She understands, then, that the first thing she must do is call Joona right away to tell him they no longer have a witness.
101
Joona is jogging through the arrival hall of Helsinki-Vantaa Airport, located just outside of Helsinki, when his phone rings.
“Saga, what’s up?”
“Pontus Salman is dead. He was found in his car outside his house. It appears he shot himself.”
Joona exits the airport building and hails a taxi. He directs the driver to the harbor as he sprawls in the backseat.
“What did you say?” Saga asks.
“Nothing,” Joona says.
“We have no witness now,” Saga says anxiously. “What the hell do we do next?”
“I don’t know yet,” Joona says. He shuts his eyes for a moment.
He feels the rocking motion of the car surround him, gentle and soothing. The taxi leaves the airport behind and speeds up to merge with traffic on the highway.
“You cannot go out to Raphael’s boat without backup,” Saga states firmly.
“The girl,” Joona says abruptly.
“What?”
“There’s a girl. Axel Riessen was teaching her the violin,” Joona says, and he opens his gray eyes. “Maybe she’s seen something.”
“Why do you think that?”
“There was a dandelion ball in the whiskey glass.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“Try to find her,” Joona says, and snaps off the phone.
He leans back against the seat and pictures how Axel was standing and holding a violin as the girl came with a bouquet of dandelion puffs. Then he thinks of the dandelion ball with its wilted stem drooping over the edge of the whiskey glass in Axel’s bedroom. She’d been in such an intimate part of the house… maybe she’d seen something.
Joona goes on board the gray Finnish Coast Guard vessel Kirku, which the Finnish navy had acquired from the Swedish Coast Guard six years before. As he shakes hands with the vessel’s captain, Pasi Rannikko, he is reminded of Lennart Johansson at Dalaro, the one who loved to surf and called himself Lance.
Like Lance, Pasi Rannikko is a young, tanned man with clear blue eyes. Unlike Lance, however, Pasi takes his duties extremely seriously. It’s obvious that this unexpected run beyond Finnish waters is troubling him.
“Nothing about this makes me happy,” Pasi Rannikko says with a frown. “But my boss is friends with your boss… and it appears that’s all that was needed.”
“I hope to have something from the prosecutor before we get there,” Joona says soothingly as he feels the vibration of the ship pulling away from the dock and smoothly heading out across the water.
“The second you get your arrest warrant, I’ll contact FNS Hanko. It’s a patrol boat with twenty officers and six soldiers.” He points at a blip on the radar. “She can reach thirty-five knots and it won’t take her more than twenty minutes to get to us.”
“That’s good.”
“Raphael Guidi’s yacht has passed Dago and is now just outside Estonia’s territorial waters. I hope you are aware that we can’t board a vessel in Estonian waters unless it’s an emergency or open criminal activity is observed.”
“I realize that,” Joona says.
The boat leaves the harbor with thudding engines.
“Here comes the entire crew,” Pasi Rannikko says with an ironic grin.
A broadly built man with a blond beard is climbing up to the captain’s bridge. He introduces himself as the first-and only-mate. “Niko Kapanen, like the hockey player.” He eyes Joona speculatively while scratching at his beard. Then he asks slowly, “So what’s this guy Guidi done?”
“Kidnapping, murder, murder of policemen, weapon smuggling,” Joona says.
“And Sweden sends a single policeman?”
“Right.” Joona smiles.
“While we contribute this old baby carriage of a boat.”
“As soon as we have the arrest warrant, we’ll almost be a platoon,” Pasi Rannikko says in a monotone. “Urho Saarinen on the Hanko can get here in twenty minutes if I just say the word.”
“An inspection,” Niko says abruptly. “I’m sure as hell that we can demand a surprise inspection-”
“Not in Estonian waters,” Pasi Rannikko protests.
“What the fuck…” mutters Niko.
“It will all work out,” Joona says mildly.
102
Axel Riessen lies fully dressed on a bed in the five-room suite he has been given on Raphael Guidi’s mega yacht. Next to him is a folder with complete information about a liver donor, a man in a coma after an unsuccessful operation. All the data is perfect-the tissue type matches Axel’s completely.
Axel concentrates so intently on the ceiling that he is startled by a knock on the door. It’s the man in the white uniform.
“Dinner.”
They walk together through a spa area. Axel glimpses low-lying green beds filled with empty bottles and cans. Plastic-wrapped towels are still stacked on white marble shelves, and behind glass doors frosted for privacy, he can make out a gym. A double door of matte-surfaced metal slides open as they walk past the relaxation room with its beige wall-to-wall carpeting, sofas, and chairs as well as a short but massive table of polished limestone. The lighting is odd-points of light and shadow slide across the walls and floor. Axel raises his eyes to realize they are beneath the yacht’s enormous swimming pool. The bottom of the pool is made of glass, and overhead Axel can see the bulk of garbage and broken furniture outlined by a pale sky.
Raphael Guidi is sitting on one of the sofas. He’s wearing the same gym shorts as before, but now with a white T-shirt stretched over his belly. He pats the seat beside him and Axel obediently goes over and sits down. Both bodyguards remain behind Guidi like two shadows. No one says anything. Raphael Guidi’s telephone rings. He answers and speaks on and on in a long conversation.
In a short while, the man in white silently pushes a serving cart in. Without a sound he sets two place settings on the limestone table with plates, silverware, and glasses along with large platters of grilled hamburgers, bread, french fries, a bottle of ketchup, and a huge plastic bottle of Pepsi.
Raphael continues his conversation without even glancing at the food. His voice is a dull monotone as he discusses what sounds like details about production speed and logistics.
No one says a word. They all wait patiently.
Fifteen minutes later, Raphael Guidi finishes his call and looks at Axel Riessen calmly. He then starts to speak in a soft tone.
“Maybe you’d like a glass of wine now,” he says. “Since in a few days you’ll have a new liver.”
