The Defenceless (26 page)

SAMMY WAS SITTING
in police custody eagerly examining the photographs Anna had brought him. Anna looked at Sammy but thought of Ákos. How was her brother coping? Back home spring would already be well underway, the fruit trees would be about to burst into blossom and snowbells would rise like brilliant-white dapples from the brown earth. Here people would be trudging through slush for months to come. Would her brother be able to enjoy it? Or had he hit the bottle again?

Toini Lehmusvirta, the caretaker, Kari Haapsaari, Juha Karppinen, Reza, a couple of Hell’s Angels and one person who had nothing at all to do with the investigation stared from photographs on the table. It seemed almost as though it was the job of the people in the photographs to identify Sammy, and not the other way round. Anna’s stomach was rumbling though she had eaten a substantial breakfast. She’d been constantly hungry for the last few days, and there was a strange, unpleasant taste in her mouth that she couldn’t get rid of no matter how often she brushed her teeth.

Sammy picked out one of the photographs.

‘It’s him,’ he said.

Anna’s skin began to tingle.

‘Are you absolutely sure?’ she asked.

Sammy nodded eagerly. A new glimmer of hope had lit in his eyes.

‘Yes, I’m sure. I was waiting at the front door, trying to get up to Macke’s place. I haven’t got a phone and there are no doorbells outside,’ he explained excitedly. ‘That guy came out of the stairwell and let me in. We even exchanged a few words. He can prove that I was there. And that night I killed Vilho Karppinen.’

‘Good,’ said Anna. ‘This is very important information.’

Sammy chuckled with happiness. His face lit up. Oh Sammy, you poor thing, thought Anna. This information is more important than you know.

Hilla was pale and gaunt. She was wearing a camouflage army jacket, a pair of scuffed fake-leather boots, no hat and no gloves. She was shivering and constantly shifted her bodyweight from one leg to the other. Her eyes looked empty, as though she couldn’t properly see ahead, as though there was nobody behind them. Anna’s informant, Jani, had told her where to find the girl, and Anna had left immediately. Jani made Anna swear not to frisk her for drugs, and Anna had promised. But I will be filing a report with the drug squad and social services, she thought. This girl’s still a child.

‘Aren’t you cold?’ asked Anna and tried to give the girl an encouraging smile.

Hilla scowled angrily at her and didn’t answer. ‘D’you want something?’ she asked in a slurred, lacklustre voice.

‘Was Marko Halttu your boyfriend?’

The girl scuffed the grit on the ground. For a moment Anna thought she hadn’t heard the question; she was quiet for a long while and stared at the dirt.

‘Yes,’ she answered eventually.

‘Were you together long?’

A tear ran down the girl’s cheek. ‘Six months.’

‘Do you know anything about Marko’s death?’

She raised her weepy eyes, looked up at Anna and nodded. The shivers seemed to rattle her birdlike body all the more powerfully.

‘He topped himself,’ she said quietly.

‘How do you know that?’

The girl took a phone from her pocket, fiddled with it for a moment and handed it to Anna. ‘See for yourself.’

On the screen was a text message from Marko, sent on the day he died:
This mess is too big man. I can’t do it no more. Don’t blame
yourself. Thanks for everything, babe. This is it. See you in junkie heaven.

By now Hilla was sobbing out loud. Anna handed her a tissue.

‘Why didn’t you call an ambulance?’ she asked.

A tortured moan escaped from the girl’s throat. ‘I only read the message later on, once the cops had already found him. Back then I was totally out of it all the time.’

‘And now?’

‘I’ve cut back a lot. I’m trying to kick it.’

‘Good. Are you getting treatment?’

‘No, I’ll be fine on my own. I’m not that hooked no more.’

Of course not, Anna thought with sadness. You lot never are.

‘Well, thanks for this information. It’s really important to us. I think Macke would have wanted people to know the truth, don’t you?’

‘Yeah,’ she said and blew her nose. ‘I miss him.’ With that, Hilla turned and lumbered off, her hands in her pockets, her head lowered. For a moment Anna stood watching her, then she called the city’s social services and made a report to the child welfare officer.

The results of the spirometry test weren’t alarming, but they weren’t great either. Esko had visited the hospital that morning for further tests, again fearing the worst. He sat there sweating and had been convinced he was going to receive a death sentence, and was taken aback when that wasn’t the case. You seem to be developing chronic obstructive pulmonary disease, said the doctor, but you can still prevent it. In other words, he was nearly healthy. It was a miracle. Esko looked at the cigarette cabinet by the supermarket checkout, hidden behind a rolling door. Out of habit he almost ordered three packets of Norths but instead asked for two packets of nicotine chewing gum and a nicotine mouth spray.

He’d asked the doctor what was causing his chest pains. The doctor speculated that it could have something to do with tense muscles around his ribcage. He asked about Esko’s exercise regime and
ordered him to the gym, to do aerobic exercise, swimming or yoga. He’d then given Esko a referral to a physiotherapist and suggested he try using a chiropractor. Yoga, Esko scoffed. Jesus Christ, the things these people come up with. Isn’t it enough that I’m trying keep off the fucking smokes, he thought, as he stepped out of the shop and into the warm spring weather. A flock of geese flew overhead. See you in the autumn, he thought. Hunting those things down will give me plenty of exercise. Just then he noticed a Kia Sorento parked outside the shop. Esko turned on his heels and walked quickly away. He glanced over his shoulder and saw a foot stepping out of the car. A man dressed in a black hoodie jumped out. It looked as though he had something in his hand. Was it a gun? Christ, it looked like a pistol. Esko started running. He slipped round the corner of the house behind the shop and took a sharp left towards the next building. From there a cycle path led into the park where he might be able to find a hiding place. Again he peered over his shoulder. There were two men. No, three. They all had black hair, the same black hoodies, and they were gaining on him fast. Now I’ll have to be crafty. If I run, I’ll never get away, thought Esko and decided not to take the cycle path but dashed into the gulley between two neighbouring apartment blocks. His heart was beating like a hammer. That familiar old pain started to clench around his chest.

He stood right against the building’s concrete wall and edged forward. As he reached the corner he pulled his pistol from the holster beneath his arm, and with the gun in his hand he peered round the corner. There was no one in sight. He ran towards the next building as quickly as his legs could take him. He was out of breath, and for a moment he felt as though he was about to choke, but carried on along the side of the building. From there he called Virkkunen and told him to send reinforcements. How long would they take to get here? He tried to calculate it in his head. Five minutes, or ten? Will I be able to hide between these buildings that long? He glanced once more round the corner and thought he might have shaken the hooded men from his heels, then saw one of them appear
from behind the building in front. The guy was stocky and he was striding confidently towards Esko with the weapon in his hand. The other two were nowhere to be seen. Shit, thought Esko. Did he see me? He leant against the concrete wall; its rough surface scratched the back of his head. He gripped the pistol in his hand and held his breath.

Grit on the path rustled around the corner. The man bellowed something in an incomprehensible language, probably calling for his buddy. There came the sound of brisk footsteps, and Esko heard the man burst into a run. He didn’t have time to think about anything as the man suddenly appeared round the corner pointing his gun. Esko instinctively grabbed his arm. I’m going to die, he thought. The gun went off, a yellow plastic bullet shot upwards and the pistol flew in an arc to the ground. Esko twisted the man’s arm so hard that he slumped to his knees in the slush. It’s a fake gun, he thought, gasping frantically for breath. It’s a fucking toy. What the fuck are these guys playing at? Esko pressed his own gun, genuine and lethal, against the man’s temple.

‘Hands behind your head.’ he shouted. ‘Now, you piece of shit!’

The man slowly raised his hands. The melting snow soaked into his light-coloured jeans. The lunging cobra on the back of his hoodie didn’t hiss and didn’t bite. Esko looked at the white logo printed on the black fabric and smiled with satisfaction.

The two other men were approaching from a distance.

‘Stop right there or I’ll shoot,’ shouted Esko. The men stopped in their tracks. So the fuckers understand Finnish when they need to, he thought.

‘Hands up! Move an inch and I’ll shoot this waste of space here,’ he hollered at the men. They raised their hands. The sound of police sirens could be heard in the distance.

‘Stay right where you are,’ he shouted at them. ‘You don’t fucking play around with me, got that? I could shoot your mate by mistake. It wouldn’t be the first time.’

Two squad cars swerved on to the scene. Officers in uniform
charged out of the cars. One patrol picked up the men standing in the distance, the other ran up to Esko and the man kneeling on the ground.

‘
Salaam alaikum
, mate. Nice gun,’ Esko said to the man once the patrol officers had cuffed him. ‘Where’s Reza?’

The man, who up close turned out to be nothing but a teenager, barely eighteen, stared at Esko with a look of loathing in his black eyes. Then he noisily hocked a glob of mucus from the back of his throat and spat it at Esko’s feet.

Esko raised his hand to slap the boy in the face but controlled himself at the last moment. ‘You don’t need to tell me,’ he said. ‘I’m going to find him myself.’

The boy smiled in mockery, all the while staring unblinkingly at Esko.

‘You wanna bet?’ he said.

THE SAUNA STOVE HISSED
fiercely as the water struck its stones. The thermometer showed almost 90°C. The fire fizzed in the sauna’s hatch. This was the only source of light in the dim garden sauna, which featured only the bare minimum of comfort, no specially shaped boards, no shower, no glass doors. Cold water came from a tap in the wall, and it was warmed in a bricked cauldron above the stove until it was boiling hot. Virkkunen had taken a birch sauna whisk he’d made in the summer out of the freezer and thawed it in the lukewarm water in the washing basin.

‘
Betula pendula
. Silver birch,’ said Virkkunen, handed Esko the whisk and cracked open a can of beer.

‘It’s not, actually,’ said Esko sniffing the thawed twigs. It smelled of summer. It brought something to mind. The first time he’d shared a sauna with Anneli.

Virkkunen threw water on the stove; steam leapt up from the black stones and hit the boards so ferociously that the men had to hunch their shoulders and shelter their heads between their knees.

‘What is it then?’

‘I can’t remember, but it’s not
pendula
.’

‘Wanna bet?’

‘Fine. Five euros.’

‘Ten. We’ll settle it at work on Monday,’ said Virkkunen and emptied his can in a single gulp.

Esko moistened the whisk in the washbasin and began lashing himself. He covered his whole body, firstly whipping his back until it was red, then his arms, legs and stomach; one cubic centimetre at a time he whacked his skin in silence. The only sounds were the
slap of birch twigs against his body, the angry hiss each time Virkkunen threw more water on the stove and the men’s groans. Leaves flew from the whisk, stuck to Esko’s sweaty back and on the sauna boards; the entire sauna filled with the aromas of Midsummer.

‘Damn good sauna you’ve got here,’ said Esko and put the beater back into the bucket of water. He stretched his legs across the railing, leant back, rested his head against the black logs in the wall and closed his eyes. Everything was silent. The fire in the hatch was beginning to die down; its murmur and crackling had quietened. His skin tingled deliciously from the birch twigs. The warmth relaxed him. There is something almost holy about a moment like this, something that only a Finn can truly understand, thought Esko and sipped his warm beer. The can singed his lips.

‘Have you put your flat up for sale yet?’ asked Virkkunen, and rinsed his face with cold water.

‘No,’ Esko replied.

‘Why not?’

‘It’s not that simple. Nobody would buy it these days.’

‘Surely smaller flats like yours get snapped up.’

‘The location isn’t great; it’s too far from the city, too far from the university. Besides, I’m not sure I want to go anywhere after all. Yesterday it somehow struck me.’

‘You did a heroic job out there. Christ, there’s plenty of fight in you yet.’

‘I just did what needed to be done,’ said Esko and stepped down from the boards with a puff. He poured a bucket of cool water over his head, washing the birch leaves to the floor.

‘We’ve hit the Cobras hard. They’ve lost so many big players that their operations are drying up as we speak.’

‘Reza is still on the loose,’ said Esko and rubbed himself with soap. Time to do something about this belly, he thought. Before long I won’t be able to see my own dick.

‘Alone Reza is nothing. Esko, you did a fine job. The NBI sent a personal note of thanks. We’re all really proud of you.’

Esko huffed with feigned modesty, but he felt a heat burning inside him, a sense of victory and gratification; it was as though his entire body was vying to outshine the spring sunlight.

Virkkunen threw more water on the stove. The stones hissed and heat spread through the sauna.

‘Time for a break,’ he said eventually.

‘I think the laws in this country need changing,’ said Virkkunen once the men were sitting on the porch outside the sauna with towels wrapped round their waists, steam rising from their skin, cooling themselves with fresh cans of ice-cold beer. Streetlights glimmered out by the road. A few cars were parked along the street, but by now there was no traffic. People had returned to their homes to start the weekend or had gone into town to celebrate, to their cottages or to visit relatives. There were no lights on in the neighbouring houses. Out of force of habit Esko glanced across the row of cars and peered at the hedgerows surrounding the garden. The shadows beneath them were black. Nothing moved.

‘The police should be given greater powers to deal with organised crime,’ Virkkunen continued.

Esko snorted in agreement. He didn’t want to talk about this, not now that the sauna had relaxed his tense muscles, the birch twigs had scoured the dirt from his skin and the beer was nicely going to his head.

‘We can’t even agree what organised crime is, so the police are unable to act promptly.’

Virkkunen stood up, staggered slightly, went into the sauna dressing room. There came the sound of knocking and rattling, then he returned with a bottle of brandy. He handed the bottle to Esko, who took a deep swig of it. The brown liquid stung his throat. Esko gave the bottle back to Virkkunen.

‘There should be longer sentences for the ringleaders. They’re the worst of the bunch,’ Virkkunen said, becoming increasingly animated. The drink made his voice sound slightly hazy.

‘You’re right there,’ Esko muttered and emptied his bottle of beer.
He thought of Naseem and Reza. He had a hunch that he might never catch the guy. Something rustled in the bushes at the end of the garden. Esko looked up but couldn’t see anything. The wind, he thought, and the bush rustled again.

‘We should have far greater authority to tackle organised crime and the gangs that cause it.’

‘One more soak in the steam?’ said Esko, and looked once more at the thick bushes, which were now silent.

Virkkunen cracked open another two beers, then picked a couple of birch logs from the palette beneath the porch and chucked them far into the stove. The logs flared up, the orange glow of the flames danced across the floor and walls. It was Esko’s turn to throw the water. He filled the bucket with cold water, drizzled some beer across the hot stones and threw three ladles of water on the stove. The soft vapours filling the sauna smelled of baking bread; the heat burned their skin and the men grimaced.

‘Have you heard from Anneli?’

‘Nope,’ said Esko and stared at the condensation that had gathered on the sauna’s small windowpane. Patterns emerged beneath the steam, flowers and smiley faces drawn by Virkkunen’s children. In the middle of the darkened garden, a lantern illuminated a circle in the sodden ground where last autumn’s lawn, revealed beneath the melting snow, lay slimy as seaweed.

‘Raija mentioned she’d seen her in town. They went for coffee, apparently.’

Esko muttered something.

‘Raija wants to renovate the kitchen. Well, I’m the one that’s going to have to do it, of course,’ said Virkkunen, trying to change the subject, took a long swig of beer and burped.

‘You’re joking?’

‘No. She sits up reading decorating magazines and complains about what weather-beaten kitchen units we’ve got and how everything should be more
ergonomic
. What an irritating word. Ergonomic, my arse.’

‘Sounds like you’d better get to work.’

‘Christ, when am I supposed to do something like that – and with what money? If I were rich I’d just get the builders in to do it.’

‘You could ask the Angels for a quote.’

The men burst in hearty laughter, clacked their warmed cans of beer together and drank.

‘Someone’s coming,’ said Esko and pointed into the garden. A dark shadow flickered through the light from the lantern. Esko felt his heart clench tight. He leapt down from the boards. Will this never fucking end, he thought, looking for something to use as a weapon. He picked up the ladle and raised it just as the sauna door opened.

A blond woman, well preserved for her age, peered inside.

‘Esko, a woman called Naseem has been trying to contact you. It’s vitally important, apparently, and she needs to talk to you right now,’ said Raija and held out Virkkunen’s work phone to the ruddy, drunken men, dripping with sweat, one wielding a ladle with a look of profound embarrassment on his face.

The letter was short and to the point. It was written in English. I should have known, Esko slurred to Virkkunen. Of course she could speak English, she was a doctor after all. That interpreter was a waste of public money. Virkkunen nodded beside him, his eyes blurry. They had taken a taxi to Vaarala, told the driver to drive as quickly as he could, that he had two police officers in the car and they’d sort things out if he got into trouble. The driver had put his foot on the gas with the excitement of a teenager who’d just got his licence. They told him to wait in the car park. The two men charged up to Naseem’s door where a neighbour with a set of keys was waiting and opened the door.

The letter was on the kitchen table.

Esko, I am sorry I’ve lied to you
, it began.

Esko sat down at the table. The room was swaying unpleasantly, and the text on the page of squared paper torn from a notebook came in and out of focus.

‘Damn it,’ said Esko and handed the letter to Virkkunen, who staggered as he took hold of it. This is the first time I’ve worked with Pertti blind drunk, Esko mused, and the thought would have been funny had the situation not been so dismal.

‘So what do we do now?’ asked Esko.

‘Now we get ourselves good and drunk,’ Pertti Virkkunen replied.

The silence of the apartment didn’t invite her to step inside. A pile of advertisements had appeared on the hallway mat. Anna stepped over it, closed the door behind her and walked into her brother’s bedsit, with its tiny kitchen set into one of the walls. Anna had been out running when her brother had sent a message asking her to fill out his unemployment benefit forms on his behalf. Anna wasn’t in the mood but had agreed nonetheless. It seemed her role as a primary carer continued, even though her brother was far away and, according to their mother, had stayed off the booze. The empty apartment looked abandoned. The few items of furniture were old, bought at the flea market: a sofa, a low shelving unit, an unmade mattress in the corner, a dirty pot and plate in the sink. The television that Anna had given him had disappeared. Ákos had probably
sold it the day before his trip for a bit of money, or to spend it on drink.

Anna washed the dishes. Water filled the sink. She couldn’t find any washing-up liquid. There was an empty beer can in the drying cabinet. Anna opened up the other kitchen cupboards; they were all full of empty cans and bottles, the cheapest brands available. She felt a pinch at the bottom of her stomach and was happy she’d remembered to put on a sanitary towel. Her period generally took her by surprise and stained her underwear, though she recorded it in her diary. And so starts another five days of being in pain and pissed off, she thought and went to the bathroom, which was the size of a small kennel. The toilet bowl was dirty, and so was the floor. Anna cleaned the bowl and sat down. Her towel was still bright white. Then she mopped the floor and scrubbed the worst of the stains from the walls. What the hell is wrong with me, she wondered. I shouldn’t have to do this. Still, she decided to fetch the vacuum from her own apartment and give the place a thorough spring clean, wash the sheets and air the mattress. Her brother probably wouldn’t even notice the difference when he came back, but Anna was calmed by the thought that Ákos could live like other people, even for a moment.

As she dusted the shelves, Anna found an old, reddened photograph placed face down beneath a pile of books. Dad, Mum, Áron, Ákos and Anna as a baby in her father’s arms. They were standing in the yard outside their old house, its whitewashed walls gleaming in the background. Everyone was looking at the camera with posed expressions on their face – everyone except Dad, who was smiling at the baby in his arms. The baby’s hand reached out towards Dad’s face. Anna felt a quiver of emotion run through her body. Or had she caught a chill from the sweat caused first by her run and then the cleaning? My family, she thought, my torn-apart family, back when everything was still fine. What do I have left of this? A lonely life in a strange, faraway country. Can my father’s loving eyes reach me here? Do his arms still carry me? Would my life have been different
if he hadn’t died? Would Mum have felt so insecure, would she have fled, tried to salvage what was left of the family by tearing it from its roots? Probably not. And what would have become of me back there? What would have become of Ákos in the country that no longer existed? It was hard to imagine. Perhaps I’d be married and have children, like all proper women in the Balkans. Perhaps Ákos would have continued his studies, become a vet, maybe he wouldn’t drink, wouldn’t be so isolated. He too might be married and have a family.

Now there’s only Mum and Ákos left, thought Anna. And me. My stump of a family, its members so estranged from one another. The distance, the Skype calls, the homesickness. Anna swallowed back the tears, put the photograph back beneath the pile of books, put clean sheets on Ákos’s bed and left, completely forgetting about the unemployment benefit forms lying on the table.