Behind God's Back (10 page)

Could you please contact him right away and tell him you support my decision. That should calm him down. After all, you two know each other better.

Your father, Samuel

It was clear that the relationship between the father and his son was not unproblematic. Nor was the one between the father-in-law and his son-in-law, Joel Kazan.

8

I almost felt guilty that we hadn't got any further, so I went in to work around 7 a.m. I had given orders that I was to be called if anything important turned up, but I had been allowed to sleep through the night without interruption. Hope springs eternal, though. I was eager to find out if some minor lead had appeared that would advance the case.

The car had been gone over carefully, and plenty of fingerprints, hairs, fibres, even dog hairs, had been pulled from it. All of these offered new possibilities for attacking the case. It wasn't likely that a professional like Jacobson's murderer would leave fingerprints or DNA behind in the car. But you never knew; something might turn up.

Nevertheless, things had gone the way I was afraid they would. The night had brought nothing new. Several tips about the car and shady characters had been called in during the late-night hours, but a couple of the callers were “old friends” of ours whom we didn't take seriously. The rest of the tips were vague to the point of being useless.

Huovinen arrived a little after eight and asked me to bring Simolin and Stenman into his office for a meeting as soon as they came in. Both showed up at about the same time, quarter past eight. They had been working until 9 p.m. Two other investigators had been assigned to the case, but they were out in the field, doing things like talking to people who lived near the spot where the Golf was found.

Huovinen was a good boss. He trusted me, and didn't expect the moon and the stars. All he expected was that everyone do
their best. Now he looked at me questioningly, but didn't say anything. He waited for me to start. I reported that the investigation hadn't advanced at all since the previous evening, and that we didn't have any new information. Then I told him about the meeting with Roni, and everything else I knew about him.

“So there's some tension between the father and son,” Huovinen said.

“That's what it looks like. Roni was supposed to become CEO, but Jacobson senior decided to stay on for the meantime.”

“It's hard to imagine that the son would have anything to do with his father's murder. Or?”

Stenman chimed in. “It wouldn't be the first time. Don't forget the Solhbeck case, where the son ordered a hit on his father to get his inheritance faster.”

“OK, keep that possibility open, too.”

“Jacobson was also arguing with his son-in-law, Joel Kazan. Kazan works for the company that owns Baltic Invest, and he's somehow involved in the loan business. He got upset when Jacobson announced he was paying off the loan and taking out a replacement loan in Finland. So we're starting to see some logical motives take shape.”

“What reason would he have to get upset because his father-in-law wanted to pay off his loan?” Stenman asked.

“He was afraid word would spread and other borrowers would follow suit – that they'd suspect that Jacobson had some inside information from his son-in-law. Or maybe he just saw it as a demonstration of no confidence and took offence.”

“At least things are starting to happen. How are you planning on proceeding?”

“We're still trying to piece together the movements of the car… Simolin's been in touch with the Estonian National Bureau of Investigation again and requested further information on the vehicle and the theft.”

“My friend at the Estonian police told me that the theft was fishy, because the vehicle had disappeared from a locked
garage,” Simolin reported. “The explanation was that the building was undergoing a major renovation at the time and there were a lot of construction workers around. The doors had been left open, and the keys were on the receptionist's desk. The idea was that anyone who needed the car could use it. The registration was in the glove box, so no one would have noticed anything at the border.”

“Why did your friend think there was something fishy about the loss of the car?” Huovinen asked. “The renovation sounds like a perfectly reasonable explanation to me.”

“Because the garage surveillance camera had not been on that particular day. The renovation was also used to explain that, but none of the construction workers admitted to having turned it off, and there wasn't any reason to. The camera's controls were in the same reception area as the key.”

“Let's hope the Estonians find out more,” Huovinen said.

The ball was in my court again, so I said: “We've asked them to rush the telecommunications data. They promised to get it to us by this afternoon. Even if it doesn't tell us who made the threatening call to Jacobson, the mast data might give us something important.”

Huovinen was more doubtful. “The killer seems smart enough to know what kind of information can be gleaned from telecommunications data and has probably taken that into account. We shouldn't rely too much on it. He might even try to throw you off with it.”

“We'll take that possibility into consideration.”

“If the killer is Estonian, there's a good chance he's back home already.”

“Simolin also asked the Estonian NBI if they knew anyone who would be a good match for our case and who happened to be out of the country at the time. We're waiting for them to get back to us. If we go with the assumption that the killer was Estonian, then we have to ask why. Only two alternatives make sense: either a Finn ordered a hit from Estonia, or Jacobson's
murder is somehow related to Estonia. In the latter case, the first thing to come to my mind is the fact that Jacobson's company took out a loan from an Estonian lender. The company doesn't have any other connections there.”

“Are the Israeli police still investigating the parent company?” Huovinen asked.

“I don't know.”

“Can you find out? If you could even get unofficial information on what they think about Baltic Invest, that might also help us come up with a motive for the murder.”

“Of course.”

I saw Stenman jotting something down in her notebook. She looked at it and said: “According to the CFO, there had been no big problems with the loan payments, meaning there wouldn't have been any reason to strong-arm Jacobson. And generally finance companies send debt collectors after people who owe them money, not killers. A dead man isn't going to be making too many payments.”

Huovinen looked at me.

“I asked my brother about the loan. According to him, Jacobson's most recent loan payments were late, but they came to an agreement, and a new payment schedule was drafted.”

“Anything new on the murder weapon?”

It was Simolin's turn to share information: “According to the lab, it's a .22 calibre Russian Margolin, probably silencer-equipped. It's a common sharpshooting weapon both here and abroad. Hundreds of thousands have been manufactured. Hundreds, if not thousands, exist in Finland. If you use projectiles slower than the speed of sound, it's quieter than an air gun.”

I used to own a Margolin, too. I got it when I graduated from the police academy. I used to shoot quite a bit with it at the Viiki shooting range, but eventually I got bored and sold it to a co-worker.

“Divers searched the sea yesterday along the getaway route. They didn't find anything. The search will continue today.”

“Good… Did you get anything from the uniform that was recovered from the Golf?”

“Not genuine. Normal blue nylon overalls with badges cut out of duct tape glued to them. Pretty resourceful, actually. From a few yards away it looks completely authentic.”

“I got a call from the Jewish congregation yesterday. What do you think, are there any investigative obstacles that require postponement of the funeral?” Huovinen asked me.

“No, no obstacles.”

“Well, then you can give their burial society permission to pick up the body. Will you be attending the funeral, by the way?”

“I was planning on it.”

“When is it?”

“Tomorrow morning, probably. The daughter's flight from Israel doesn't arrive until tonight.”

“Be sure to talk to her, too,” Huovinen reminded me.

Stenman's phone rang. She glanced at the number and said: “It's the CFO, Pekka Hulkko. I'll put it on speakerphone.”

Everyone quietened down to listen.

“You asked me to ask if any of the employees own a dark, possibly green, old-model Ford Mondeo. The answer is no, but one of our employees knew that Kari Mikkola owns a car like that.”

“Who's Kari Mikkola?”

“That employee we talked about, the one who was fired for drinking on the job. One of the other employees said that he bumped into Mikkola in the Citymarket parking lot at Itäkeskus Mall. Mikkola had been driving a dark-green Mondeo with a picture of a dog in the back window. One plus one is often two.”

Stenman agreed that that was so. “Did Mikkola have any other run-ins with Jacobson?”

“Which one, father or son?”

“Mostly the father, but the son will do, too.”

“As far as I'm aware there was no bad blood between Samuel and Mikkola, but something about Roni rubbed him the wrong
way. At least, Mikkola cursed Roni out on his last day on the job. Intoxication may have played a part, of course.”

“Did he make any threats?”

“No. If I recall correctly, he used the words ‘cocksucking candy-ass scumbag'. I have Mikkola's address if you want it…”

Stenman thanked him and wrote down the address. Mikkola lived in Vantaa.

“Why don't we go have a look? We don't really have anything else going on,” Stenman suggested.

“I'll come with you,” said Simolin.

“No, I will,” I interjected, using my prerogative as superior. I wanted to get some fresh air. My brain was shutting down.

We were in luck. The car was parked out in front of the building. We took the elevator up to the fifth floor. There were several dents in the lower half of Mikkola's door, as if it had suffered from some kicking. Apparently someone on the outside had wanted to get in. I listened for a second, and then rang the doorbell. Nothing happened, and I pressed it a couple more times. It took half a minute before the door opened, and I could see Mikkola's hungover face in the crack. He smelt the cop on us and the look on his face grew even queasier.

“Criminal police,” I said, confirming his fears. “The green Mondeo parked in front of the building is yours, isn't it?”

He gulped, exhaled a breath that reeked of stale booze, and said: “So?”

“You paid a visit to your former place of employment in that car yesterday morning.”

His face blazed with guilt. This was no hardened criminal. “Fucking fuck. OK, I admit it, it was me, but that Jew deserved it. It was a witch hunt.”

“You mind if we come inside?” I didn't wait for an answer; I just pushed my way in.

The place looked the way you'd expect for guy on a drinking binge. Fetid, funky air; stacks of newspapers, bottles and dishes. Waking up in surroundings like that doubled the agony of a hangover.

“Are you saying that Samuel Jacobson had it out for you?”

“Sami? No, Sami was a good guy; he understood that life isn't always peaches and cream. When he heard my old lady had split and taken my daughter with her, he came and talked to me. I'm talking about his scumbag son Roni. What an asshole. The drinking was obviously just an excuse. He wanted to get rid of me, and made up the drinking because there wasn't anything else.”

“So you admit to placing the threatening letter in the company's mail box?”

“I guess there's no denying it. I got the idea when I read about those racists who'd been sending letters to Jews. OK, so it was stupid, but I'm a fair guy. You treat me right, I'll treat you right… Besides, I was pretty drunk… How did you find me?”

“It's what detectives do.”

“Is it true that someone killed Sami? I've been drinking for four days straight. I've been blacking out, kind of going in and out of consciousness… Except when I took the letter. I was stone sober then,” Mikkola added, once he realized what he had said.

“Yes, it's true,” Stenman said. “We asked all of the employees at the company if they knew anything about it, for instance if they knew about any enemies Jacobson had, or threats he had received. So I'll go ahead and ask you, too, since we're here.”

“The only thing I know about is this thing of mine. Believe me. It's already been a month since I was fired.”

“You said Jacobson's son Roni had it in for you. Why?”

“Probably because I knew he was plotting against the old man. I heard him talking on the phone one day when he thought no one else was in the warehouse. He noticed me when I was leaving. Right after that he started spying on me, and when I
took a little hair of the dog in the warehouse one day, he made a huge deal about it. I gave that company the best fifteen years of my life, and I get fired for one sip. Is that fair?”