“I want to know more about Ivan and Iisa Filippov’s relationship, and about Linda’s relationship to both of them.”
“That will cost you dear,” he says.
Rein Saar won’t enjoy seeing this in the newspapers, but it will help him in the long run, and like the rest of us, he also has to give to get. “Iisa Filippov had an affair going on with Rein Saar for about two years. It was based on voyeuristic sex games. He was supposed to arrive home that morning with another woman. Iisa intended to hide in the closet and watch them fuck.”
“Inspector, that’s exactly the kind of thing I’m looking for. You’re a man after my own heart.”
“Give.”
“Iisa’s father died in 1998 and she inherited a decent sum of money. She set about spending it dilettante- style. She went on a party trip to St. Petersburg and met Ivan there…”
I cut him off. “Year?”
“Two thousand two. They had a whirlwind romance and marriage soon followed. They moved to Helsinki, and she used much of the remainder of her daddy’s money to finance Filippov Construction. Ivan proved himself a good businessman and has done well.”
“How did Iisa go from happily married woman to trophy dick- collecting fuck monster?”
“Her boundless affection soon waned. Ivan was twenty-four years older than her. I guess she wanted a replacement for Daddy, then decided romance with the new daddy was dull.”
“And Daddy number one. Where did he get his money?”
“This is where it gets interesting. Her first daddy was one Jonne Kultti. He had his fingers in a lot of pies, but made the bulk of his money with an escort service.”
I take the ashtray out of my desk drawer, crack the window and light up. “Escort services come in a lot of flavors and varieties. What kind was his?”
“The soft kind, as such things go. Expensive. Gorgeous women mostly catering to foreign businessmen. Kultti’s escorts didn’t necessarily provide sex including orgasm, but some of his girls offered S amp;M, bondage and other fetishes.”
“And Iisa knew Linda how?”
“Linda, as you may have noticed, looks much like Bettie Page. She went to work for Kultti in 1997, in the midst of a worldwide Bettie Page revival. She turned tricks as a Bettie Page impersonator. I would assume that Iisa met Linda while she worked for her father.”
“And the Linda-Iisa-Bettie Page look-alike game?”
“I don’t know how that came about, or anything else about their early friendship.”
“Keep digging, I’ll keep giving. Anything else of interest?”
“Jonne Kultti didn’t insist that all his escorts actually engage in sex with customers, but he did make them all audition for the job by blowing him. Apparently, he took quite a shine to Linda. I think Linda was sucking Iisa’s daddy’s dick on a regular basis.”
“More?”
“Jonne Kultti committed suicide by putting a hunting rifle under his chin and pulling the trigger with his toe.”
Good stuff. I thank him and hang up. The phone rings with my hand still on the receiver.
A receptionist says Filippov is in the lobby. I request that he be escorted up to my office.
Milo walks in and sits, puts a sheet of printer paper down on my desk. “I went through some databases and made some followup phone calls,” he says, “and put this together.”
I read it:
LINDA POHJOLA:
SSN# 090980-3828
DOB September 9, 1980.
Mother: Marjut Pohjola.
Father: not listed on birth certificate.
Marjut Pohjola deceased November 13, 2000. Marjut died of a cerebral brain hemorrhage after spending ten years in Oulun Palvelukoti, a rest home for people with mental disabilities near Oulu.
IISA FILIPPOV:
SSN# 030280-7246
DOB February 3, 1980.
Mother: Noora Kultti.
Father: Jonne Kultti.
Noora Kultti deceased February 3, 1980. Complications during childbirth. Jonne Kultti deceased September 16, 1998. Suicide death.
Milo isn’t speaking much today. He’s still hurt about last night. He killed a man less than twenty-four hours ago and is still an emotional wreck, still looks like shit. I bring him up to speed on Iisa’s and Linda’s backgrounds, as per my chat with Jaakko.
He grimaces. “Where did you get all that from?”
I guess he spent a lot of time getting basic info, and my having learned so much so quick has injured his self-esteem. I grin and joke. “You’re not the only detective in the room.”
The joke fails to lighten the situation. Milo can’t stand to be bested in anything. He grips the arms of the chair and his knuckles turn white. He doesn’t speak. His ego is on the ropes.
“Filippov will be here soon,” I say. “I got the impression he wanted to talk to me alone. I think you should get some sleep. You’ve been through a lot. Take a day or two for yourself.”
He glares at me. “You’re saying I’m not competent to do my job because I did some street-cleaning?”
More put-on tough talk. “I’ve experienced what you’re going through and I sympathize. Some time will help.”
He’s near to throwing a fit from rage. “If you think I’m going to step aside, let you break this case and take all the credit, when I’m the one who figured it out, you’re out of your fucking mind.”
Filippov knocks on the frame of my open door. Milo storms out.
“Are you two having a lovers’ quarrel?” Filippov asks. “I sense trouble in paradise.”
I don’t stand or offer to shake hands, gesture for Filippov to take a seat. He doesn’t sit or speak, just hands me a memory stick and stands waiting with his arms folded.
I plug the stick into my computer. It has one file on it, called “Breaking and Entering.” It’s a video file shot with a zoom lens, and Milo passes in and out of view in an apartment window.
“Your partner’s prowess with computers got him a position as a detective,” Filippov says, “and apparently he’s able to shoot mental defectives, but his stealth skills need serious improvement.”
“It appears so,” I say.
“I saw him watching my home, then he followed me and my secretary to her apartment. He climbed into her dumpster and rooted around in it, then he watched her building all night. We pretended to leave for work in the morning, but circled around and came back to watch our watcher. He stayed inside her apartment for a considerable length of time. His search must have been quite thorough.”
I won’t apologize for Milo. “Why bring this to me? I’m not responsible for his actions.”
“Perhaps not, but I assumed you would find them interesting. Failure to report his actions would constitute collaboration in them. Did you know about his illegal search of Linda’s premises?”
I debate how much to reveal and how much to hold back. Whether to try to humiliate him with knowledge about his sexual fetish. Whether to let him know that Milo’s illegally obtained evidence goes a long way toward placing Filippov at the crime scene. He’s playing a game with me. I decide to give him nothing. He wouldn’t be intimidated. Knowing what I know would only give him ammunition, better cards to play. Linda, however, might make a better target for interrogation.
I hand his memory stick back to him. “You’re entitled to press charges against Milo if you like. It might be good for him, teach him a lesson. Give this to the national chief of police. It seems you and he are well acquainted.”
He lays the stick on my desk. “You may decide you want to give it to him yourself.”
As he did in the restaurant, he’s sending me a message. I still don’t have a clue what it is. “You tortured and
