Raid and the Blackest Sheep (16 page)

    
Kempas knocked on the door a few times, then stepped inside. The house’s owner was already on his way to the door.

    
“Hello,” said Kempas.

    
The man nodded. He had apparently been napping, as he looked drowsy.

    
“Police. I’m Detective Lieutenant Kempas. I’m interested in your neighbor, but he’s already gone. Do you know when he left?”

    
The neighbor scratched his stubbly chin.

    
“What neighbor you talkin’ about?”

    
Kempas sensed the man’s stalling tactics, but didn’t let that discourage him.

    
“Up on the hill by the lake.”

    
“Oh, that one?”

    
“Yes, that one.”

    
“They were still around yesterday.”

    
“What about today?”

    
“Haven’t seen ’em today.”

    
“Have you been here all day?”

    
“Wouldn’t say that. I been cuttin’ down trees in the woods out past the lower forty since seven in the morning. Can’t see here from there.”

    
“When’s the last time you saw them yesterday?”

    
“Sometime in the evening, I think.”

    
“And who’d you see?”

    
“The owner, this Nygren. The other I didn’t recognize.”

    
“Did anyone else come to the house?”

    
“If they did, I didn’t see ’em.”

    
“Did you hear anything out of the ordinary, gunshots or anything like that?”

    
“Absolutely not.”

    
The statement was emphatic enough that Kempas knew the man was lying.

    
“Absolutely not. Pretty strong words,” said Kempas.

    
“Does Nygren own the property?” asked Leino.

    
“That’s my understanding, unless he sold it.”

    
“How long has he owned it?”

    
“Oh, about five years now.”

    
“Does he come here often?”

    
“Probably been a year since he was here last… What are you fellas chasin’ him for, a nice guy like him?”

    
Kempas looked the neighbor straight in the eyes.

    
“You’ll swear under oath you don’t know anything more?”

    
“I’ve had a reputation as an honest man my whole life.”

    
“Then you have nothing to be afraid of. What kind of car were they driving?”

    
“Nygren’s old Benz.”

    
“You swore under oath you were disclosing everything. Why’d you leave out the Mercedes?”

    
“What oath was that again?” the neighbor asked hesitantly.

    
“You have anything else?”

    
“No, but what oath…”

    
“The oath of an honest Finn.”

    
Kempas left his words hanging in the air as he departed.

    
In the yard, the dog came charging up again. Lunden picked up a stick and threw it behind the doghouse. The dog didn’t give it so much as a glance.

    
“You can’t trust these hicks.”

* * *

Back at the hotel, Kempas couldn’t bring himself to take a break and unpack his meager luggage. Instead, he picked up his notepad and commenced with dispensing orders.

    
“Kari, you find out from the Land Registry who really owns Nygren’s place. Seppo, organize a proper search of the place: men, a dog and a mine sweeper. It’s likely Sariola was shot there. I’ll go have a chat with Nygren’s daughter… If Nygren’s been around these parts, he’s probably gone to see her.”

    
“How are we supposed to justify the search with the local PD?” asked Lunden.

    
“Attempted murder, potential drug-related crimes. The house could be a base for stolen goods…or a moonshine factory. Anything.”

    
Lunden took his leave, but stopped in the doorway.

    
“Just one question. Do you have something personal against Nygren?”

    
Kempas stared cuttingly at Lunden.

    
“Yes.”

    
“Can I ask why?”

    
“Sure, but you won’t get an answer.”

11.

A little boy of about six was swinging wildly on the swingset. With every flick of his legs he gained speed, and his rubber boots cleared the cross bar every time. On his head was a red cap and he wore a thick pair of overalls.

    
The swing was located in the yard of a 1970s apartment building. The area was rife with many more of the same grey pre-fab buildings, separated by sparse clumps of pines. Each building had its own parking lot filled with lower-middle-class vehicles. Next to each lot stood a garbage shed. The play area, with its swings and sandboxes, was shared by three buildings.

    
Nygren had cranked the car window down halfway and was watching the boy.

    
“Lively little fella.”

    
“He likes speed.”

    
Nygren held a photograph in his hand. In the picture, the boy on the swing sat in the lap of a woman in her thirties. The picture had been taken at Tampere’s Särkänniemi amusement park with various rides and the Näsinneula observation tower in the background. The boy was wearing the same red cap he had on now. The woman had wrapped her arm around the boy as if afraid of losing him in the bustle of the amusement park.

    
The boy slowed up some and leaped off the swing into a sand pile he had heaped up in front of the sandbox.

    
Nygren put the photo back in his wallet and took out a second. This one was a faded old color photograph. The picture showed a seven- or eight-year-old girl with a black-and-white kitten in her lap.

    
“I gave her that kitten for her seventh birthday. Its name was Miumau. Jaana’s cousins drowned it in a pond. Tied a rock around its neck and tossed it in. Jaana sent me a letter about it and asked me to come give them all a thrashing.”

    
“Did you?”

    
“Wanted to. I would’ve bought her another kitten, but she didn’t want one.”

    
“When’s the last time you saw her?”

    
“At her confirmation. Over fifteen years ago.”

    
Nygren got out of the car; Raid did not. Nygren turned and gestured for him to follow.

    
“You don’t need me.”

    
“I’m too nervous to go alone. To just show up out of nowhere after so long.”

    
Raid stepped out of the car, but lagged back.

    
The boy was building his sand pile up even bigger with a plastic shovel. He was so lost in his work that he didn’t even notice the visitors.

    
“Hi,” said Nygren.

    
The boy turned to look, lifted the brim of his cap and squinted his eyes.

    
“Hi.”

    
“I saw you swinging. Don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone swing so high.”

    
“Mika’s even better,” said the boy, though he was clearly delighted by the praise.

    
“Is your mom home?”

    
“Yeah. I’m goin’ to eat pretty soon. We’re having macaroni casserole.”

    
“Probably your favorite, huh?”

    
“Yeah.”

    
The boy kicked shyly at the sand pile.

    
“Who’re you?”

    
“Jari!”

    
The shout came from the nearest building, where a woman in a wool sweater and skirt was standing under the porch watching. Then she approached them. It was the same woman from the amusement park photo. She came to the boy’s side and stared at Nygren, who smiled stiffly.

    
“Hi Jaana.”

    
She pulled the boy close, as if shielding him from danger.

    
“What do you want?”

    
She tried to keep her composure, but her voice was wavering.

    
“Who’s that man?”

    
“Your grandfather.”

    
“Grandpa?”

    
“You know me after all,” Nygren smiled.

    
Nygren and Jaana looked at one another.

    
“I was just on my way north and thought I’d visit.”

    
Nygren nodded toward Raid.

    
“The both of us.”

    
The woman glanced at Raid before turning back to Nygren.

    
“We’ll be on our way… I just wanted to see you. Nothing more… And the boy, of course. Just as lively as you were at that age.”

    
The woman was toying with a gold pendant around her neck, a small angel with outspread wings.

    
“You still have that.”

    
“It’s been almost twenty years since… You haven’t visited, haven’t sent a card, you don’t call… Then suddenly you show up when your grandson is six…”

    
“I didn’t want to interfere with your lives. I’ve been asking Eila about you and she’s sent some pictures… You probably won’t believe me, but I’ve prayed for you many nights.”

    
“What, in prison?”

    
“Well…there too.”

    
“Grandpa was in prison?” the boy asked.

    
“You’d better go.”

    
Nygren slipped a thick envelope and a folded sheet of paper out of his coat pocket. He unfolded the paper.

    
“I found this when I was going through my things… I wrote it to you when you were one.”

    
Nygren stared at the letter, gathering his courage.

    
“My dear Jaana, sleep beckons till tomorrow. I hope that night and day will leave you free of sorrow…”

    
He swallowed and cleared his throat.

    
“With light, my dear, you’ll play outdoors. You’ve boundless love; the world’s a friend of yours…”

    
His voice dwindled to a whisper.

    
“The grass, my dear, will whisper words of gladness. Laugh, enjoy the day, and turn away from sadness.”

    
Nygren folded the paper and handed it and the envelope to Jaana.

    
“I’d like to give this to you. Open it inside.”

    
Nygren pressed the envelope into her hand. She hesitated briefly before taking it. Nygren raised his hand to her face and lightly stroked her cheek.

    
“Farewell.”

    
The woman hung her head.

    
“I want grandpa to come inside. I wanna show him my new car.”

    
Nygren squatted down next to the boy and grasped his hand.

    
“Some other time. Grandpa’s going to Lapland for a fall hike. Where Santa lives. I’ll tell him you’re a good boy and he’ll bring you lots of presents.”

    
“I’d like more Legos.”

    
“I’ll tell him, but you have to be a good boy and do as your mom says.”

    
Nygren’s voice cracked and he straightened up and turned to walk toward the car. Now, like most others his age, he suddenly seemed to stoop as he walked.

    
Raid gave Jaana a nod before following Nygren.

* * *

Raid and Nygren had dinner at the hotel restaurant. Nygren ordered a bottle of red wine and drank all but a glass of it. He took a Cognac with his coffee.

    
It was just past seven o’clock and the hotel band was tuning up in the adjacent room. Nygren was clearly irritated by the noise. He sipped his drink at a feverish pace and shifted restlessly in his chair. Raid could see that he couldn’t get the meeting with his daughter out of his mind. He was drinking to forget.