on whose team?”

“That’s what Paskevich wanted to know, too, when he had Helena kidnapped.” I couldn’t help but boast about how clever I had been—David needed to pay for underestimating me. “Paskevich kidnapped Lehmusvuo on election night, but I had a tracker on her, which then lead me to Paskevich’s villa in Bromarf,” I continued. “He thought I was one of Vasiliev’s girls, but we both know that I’m not, don’t we? You must at least know who’s on your side, right?”

David nodded. I told him to remove his belt. I used it to tie his hands around his back and then flipped him on his side. At the security academy, we’d often practiced handling opponents with a gun in one hand, ropes or handcuffs in the other. David made it easy by not struggling at all. I wasn’t confusing his behavior with submission, though. I knew that only one of us would leave the room alive. I should just stop being so inquisitive and get it over with. I could then call in an anonymous tip to Laitio and tell him that David Stahl had actually been a double agent, and that when Vasiliev had found out what a traitor he was dealing with, he’d had Stahl killed.

Footsteps approached the door; then there was a knock.

“Should I heat up the hot tub for you?” asked the innkeeper in English. I gestured to David to answer her.

“A little later perhaps. I’m still in the middle of something. I’ll let you know when I’m ready, but I may not have time for a soak tonight.”

“But it’ll do you good. Think about it!” The innkeeper began to walk away. Now it was raining hard and I wondered what would be the point of sitting in a hot tub in the rain. I guess it felt pleasant to be submerged in such warmth when a storm was raging all around you. If things had gone differently, I would be joining David there. That’s probably what he had planned. And then, oops, an electric appliance still plugged into an outlet would have somehow fallen in, and that would’ve been the end of me. How clever. She left behind a boyfriend and a number of former employers.

“I have to tell you, I do admire how you survived Paskevich,” said David. “Apparently he’s not nearly as big a player as I first thought. And he didn’t orchestrate Anita’s murder.”

“But you knew that all along. And don’t try to claim otherwise.”

“I didn’t. I only found out about Vasiliev in the past couple of weeks. I finally got to see the Anita Nuutinen murder tapes.”

“Tapes?”

“Vasiliev doesn’t trust anybody. Everything was videotaped. He enjoys it. It’s all been recorded: how Nuutinen walked out of the building, how you tried to talk to her, how she was abducted, and how you pocketed her scarf. You were obviously drugged.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“Believe me, it’s the truth. You were drugged in Bar Svoboda, weren’t you?”

“I was careful the entire time! I didn’t let anyone near me.”

“And you drank beer, right? It’s easy to recap a bottle once its contents have been spiked. Nuutinen owns the property, but Boris Vasiliev owns the bartender.”

I was angry and ashamed at the same time, but not quite ready to believe David. His explanation sounded a bit too convenient.

David sighed. “You’re right, I am a double agent. Vasiliev paid me off and I’ve managed to hide it from Europol. They don’t know what I’m really up to. I need the money Vasiliev has promised me to create a new identity, should my plan work. Although it looks like my chances of survival are pretty slim.”

He suddenly looked tired, mournful even. A ploy for my sympathy. It wasn’t going to work.

“So you do know who killed Anita Nuutinen and why?” I asked, my voice turning icy. The wind outside was shaking the trees, sending gusts of rain into the window. The curtains were open, but outside it was endless darkness.

“I don’t know which one of Vasiliev’s hit men did it. Most likely Platov and Ponomarenko did it together. It was a spur-of-the-moment decision made on the night you quit. Nuutinen met with Paskevich and told him she knew that Vasiliev and Usko Syrjänen were working together and were behind the Hiidenniemi deal. Their relationship had to remain a secret. Only a few people know about Vasiliev in Finland, and unfortunately, Anita Nuutinen was one of them. After Nuutinen declined Vasiliev’s offer to work with him, her every move in Russia was scrutinized. Vasiliev’s minions had to seize the opportunity when they saw Anita getting into a cab alone, leaving you in front of Bar Svoboda, looking bewildered.” David went quiet for a minute.

“At first I was just as lost as you and Laitio about the case, and I thought Paskevich was the murderer. Initially I was sure that you worked for him; otherwise it would’ve been too much of a coincidence that you went from working for Monika von Hertzen to protecting Anita Nuutinen, and then after her death to Helena Lehmusvuo. But then I found out that Paskevich had nothing to do with Anita’s murder—it had been Vasiliev. And if you had been working for him, I would’ve already known about it. That’s why I had to find out where you were staying, and luckily I found your cabin. It’s not in Stävö like you told me, but in Degerby, next to a cliff, and it’s a log cabin that looks a bit like an alpine hut.” David smirked. “You’re not the only clever one here.”

I swallowed slowly. I couldn’t let David play with my head. It was good to know, though, that he thought I was capable of killing him. “How did you find my cabin?”

“It was a fluke. I saw you get on the bus toward Inkoo on Runeberg Street. I just happened to be behind the bus in my car, and out of curiosity I decided to follow you—I was on my way to Tammisaari anyway. You got off in Degerby, went to the Deli to fill your backpack with food, and then you biked to the cabin. I watched you for a couple of hours. This was in the early summer, well before Anita Nuutinen was murdered. Later it was easy to find you again.”

Although I had been sure that David had sought my company for reasons other than finding me irresistible, a part of me was disappointed. How could I have been so careless as to drive to the cabin without checking to see if I was being followed?

“Even after the murder, I wasn’t sure whose side Nuutinen had been on. There was a time when I suspected that she and Paskevich were working together after all and that both of them were going after Vasiliev. Thanks to that misguided theory, I was able to find you. Hilja, you do realize that your life won’t be worth a dime once Vasiliev finds out you know the truth?”

“And who would tell him the truth? You’ll be shut up for good real soon.”

“There are radio transmitters, Hilja, and cameras. This room could be equipped with anything. You can’t know how much footage might be being sent to Moscow right now. My cell phone could be turned on, or its video camera. Or you could be carrying a recording device, revealing to Europol what a traitor I have been, or sending footage to Laitio.”

I forced my body to not shiver. It was easy to set up wireless surveillance equipment, and I had to assume that David had been recording everything, at least to ensure his safety. So I had no choice. I had to destroy him and then the evidence. My stomach churned at the thought of pressing my Glock against David’s temple and then pulling the trigger. I knew how to shoot; one shot would be enough. I just couldn’t raise my hand or look him in the eye.

“Let’s quit playing games, shall we?” David suggested. “You really think that I’m a double agent who was sent to feed false information about Europol to Vasiliev? One should always believe the worst, right? I can’t blame you—I was guilty of that, too, when I saw you in Lehmusvuo’s yard, dressed up as a man, and I started thinking you weren’t quite as innocent as you pretended to be. I didn’t know how to read you. You had even told Laitio that you preferred women to men. Is that true?”

“I mentioned a girlfriend to him, and he interpreted it in sexual terms for whatever reason. So what? When I was in bed with you of course I was just pretending; it meant nothing to me. I’ve had better lovers than you. And how could you tell I was Reiska?”

“I couldn’t. I guessed. Did Lehmusvuo know?”

“Of course. I’ve only lied to Helena when it was absolutely necessary. Is Vasiliev a threat to her?”

“I don’t think that Vasiliev is going to kill a Finnish politician. Right now he needs to lay low so that no one will figure out his next move. That’s why Laitio and his friends at the National Bureau want to wait before they go after Syrjänen to find out what he knows about Vasiliev. He apparently knows nothing.”

David turned slightly to raise his face toward me. I avoided his gaze.

“How long have you worked for Vasiliev?” I asked.

“Almost two years. It took me a while to get close to the inner circle. The information I’ve been feeding him has helped him financially, but it’s been worth it; it hasn’t cost us any lives, except for Anita Nuutinen. I didn’t know enough about her involvement.”