The Defenceless (6 page)

The image of a pile of bodies flashed in Anna’s mind. Panic tugged at her insides but didn’t sink its teeth in. Anna closed her eyes for a microsecond, fixed the muzzle in place and tried to focus on her pint.

‘You know more than that,’ said Gabriella. ‘Your brother died.’

Anna said nothing. She wanted to leave. The alcohol in her head felt good, but Gabriella was somehow tiresome. What if she just said she had to go home and moved to another bar instead? For the first time in a while I could have a good few drinks this evening, thought Anna.

‘Okay, if that’s all I think I’m going to go home,’ she said and moved her half-full pint further away. ‘It’s been a heavy week and I need to get some sleep.’

‘Should I burst into tears or something?’

‘Excuse me?’

‘Do I have to be drowning in self-pity for you to talk to me or even chat with me? Surely it’s a good thing that I’ve got over the whole business so quickly?’

‘The investigation is still pending. You might still be charged.’

‘But it wasn’t my fault. The old man was lying in the road and probably about to die anyway. The whole thing was an accident, pure and simple, so I’m not going to lose sleep over it.’

Anna felt embarrassed.

‘You’re right,’ she said and picked up her pint glass, raised it. Gabriella clinked her glass of tonic water against it and smiled. That girl’s a little too pleased with herself, Anna couldn’t help thinking.

Anna drank another pint of beer, Gabriella ordered a mineral water, and they talked about Gabriella’s family in Budapest, her studies and dreams. Anna made sure the conversation focussed on Gabriella. The girl was inquisitive, but like most people, she couldn’t resist the opportunity to talk about herself. And so Anna learned a little about Gabriella. Boyfriends, dreams of finding a husband, the family’s old stone townhouse near Városliget, her host family in Finland and their children. Anna had to remind Gabriella of her obligation of professional secrecy; her host family’s arguments and the size of their pay packets were not public information. Of course, Gabriella hadn’t considered this. Anna learned that Gabriella had graduated from university as a Hungarian teacher but that she hadn’t been able to find work. The situation in Hungary is pretty screwed up, she’d explained. Her studies in Hungarian had included a few optional courses in related languages and she’d taken a beginners’ course in Finnish, so after spending a while looking for work in her own field she’d decided to look for an au pair placement in Finland. Improving her Finnish could be useful, she’d thought, and after a
quick online search she soon found herself a host family in Northern Finland. The parents were affluent, career-oriented types; they had three children, an enormous detached house, expensive hobbies and no time for the family. Gabriella had been a godsend. The children’s constant need for adult attention left her feeling drained, but she had decided to stick it out despite her feelings of homesickness. In ten months she had grown attached to the kids as though they were her own. But sometimes she had to get out. Elina, the mother of the family, had suggested the university, a place where she was bound to find friends her own age and at the same stage in life. And that’s what had happened, but unfortunately there were no other Hungarians around this term. Gabriella had secretly hoped to find herself a nice Hungarian boyfriend, she told Anna with a wry smile. Well, an African guy called Isaac had been flirting with her. Nice enough guy but a bit too intrusive. And he has body odour, Gabriella said with a giggle. Anna laughed too.

All in all a very pleasant evening, thought Anna as she walked home from the bus stop. A refreshing, human evening, just right for a thirty-year-old stuck in her ways. Gabriella was talkative, funny and upfront. Anna had to admit that it was more than enjoyable to spend an evening speaking Hungarian.

A cold wind had whipped up. Anna wrapped her face in the folds of her thick scarf. It’s a good thing I didn’t drink more, she thought. I’ll go skiing in the morning if the wind isn’t too strong. She heard her mobile beep in her pocket, removed her gloves and clicked open the text message with numbed fingers. The message was from Virkkunen. A quick test had revealed that the blood in the woods was human, it read. Anna took the stairs up to her apartment, washed off her make-up, brushed her hair, ate a sandwich and drank a cup of tea, flicking through the newspaper before finally brushing her teeth. The idea of working on a Saturday really grated. And there was something else bothering her too. As she climbed into bed and tried to relax in the warmth of her duvet, she realised that there was something about Gabriella that just didn’t feel right.

THE CAFÉ WAS SITUATED
on the edge of the city centre. It was decorated with light wooden furnishings with cosy tablecloths that perfectly matched the twee curtains. Pensioners and people setting off early for work sat sipping their morning coffee and reading the newspaper. The atmosphere was quiet and relaxed, unhurried.

Sitting at a table in the corner, Esko glanced at his watch. The guy should have been here fifteen minutes ago. Esko fetched another coffee and bought a doughnut covered in sugar to go with it. Was this a no-show? The little bastard had better not try his luck, thought Esko just as the door of the café opened. An unkempt-looking young man with long hair, wearing a denim jacket and tight trousers, stepped into the café looking around warily.

‘Aren’t you freezing?’ Esko asked as the man sat down at the table. He didn’t answer but blew on his nicotine-yellow fingers, now reddened with the cold. He was barely twenty-five years old, but his hands were as weather-beaten and wrinkled as those of an old man. A tough life and tinkering with a motorbike had taken its toll. Esko noticed two women staring at them from across the café, whispering to one another. What could they be thinking? A tearaway son come to ask Daddy for cash to buy more booze? That Daddy had ordered his son in for a talk, told him to pull himself together and get a job?

The young man wasn’t Esko’s son; he was his informant, his rat, as the gangs would call him if they knew. Every decent criminal investigator had his own snitches, and this young man had been Esko’s for a few years. He was involved with the inner circle of the Hell’s Angels, got himself caught up in drug dealing and smuggling, violent crimes and God knows what else, things Esko would
rather know nothing about. He knew that the Angels’ road captain had voted against the guy becoming a prospect member on several occasions and shagged his girlfriend at a drunken party a few years ago, though touching other members’ girls was strictly forbidden in the gang’s code of honour. The young man hadn’t made it past hang-around membership, though in his own words he’d been faithfully serving the group 24/7, the way members in his position were expected to do. He’d swept the club floors after parties, run around town on errands for the leaders, often putting his own safety at risk, demonstrating his competence, his readiness for a fight, showing his loyalty and his desire to become a fully-fledged member in every way he could, even taking a six-month sentence for a crime committed by someone else – a full member. And still he was left lagging in the lowest echelons of the group. The old dude taking his girl was the final straw. For some reason the road captain had taken a dislike to him – and now he wanted revenge.

‘Want something?’ asked Esko.

‘I’m starving,’ the man replied quietly.

Esko stood up, fetched a cup of coffee and a baguette, took a napkin from the stand and placed everything in front of the man. He felt stupid waiting on him hand and foot, but he wanted people to fall for the father-and-son scenario. The man was risking his life coming here. Esko had no respect for a criminal ratting on his own comrades, in fact he felt a deep contempt towards the man, but the information he provided was invaluable to the police. He wanted to secure his informant’s safety as long as he could. That’s how it worked. Esko needed this man, now perhaps more acutely than ever.

‘Have you heard anything?’ asked Esko.

‘I think I know what you mean. Yes.’

‘Tell me.’

The young man sheepishly looked around him. Esko had chosen this café because its bourgeois surroundings were unlikely to attract the Angels or anyone else from the criminal underworld for a cup of properly brewed Darjeeling. They were sitting at a table in the
corner so that they couldn’t be seen from the windows, Esko could keep an eye on the front door and the man could sit with his back to the other customers. And they were right next to the toilet in case they suddenly needed to hide. They didn’t meet up very often, they couldn’t, and the safety measures could never be underestimated.

‘A couple of guys have been hanging around. Danish. Black Cobras,’ he whispered.

‘Tell me something I don’t know.’

‘They’re trying to drum up some business. They’re already dealing.’

‘Have they got many members?’

‘I think so, because the core group was formed a while ago. It’s our very own Pakis, too.’

Esko had guessed as much. The police had known for years that street gangs would find their way to Finland sooner or later, just as they had in Sweden and Denmark, and the members of those future gangs already lived here. They had grown up in frustrated suburbs in families of frustrated refugees and asylum seekers. The members were the children of those who had been granted asylum, young people who, unlike their parents, should have had the opportunity to make something of their lives. There had already been attempts to establish home-grown gangs in Finland, but they’d been foiled. Not, alas, by police efforts, but by the same motorbike gang whose runt of a henchman was sitting in front of him. Gangs were always one step ahead of the police, but this time Esko planned on being up to speed with what was happening on the street.

‘Got any names?’

‘I’ve got a few addresses.’

Esko handed the boy a slip of paper and a pen. The man scribbled down two addresses and glanced agitatedly behind him.

‘Have the Angels got any plans for these addresses?’ asked Esko.

‘The operation is called
Annihiliation
.’

‘When?’

‘All I know is it’s going be soon.’

‘Who lives here?’ Esko pointed to one of the addresses.

‘Some small-time dealer trying to line his own pocket. Poor kid doesn’t know what the fuck he’s getting himself into.’

‘And the other one?’

‘That’s the Cobras’ nest. It’s not head office, but it’s an important branch.’

‘Where’s head office?’

‘Haven’t got a clue.’

‘Ever heard of Reza Jobrani?’

‘He’s top of the Angels’ hit list.’

‘And where’s he holed up?’

‘No idea. He’s gone into hiding, for sure. He knows we’re on to him. These Cobras have really freaked the Angels out. Shit, man, there’ll be bodies before long.’

‘Okay, you and I are going to have to meet up a bit more regularly in the near future.’

‘Not gonna happen.’

‘Then I’ll just have to look up that report that details how I found a loaded Ruger and five grams of hash on your person this morning.’

‘What the fuck are you on, mate? I never carry a gun…’

‘I know. Funny how things can turn out, isn’t it?’

The young man’s posture slumped. The scrawny body beneath his clothes suddenly seemed as though it belonged to an insecure teenage schoolboy and not a professional criminal with a lengthy wrap sheet.

Esko handed him two SIM cards and a fifty-euro bill. The man gave a cautious smile. How easy it is to keep you happy, thought Esko in disgust. Chewing tobacco had stained the man’s front teeth brown.

‘I couldn’t have another sandwich?’

‘Buy one yourself; you’ve got cash now. And don’t forget to brush your teeth tonight,’ said Esko and left the café. He called Virkkunen, who immediately issued warrants to search the two addresses.

Sammy woke up in bed. It felt incredible. He stroked the scented sheets, gripped the soft, thick quilt inside the duvet cover, looked
out of the window and listened to the sounds that carried up from the street. He guessed he must have slept for about twenty-four hours. Sammy stood up, slowly stretching his limbs, stepped on to the warm floorboards and yawned. This is what it was like to be a normal person; you could wake up every morning full of energy, eat breakfast prepared by your wife, go to work. He would kiss his wife as he left, pat their son and daughter on the head. Warmth would caress his face as he walked to work, dust would catch in the sweat on his brow, the sound of people and traffic would surround him, a cow would stand chewing its cud in the middle of the road, holding up the traffic, but he would be used to everything and nothing would faze him. Friends would greet him in the street, ask how his children were doing. Nobody would look askance at him, hurl abuse, throw stones at him. Nobody would make up fatal lies about him.

The apartment was empty. Maalik and Farzad had left for work early in the morning. It was already mid-afternoon, but the men wouldn’t be back until late at night. On the kitchen table was a note and beneath it another banknote. Sammy felt spittle oozing from his glands, rinsing his tongue in a constant stream. The sense of self-loathing only returned as he swallowed his spit. He was as far from normal as the outer edge of the solar system was from Earth. The message told him to eat the pizza and salad that the men had left for him in the fridge. Sammy could use the money to buy himself some clean clothes or whatever else he needed. They planned to come home early that evening; they had called in replacements at work. Then they could all discuss what Sammy should do. Perhaps we can appeal against your deportation order, said the final sentence. It felt strange for Sammy to read these familiar, curlicue words, writing he hadn’t seen for such a long time and that to his eyes was so beautiful. Then he looked at the clock; it was already four o’clock. He would have time to pick up a tab before the men got back. He’d used up the eight milligrams yesterday; after all, he had to get to sleep somehow. Today he’d only need a half.

Sammy left the apartment. The glare of the sun dazzled him. It had clearly been a glorious day. The light breeze felt surprisingly warm against his face. At one of the houses he slowed his step. In the yard outside he saw children skiing, parents in winter jump suits carrying their equipment back into the garage; a half-melted snowman slouched amusingly in the garden. The sight attracted Sammy because it was at once so exotic and yet so ordinary. He felt a powerful desire to join them, to be a part of this strange country and its customs, a part of that happy family. They would probably soon go to the sauna, sit down together and eat something nice, then spend the evening lounging on the sofa, side by side, watching television.

Sammy felt a sting of envy. His thoughts jumped back home, to the girl that didn’t really exist. They would sit in church, listening to the priest’s gentle sermon, people would be pardoned and, at least for a moment, they would be happy. They would sing a few hymns. After the service he would sit at lunch so that he could watch the girl all the time. Their eyes would meet for a fraction too long, but their parents wouldn’t mind; they would pretend they hadn’t noticed. Give it a year or two; first he would have to graduate, then the priest would marry them and the girl would be his. They would have children; four, perhaps, girls and boys, two of each. The children’s bubbling glee would fill their modest but clean and comfortable house. He would be a good husband and a gentle father. They would never argue. Would he never experience things like this?

Sammy walked briskly towards Rajapuro. That’s where he’d bought the gear yesterday too. Just then he heard a sound he feared more than any other. He frantically looked around, but there was nowhere to hide. The sound was already too close, there was no way he could run for cover. A police car sped past him, its sirens wailing. It took all his will power to try and walk normally, not to slow down or speed up, not to lower his head or turn away, not to dive into the verge of ploughed snow. Anything like that was sure to have caught the police’s attention; the bastards kept their eyes peeled even when they were racing through the city. Once the sound had disappeared
into the distance, Sammy ran up to the nearest house, gripped the concrete wall the way someone drowning would cling to a lifebuoy, leant his head against its surface and breathed deeply.

The police were going to the same place as Sammy. There were three squad cars parked in the yard, their blue lights washing across the high walls of the surrounding buildings. Someone was being led out of the stairwell in handcuffs. Sammy didn’t hang around to watch; he turned as soon as he saw what was happening and walked quickly in the opposite direction. There was always one officer whose job it was to watch people gathering at the scene, an officer who would notice even the smallest detail. Sammy knew his photograph was in the police records and that there was a warrant for his arrest. One of the cops was bound to recognise him. But what could he do now? It was almost evening. Maalik would be home soon. They would sort out his appeal. As long as his appeal was pending, he wouldn’t be a sitting duck.

He had to find some gear, fast. Even a small amount, enough to help him act normally and sit calmly at the kitchen table with Maalik. Again his thoughts turned to Macke. Macke wouldn’t rip him off. Macke lived close to Farzad and Maalik. Sammy didn’t like the decision to go to Leppioja, but headed there all the same.

‘Two teenage girls found the knife in the woods behind Ketoniemi the day before yesterday,’ Virkkunen began. He had called Anna, Sari and Nils into work, though it was a Saturday and everyone wanted to enjoy some time off.

‘Shit,’ said Nils with a satisfying stretch; he looked as though he hadn’t had much sleep.

‘Initial tests show that the blood is human, and that’s why we have to look into it.’

Virkkunen paused and looked at each of the officers present from behind his spectacles. They were sipping coffee, each of them looking exhausted. The lack of enthusiasm hung in the air.

‘’Do we have to investigate it right now?’ asked Nils.

‘Yes,’ Virkkunen replied drily. ‘For some reason the girls didn’t tell us about what they’d found straight away, but thankfully we haven’t lost too much time.’

‘What were they doing out in the woods?’ Anna wondered.

‘Nothing in particular, they said. Forensics are already processing the scene in greater detail, and so far they’ve found a great deal of blood, footprints, tyre tracks and a couple of cigarette ends. I believe the cigarettes belonged to the girls; both had pink lip gloss on the filters.’

‘So what do we do now?’ Nils mumbled.