Behind God's Back

18

Agent Sillanpää from the Security Police and I were old acquaintances. At times it felt like he was having me monitored, because he usually showed up when I least needed it, making demands I needed even less. Like now. He was sitting on another chair in Huovinen’s office, studying his knuckles as if he had just punched someone between the eyes and hurt his hand. And in a way, he had.

“Why can’t we give the killer’s photograph to the press?” I snapped.

Sillanpää dropped his still-balled fists to his lap. “Because doing so would endanger Operation Haemorrhoid.”

I saw an expression cross Sillanpää’s face that, if one were being charitable, could be interpreted as a smile.

“Don’t let the name fool you. It’s a major case, big-time. Its real name is Operation Jaffa, but the boys call it Haemorrhoid because we’re watching a place around the clock and it’s hard on the glutes.”

“Is the target the same guy we’re looking for in conjunction with the Jacobson murder?” Huovinen asked.

“He happens to be, unfortunately.”

“What could be more serious than murder?”

“Two murders, or three, or even more. Taking him in now may have grave consequences.”

“If we take him in, he can’t murder anyone else,” I said.

“Then he’ll be replaced by someone else; someone whose name and identity we don’t know.”

“Who is the intended target of the guy we’re looking for?”

“We don’t know. That’s the whole reason Operation Jaffa was set up.”

“What exactly is it that you know, and why are you so sure he’s intending to kill?”

“Tricks of the trade.”

I considered what Sillanpää had said, and decided to pose a nasty question: “If you’re been watching him for so long, how the hell was he able to kill Jacobson, and apparently Oxbaum, without you noticing? Is that a trick of the trade, too?”

“No, that was a lapse. But take into consideration the fact that the location is a difficult one to stake out with the resources at our disposal, and he’s a professional. He’s top of the line, Mossad-trained. It’s hard to stay on his tail and…”

Sillanpää broke off and glanced at each of us in turn. “Everything I’m telling you stays in this room. Here’s my offer. Kafka comes and works for us until this show’s over. After that, you can do whatever you want with the guy.”

“The guy named Leo Meir, formerly Vesa Nurmio.”

Sillanpää looked at me, slightly surprised, but then he chuckled. “Looks like you’ve done your homework. I call him Nurmio; the Israelis can call him whatever they want. It’s all the same.”

“Then you’d better tell us the whole story,” Huovinen said.

Sillanpää pulled a piece of paper out of his inner pocket, unfolded it, and handed it to me. “Sign here first.”

“Do I get to read before I sign?”

“Knock yourself out.”

The paper stated that I agreed to upholding confidentiality as outlined in such-and-such law, and if I violated the terms of the agreement, I could be convicted to a prison term of such-and-such length…

I signed.

“You could have consulted me before you did that,” Huovinen said sullenly.

“This is the fastest way to move the investigation forward,” I assured him, even though I didn’t believe it myself.

“I don’t think this is going to go on much longer. We’ve already been staking Nurmio out for over a month. He’s too expensive a target to let dangle forever.”

Huovinen cut to the chase. “You promised to tell us who Nurmio is.”

“Kafka already knows.”

“But I don’t.”

“Leo Meir, former name Vesa Nurmio, is a former Finnish citizen who has had previous dealings with the police, as the newspapers put it. In other words, we can call him a criminal without having to worry we’ll be sued for slander. Nurmio checked out of Finland over fifteen years ago, around the same time the police were hunting for him on suspicion of felony battery and even more felonious narcotics violations. We didn’t pick up his trail until a few years later, when he was living in Tel Aviv. And the next time he popped up, another few years down the road, he was already an Israeli citizen named Leo Meir.”

“Why do you suspect this Nurmio of being here to assassinate someone?” Huovinen asked.

“Let me give you a little more background on Nurmio first, if you don’t mind. The way Nurmio became Meir initially aroused quite a bit of speculation among us at the Security Police. We were sure that it all led back to Nurmio’s past in the UN. In the ’70s, he had served almost three years in the Golan as a young sergeant. During his final year there, he had been the commander’s driver. According to Nurmio’s UN buddies, he had spent a lot of time fraternizing with the Israelis. They suspected that he had cut some sort of deal with them. It was even alleged that he had taken care of some Palestinian activists for the Mossad; in other words he was a professional hitman. And apparently a pretty good one, because he was rewarded with Israeli citizenship.”

“That was a while ago, though, right?” I pointed out.

“A lot has happened since then, it’s true. Nurmio was transferred after knifing an Arab. Once his Golan gig ended, he spent some time in Lebanon and was involved in some dubious goings-on there. Then he came back to Finland, founded a car dealership, and lost it in a card game. He was subsequently linked to robberies of financial institutions, two of them, and to major narcotics deals, but no proof turned up until customs found two hundred kilos of hash in a German lorry. One of the guys who was arrested claimed that Nurmio had been the mastermind. That guy’s brother was beaten to within an inch of his life. The witness recanted, but Nurmio still decided it would be best to disappear. And now he shows up again, but this time as Leo Meir.”

“So what?” Huovinen asked.

“Nurmio owns an import company in Punavuori. We’ve been staking it out for over a month from the apartment across the street. He’s not here to relive old times, believe me. He’s here to kill. We received a tip that’s so heavy-duty we can’t afford to question it. The only problem is figuring out the identity of the person he’s going to kill.”

“But he already has killed,” I reminded Sillanpää.

“That’s just the prelude.”

“What about Oxbaum?”

“That was the second act.”

“But why did he kill those two?”

“Jacobson was a Jew, Oxbaum was a Jew, you’re a Jew and you’re leading the investigation. Which is precisely why we need you: to figure out why Jacobson and Oxbaum were killed.”

“But you do have leads regarding Nurmio’s next target, correct?”

“We do?”

“If Nurmio was planning on killing, say, an Estonian drug lord, why would you be interested? The target has to be political in one way or another.”

Huovinen’s eyes bored into Sillanpää. “Ari’s right. Normal criminal investigations are our turf.”

Sillanpää began waxing philosophical. “Who’s to say what’s political and what isn’t? Sometimes it’s a difficult line to draw.”

“So teach us,” I suggested. “Maybe we’ll understand the difference.”

Sillanpää continued as if he hadn’t heard my gibe. “Let’s assume that while he’s in Finland, Nurmio kills, say, a Russian businessman who’s a good friend and supporter of the Russian president and a former member of the Duma. That’s already starting to tiptoe into our territory, because it can have ramifications on foreign policy and international trade. The Russians don’t have much of a sense of humour when it comes to their citizens being killed on Finnish soil.”

“Is that what you suspect?”

“It’s one possibility. A man named Daniel Livson heads up Baltic Invest’s operations in Russia. It’s rumoured that he has connections to the largest criminal league in St Petersburg. We heard that he’s coming to Helsinki some time soon. According to our sources, he knew Oxbaum…”

Sillanpää left the rest hanging in the air. That was clearly his tactic.

“And?”

“Livson is Jewish. From which some conclusions can be drawn…”

“Such as?” I asked patiently.

“I heard that Oxbaum and Nurmio met up not long ago at a service station cafe in Vantaa.”

I glanced at Huovinen. He shook his head.

“Nurmio evidently had some hold over Oxbaum, and he may have demanded a service from Oxbaum in order to get close to Livson. Livson is in the habit of attending synagogue wherever he happens to be travelling. As his friend, Oxbaum definitely would have known when Livson would be on the premises. When Oxbaum refused, he had to be eliminated because he knew too much.”

I was pissed off and didn’t bother hiding it. “You guys know all that and you wait until now to contact us?”

“We each have our own roles to play, and our aims don’t always coincide. Besides, this is all just conjecture. There is no evidence. It is possible that Nurmio isn’t here for Livson after all.”

“Let’s assume he is. What’s the motive? Why would someone want Livson dead?”

“We’ll have to continue with the hypotheticals. Maybe he’s trying to poach business from the Israelis and they decide they’re not going to take it lying down. So they sic Nurmio on him.”

Huovinen started looking perturbed, too. “If your source is so good, why don’t they just tell you who Nurmio is hunting?”

“Even good sources don’t know everything. We know Nurmio is here for something major, and Livson might be that something. The information comes from a friendly party who doesn’t want Finnish — Russian relations to be endangered. And you can’t demand too much from friends.”

“Another country’s intelligence service, huh?” I said. Sillanpää didn’t respond, just stared ahead expressionlessly.

“And you’re staking out Nurmio day and night for over a month simply because he might be planning on killing Livson? I have to say, I’m a little envious of your discretionary funds.”

“Major impacts, major money.”

“What about Jacobson?” I asked. “I’m sure you can provide us with a good theory as to why Nurmio killed him, and what that has to do with Livson’s arrival.”

“I think the reason for Jacobson’s death is the same as for Oxbaum’s. Nurmio blackmailed Jacobson first, but failed. Oxbaum was next on the list.”

Something about Sillanpää’s sudden generosity nagged at me, but I couldn’t put my finger on what it was. “What good am I to the Security Police? You guys already know everything.”

“We suspect all kinds of things — that’s different from knowing. We want proof. For instance, information on what kind of hold Nurmio had over Jacobson and Oxbaum, and if he can use the same ploy on anyone else. We believe the answer is going to be found among your people… I’m curious: How did you find out about Nurmio?”

“Jacobson’s daughter IDed him from surveillance camera footage. They had attended the same party in Tel Aviv. Someone had mentioned to her that he was Finnish, and they had chatted. She remembered his name, too, Nurmio’s Israeli name.”

Sillanpää’s interest was piqued. “What kind of party?”

“One thrown by her husband’s employers. The employer happens to be the same company that owns Baltic Invest.”

“Quite a coincidence. Or is it a coincidence?”

“I really have no idea.”

“I’m assuming you milked the daughter for everything she had?”

“All she knew was that Nurmio lived in Tel Aviv, that he had received Israeli citizenship, and that he worked at the company as some sort of head of security. He reported directly to Hararin. That was the only time she met him.”

“And I assume you told her not to discuss this with anyone, including her husband?”

“As a matter of fact, I did.”

“Good job,” Sillanpää said, as if he were a higher-up praising a subordinate. He stood and smacked his hands together. “So that’s settled, then.”

“When do I start?”

“Right away.”

“So what exactly does that mean in practice? Will I be working from Ratakatu for the duration?”

“No need. All you have to do is keep us informed. We’ll pass on more detailed requests for assistance as necessary. You can continue leading the investigation as you have been.” Sillanpää eyed me for a moment, then continued: “And the most important thing is to not do anything that would endanger our operation. So the photo is not going to the press. Is that clear?”

He stood to leave.

“Sit down,” I said. “One more thing. Even though you seem to have good informants inside your unit, you don’t know everything. The ballistics tests for the bullets that killed Jacobson and Oxbaum just came in. They were fired from the same gun.”

“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.”