Found Wanting (34 page)

‘What do you know about the explosion yesterday at Osmo Koskinen’s house?’

‘What I hear on the news. Gas leak, maybe?’

‘You are aware Pernille Madsen, Tolmar’s ex-wife, was among those killed, aren’t you?’

‘Truly?’ Falenius’s expression was authentically shocked and baffled. It seemed he genuinely had not known. ‘Pernille?’

‘Yes.’

‘I never thought he’d . . .’ Falenius shook his head. ‘I don’t know what to say.’

‘He’s made you a party to murder, Arto. How does that make you feel?’

‘Sick. To my stomach. But you must understand. I knew nothing about it.’

‘Because you didn’t want to know.’

‘OK. You can say that. But still . . .’ Falenius stared pleadingly at Eusden. ‘You’ve got the wrong man. I’m not to blame. You should ask Tolmar your questions. Not me.’

‘I would if I could.’

‘I can tell you where he is.’

‘Oh, yes?’

‘He’s hiding. Now I know what from. We’ve . . . done some dirty things over the years, but . . .never murder.’

‘Where is he hiding?’

‘We have a
kesämökki
– a summer-house – up on Lake Päijänne. He’s gone there. He often goes there. To relax. To think.’ Falenius appeared to believe he was winning Eusden over. ‘I can tell you . . . exactly where it is. He’ll be alone. At this time of the year,
very
alone.’

‘You don’t need to tell me where it is, Arto. You just need to take me there.’

‘No. I can’t leave Helsinki. I’ll be missed. It’s a . . . two-hundred-kilometre drive.’

‘We’d better get going, then, hadn’t we?’ Eusden stretched forward and retrieved the recorder. ‘You’re right. There’s nothing more to be said. We’ll leave Tolmar to do all the talking.’

PÄIJÄNNE

FORTY-EIGHT

It was early afternoon when they came within sight of the Falenius family’s
mökki
on one of the many inlets along the shore of Lake Päijänne. The first half of the journey had been a fast motorway cruise, constrained only by Eusden’s insistence that Falenius keep within the speed limit; he could not risk attracting the attention of the police. Since leaving the main road, however, the going had been slowed by snow and ice. Forests had closed around them. Traffic had thinned and vanished. They were alone, in a wintry world of stillness and grey light and blanketing white. The bumpy track they had followed off the last surfaced road emerged from snow-heavy pine and spruce into a stretch of skeletal ash and maple as the frozen surface of the lake, dead flat and matt white, appeared before them. And there, beside a snow-covered meadow, was the
mökki
– a simple wooden chalet, with smoke rising from its chimney and a Range Rover parked behind it, next to a log-store.

Falenius pulled up next to the Range Rover and turned off the engine. He looked drained and desperate. The long drive, during which Eusden had said little, leaving him to imagine the worst, had taken its toll.

‘He must have heard us,’ the Finn said hoarsely. ‘Why doesn’t he come out?’

‘Let’s go and see. But, first, give me the key to this thing.’

Falenius pulled it out of the ignition and handed it over. ‘What are you going to do to us?’

‘I told you. I want the whole story on the record. If you give me that, we’ll all leave here alive and well.’

‘I’m cooperating, OK? Remember that. Any problems you have with Tolmar, they’re not with me.’

‘I’ll remember. Let’s go.’

They climbed out of the car. The stark reality of the place they had come to disclosed itself in the cold, misty air. If Tolmar Aksden had wanted to hide, he had chosen the right place. No one would come looking for him here unless they badly needed to find him.

Eusden gestured for Falenius to lead the way. They walked slowly round to the front of the chalet. The roof extended down to cover a planked veranda. Between the chalet and the shore was the snowhummocked shape of a rowing boat. A landing stage jutted out beyond it into the lake. Falenius called out Aksden’s name as he approached the door. There was no response.

‘Look inside,’ said Eusden.

Falenius opened the door and stepped in, calling out again. Eusden stood behind him in the doorway. Warmth from a stove wafted out to meet him. There was a large table and some chairs, a sofa, armchairs and a rug in front of the stove. To his right was a well-equipped kitchen area. A couple of doors led off to other rooms out of his sight. There were books, papers and a laptop on the table, as well as a coffeepot and mug. Falenius touched the pot and looked back at Eusden. ‘Still warm.’

‘He can’t be far, then. We’ll—’

Two short blasts on the Bentley’s horn burst through the silence. Eusden retreated from the veranda and strode to the corner of the chalet. A tall, bulky figure in a quilted parka and flapped cap was standing by the open driver’s door of the car. He slammed it, revealing as he did so the rifle he was carrying, and stood where he was, staring at Eusden with cool curiosity.

‘Where’s Arto?’ The voice was gruff, the tone peremptory. He must have been able to see the gun in Eusden’s hand, but he paid it no attention.

‘Here,’ Eusden replied, stepping back to let Falenius pass.

‘I told you not to come here, Arto,’ said Aksden.

‘This guy gave me no choice, Tolmar.’ Falenius hurried eagerly towards his friend, as if he would give him the protection he needed. ‘He says—’

‘Let him speak for himself.’

Eusden followed Falenius at a cautious pace. Aksden held the rifle loosely and unthreateningly. Yet still it was a weapon. Eusden’s advantage had been cancelled out. ‘Do you know who I am, Tolmar?’

Aksden nodded. ‘Oh yes. Lund told me you were still alive. Why have you come here?’

‘I want the truth.’

‘That’s a large thing to want, my friend.’

‘And a dangerous one, it appears.’

Aksden looked at Falenius with an expression of weary disappointment. ‘You shouldn’t have brought him here, Arto. It was a stupid thing to do.’

‘He threatened me with a gun.’

‘An empty threat, you fool. He’s no killer. Are you, Eusden?’

‘Maybe you’ve turned me into one.’

‘I don’t think so.’

‘Are you going to put it to the test?’ Eusden challenged Aksden with his gaze, but saw no hint of weakness in the Dane’s steely blue eyes.

‘If I have to.’

‘Surely we can sort this out,’ pleaded Falenius.

‘I doubt it. It’s not as simple as either of you think. Were you followed, Arto?’

‘Followed? No. Of course not.’

‘We weren’t followed,’ Eusden declared. He was confident on the point, though curious as to who Aksden thought might have done the following. ‘Police on your tail, Tolmar?’

‘Not that I know.’ Aksden gave him a tight, ironical little smile. ‘Check under the car, Arto.’

‘Check for what?’

‘Anything that looks different.’

Falenius knelt and peered under the Bentley. Something caught his attention. He bent lower. ‘
Kristus
, what’s that?’

‘What does it look like?’

‘A box. With a . . . flashing red light.’

Aksden tossed back his head and sighed. ‘
Satans også
.’

‘What is it?’ demanded Eusden.

‘A tracking device, I expect. Probably attached some time yesterday. You only had to look, Arto, and you’d have seen it. But you never
see
anything, do you?’ Aksden glanced suspiciously towards the trees. ‘We should go indoors.’

‘Who’s tracking me?’ asked Falenius as he stood up. ‘What—’

The bullet took him in the back. It knocked all the breath out of him. He looked first surprised, then mildly pained. He fell to his knees, swayed for a moment, and slumped forward on to the ground.

‘
Run
,’ shouted Aksden.

Eusden was already running, making for the shelter of the chalet. A bullet pinged off the bodywork of the Range Rover. Then another shattered one of its windows. Eusden made it to the veranda, blind-sided from the direction of the shots. Aksden lunged after him. The firing stopped.

‘This is your fault, Eusden,’ Aksden gasped. ‘You ought to understand that, you piece of . . .’ He broke off and shook his head. ‘I only needed another twenty-four hours. That’s all. Just twenty-four hours.’

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about. Who’s shooting at us?’

‘You think I know his name? He’s a hunter. And I’m his prey. He’d probably have got me if Arto hadn’t stood up when he did.’ Aksden engaged the bolt on his rifle, craned round the corner of the chalet and let off a shot, then jumped back.

‘Can you see him?’

‘No. He’s hiding in the trees. That was just to keep him there.’

‘Who sent him?’

‘Did the American tell you about Olsen?’

‘The American? If you mean Brad, yes. He killed Olsen, right?’

‘Right. The Opposition didn’t like that. They lost a man they trusted and the dirt on me they expected him to deliver. Also they thought I’d arranged it. So, they took out a contract on me to force me to negotiate with them. Clever tactic. We talked. They agreed to cancel the contract if I killed Brad as a demonstration of my good faith, with a commercial partnership to follow. A better deal for me than I’d have got any other way, but it only takes effect when they get confirmation that Brad and his crew are dead. All I had to do was stay out of their hit man’s reach until then. Which I would have done, but for you and Arto leading him right to me.’

‘Who are these people – the Opposition?’

‘Businessmen, Eusden. The Russian kind. I’m beginning to win their respect for standing up to them.
Pokkers også
, now it looks like it might be too late.’

‘You think I’d care if this man killed you?’

‘No. But you should care about yourself. He’ll kill you too just for being here.’ Aksden pulled off his cap and blinked several times as if trying to clear his sight, then stepped to the corner of the chalet and fired another shot. ‘I saw something this time,’ he said as he moved back. ‘I think he’s edging closer.’

‘Can we phone for help?’

‘It would take hours to arrive. But go ahead – try.’ Aksden pulled a phone from inside his parka and tossed it to Eusden. ‘Dial one one two.’

‘There’s no signal.’

‘As I expected. The tracker incorporates a jammer. He’s a professional, Eusden. Don’t you understand? He knows we’re trapped. He’ll wait for us to make a run for the car. Then he’ll take us both.
For Guds skyld
, why did you come here? Why didn’t you just thank your stars when you escaped from the American and go home to England?’

‘I couldn’t let you get away with killing Pernille. You’ll burn in hell for that, Tolmar.’

‘You and Pernille?’ Aksden frowned at him, as if considering a point that had only now crossed his mind. ‘I should have guessed.’

‘You murdered her.’

‘I didn’t force her to go to Helsinki. She went because she thought she’d get her hands on the letters. She’s always wanted to know my secrets.’

‘She went for Michael’s sake.’

‘Hah!’ Aksden reached out as if to grasp Eusden by the throat, his size and bulk suddenly intimidatingly apparent. But Eusden had the gun up between them pointing at his chest. Aksden stopped and took half a step back. ‘Listen to me,’ he said, running his hand across his mouth. ‘While that sniper’s out there in the trees, we have to help each other. Together, we stand a chance. It’s the only one we’re going to get. Do you want to live or die, Eusden? It’s that simple.’

FORTY-NINE

There could be only one answer to Tolmar Aksden’s question. ‘What do you suggest we do?’ asked Eusden. He eyed the older man doubtfully. His strength, of mind and body, counted for nothing in the cross hairs of a telescopic rifle sight. But in Aksden’s steady gaze and braced posture there was no hint that he was about to admit as much.

‘I can take him, Eusden. How far is he away? A hundred metres or so? I’ve taken elk at further. I need glasses to read. But at distance . . . I don’t miss. I have to see him first, though. I have to have a clear shot.’

‘You think you’ll get one?’

‘Not unless we draw him out. You have to do that, my friend. It’s the only way.’

‘I’m not your friend, Tolmar.’

‘Until that sniper’s dead, you are. And I’m yours. It’s about survival, Eusden. Him or us. You’ve got to make him show himself.’

‘How?’

‘Go to the other end of the veranda and run to the wood-store. The cars will cover you most of the way and there are trees behind you. He’ll take a shot at you. He’s bound to. But at that range with you moving fast and plenty of cover, he’ll miss. I won’t, though. Not a chance. We’ll have him.’

‘You expect me to go out there and get shot at?’

‘Yes. Unless you’re better with a rifle than I am.’

Eusden struggled to calculate the odds on being hit. He suspected they were much less favourable than Aksden claimed. But there was no alternative. Doing nothing was not an option. That at least was certain.

‘We need to do this now, Eusden. He’ll work his way closer and closer. He’ll cut down the margin of error until there isn’t any. We have to make our move.’

Eusden looked round the corner of the chalet at his route. It was as Aksden had said. He really should be able to make it. But he was aware that the judgement hinged on the hit man’s accuracy and alertness. All he could do was trust to luck. It had to be done. There was no way round it. And the longer he hesitated, the slenderer his luck would grow. He looked over his shoulder at Aksden and nodded. Aksden nodded back. It was time to go.

He stepped off the veranda, jogged alongside the wall of the chalet, then put his head down and ran for it, focusing on the log-store and the shelter he would find behind it. It was not far. It was close, in fact, very close. He heard a shot and the whine of a bullet somewhere behind him. He was going to get away with it, no question. When would Aksden fire? When—