Helsinki White

of grilled sausages and vegetables and sit next to Timo. He says, “You know what we discussed, about talking things out, about why we haven’t seen each other.”

“Yeah.”

“I got an idea. In general, it’s because we come from a fucked-up family. Why don’t we just leave it at that, not talk about it, and enjoy the evening.”

“Deal.”

And we do. I go back in a little while to check on Kate. She’s done puking and near to passing out. I carry her to a spare bedroom. Moreau and I don’t drink. He because he doesn’t, and me because I have to care for Anu. I’m not in the mood anyway. Moreau, Timo and I had a good sauna and dip in the freezing lake. Anu had her first sauna and seemed to enjoy it.

We come out of our second round in the sauna to find Milo and Sweetness in a drunken fistfight. Moreau moves to stop them, but I say no, it’s been a long time coming. I think Sweetness will stomp a mud puddle in Milo’s chest, but he holds his own. Sweetness is fast, but Milo is small and even faster. He gets in close and works inside Sweetness’s reach, slips his punches. Sober, Sweetness would have killed him, but the pontikka evened the odds. Milo lands some good ones, but they don’t pack enough power to put Sweetness down, and in the end, they’re rolling around in the grass, drunk and laughing. They go to the sauna bleeding together.

Afterward, Sweetness and Jenna disappear, and I hear love grunts come from the Muumin house. Anni wakes Timo up from a lounge chair and takes him to bed. Milo and Mirjami must have passed out in the sauna. I set an alarm for seven, and join Kate in the spare bed.

35

The alarm goes off. Kate doesn’t stir and I shake her awake. “I can’t move,” she says, “I’m sick.”

“I’m sorry, but you have to. I have an appointment that has to do with the Soderlund murder and we have to leave.”

She has trouble sitting up but manages it. “I’m woozy. I can’t drive.”

“That’s OK, someone else will drive. Can you eat?”

She shakes her head no.

I’m a little tired myself. We stayed up late, and I was up twice in the night with Anu. “You weren’t the only one drunk. I doubt the others are in much better shape. Can you pull yourself together while I get them up and moving?”

She nods yes. “Kari,” she says, “I’m sorry. I fucked up. I’ve fucked up a lot lately. I—”

She has a king hell case of morkkis. I cut her off. “Everything is fine. Anu is fine. You didn’t do anything embarrassing. You just got sick, passed out, and I put you to bed. You didn’t even drink half as much as the others. It just hit you wrong because you’re not used to it. We can talk about it later if you want.”

I go downstairs. Anni is up and in good spirits. “Should I make everyone breakfast? Help kill their hangovers?”

I have a feeling their hangovers are beyond redemption. “Thanks, but we don’t have time. I have to meet someone in Helsinki.”

I make the rounds. Moreau made a pillow out of his coat and slept on the floor. He’s already waking. I go outside and hear laughter in the Muumin house. Jenna speaking in a soft voice. Sweetness whistling. Kissing slurps. He got his cherry busted with his true love. Nice. Maybe the life affirmation will give him some perspective, he’ll come to terms with the death of his brother and stop staying drunk morning, noon and night.

Milo and Mirjami are sleeping head to foot, clothed, on a cot in the washing room in the sauna. I wake them. They’re not sick yet because they’re still drunk. The hangover will come soon enough. I get everyone roused and in the vehicles. I don’t get a chance to say good-bye to Timo. He’s still passed out. I have a feeling we’ll talk again soon, though.

I DRIVE THE AUDI, and Moreau drives the SUV. The others snooze along the way. We drop them at their homes and take the Audi to Veikko Saukko’s mansion.

His foundation museum is near the road. His mansion sits near the rear of the sprawling grounds of his property, the sea not far behind it.

A man resembling a two-hundred-eighty-pound bullfrog, in a tight black turtleneck with a thick gold chain hung around his neck, opens the door. Bodyguard chic. He checks his visitor’s list on an iPod and asks us to wait.

Veikko Saukko comes to the door to greet us. He pumps my hand and tells me it’s an honor to meet a law enforcement officer of my caliber. He hugs Moreau, pats his back and calls him “old friend.”

He ushers us into his study. It calls to mind a Victorian gentlemen’s club. Dark wood paneling and deep leather chairs. A Parnian desk with only an Aurora Diamante pen on it. The diamonds, platinum and gold sparkle. He insists, despite the hour, that we join him in a Richard Hennessy cognac and a La Gloria Cubana Reserva figurado. He sits with us in a circle of three chairs around a small table rather than behind his desk, to create an air of intimacy. He asks how he can help me.

“I’m investigating the murder of Lisbet Soderlund,” I say, “and I believe it may be related to the kidnap- murder your family suffered last year, for which I offer my condolences.”

He takes a deep draught of cognac, just poured a couple hundred euros down his throat. “I’m glad the bitch is dead, but if you convince me of some connection to my family…well, let’s just say I’ll hear you out.”

“You’ve created some enmity with Finland’s extreme right. I’m told you promised them a million-euro campaign contribution but reneged. It created antipathy, and may have led to the crimes perpetrated against your family. These same factions also despised Lisbet Soderlund and openly discussed killing her. Only a limited number of people in our little country are capable of such crimes, both in psychological profile and technical skill, and so the natural train of thought is that the murderer or group of killers is one and the same.”

“You killed a nigger, didn’t you, Inspector?”

I assume he refers to the Sufia Elmi case, in which her father died ablaze, doused in gasoline.

“It would be more accurate to say that I sat and watched him burn to death.” I was unable to reach him in time because of my bad knee. I test Saukko’s limits to see how crazy he is. “I shot the head off an Estonian, odds are good he had Slavic blood. Does that earn me points?”

He laughs haw haw and slaps his knee. “Adrien here has killed many niggers. That’s why I like him. How many niggers do you think you’ve killed, Adrien?”

Moreau exhales a long plume of smoke. He knows how to play this game and manipulate Saukko. I think Moreau kills many but hates no one. “Do you want to count Africans only, or Hispanics such as Mexicans? Beaners are just little brown niggers. And Arabs such as Afghans, sand niggers. And do you want to count killing by including the calling in of artillery fire and air strikes, or long-range killings, or only killings committed while close enough to look in the men’s faces?”

“Wow,” Saukko says, “so many options. Let’s include all the minorities, but count two ways, faceless and face-to-face.”

“Faceless, some thousands. I wouldn’t hazard to guess. Face-to-face, some hundreds.” Moreau’s smile spoke of indulgence. “Veikko, you’ve heard all of this before. Do you enjoy it so much?”

“Can niggers dance?”

“I thought that the French Foreign Legion has been primarily involved in peacekeeping missions over the past couple decades,” I said.

“Many people require a demonstration that it is to their benefit to be peaceful,” Moreau said, “and I haven’t been in the Legion for some time. My missions have had a wide variety of objectives since then.”

I say to Saukko, “May I ask you some questions?”

“Fire away.”

“Why did you change your mind about your donation to Real Finns?”

“All the patriots are connected. Real Finns. Neo-Nazis. Others. There are several groups populated by many