Helsinki Blood

8





I wasn’t hungover in the morning, I didn’t ingest enough poisons for that, but was groggy from the dope and booze they knocked me out with. I was naked. Someone had undressed me. Katt was sleeping on my chest. Mirjami wasn’t in bed with me, but she had been earlier. I smelled her scent on the pillows. The memories drifted back. My wife absconded to Florida. I destroyed much of the kitchen. I had to get Kate back. Now. But how? Kate kept her private things in the nightstand on her side of the bed or in her jewelry box.

Jari was right, my knee and face hurt even worse than before the cortisone shots. I rolled and scooted to the other side of the bed and rifled through the little drawer in the nightstand. At the bottom of assorted papers and mementos was a packet of letters bound with a rubber band, from her brother, John. The return address was in Miami, Florida. John is human flotsam and jetsam. He destroyed his life with booze and drugs. The last I knew, he lived in New York. Best guess: he got in too deep with drug dealers, had no hope of paying them, and scarpered to the other side of the country before they killed him.

Now Kate was there with him. Kate was emotionally ill, not in control of herself. Kate could fall under John’s drug-addled spell. Kate could take up his bad habits. I pulled on sweatpants and a T-shirt. My cane was beside the bed. I tottered into the living room. Mirjami was in my armchair with Anu. Sweetness and Jenna were still in bed. I got the impression that they did little except booze, f*ck and sleep.

Mirjami had showered. Her long, dark hair was damp and hung over her shoulders. Anu pulled at it. Mirjami wore Kate’s bathrobe. It disconcerted me.

“I looked at your web browser history,” she said.

“I didn’t smash the computer?”

“It’s about the only thing you didn’t destroy.”

That was something anyway.

“I take it Kate has abandoned you and Anu,” she said.

“Kate isn’t well, as you know. ‘Abandon’ is too strong a word for what she’s done. I think she just panicked and ran away.”

Mirjami kept her face blank. “Maybe. What are you going to do?”

“I don’t know.” It came to me. I needed to speak to her therapist. And I needed to sit down. My phone was on the table next to my armchair. Mirjami brought me coffee and sat down beside me again. It’s the ultimate gigantic man’s chair, a gift to myself. The fit might be a little tight, but another person of average size could comfortably sit with us.

I called Torsten Holmqvist. “There’s a problem with Kate,” I said. “I need your help.”

“You know the rules about doctor-patient privilege,” he said. “However, she missed her therapy session yesterday. Would you happen to know why?”

“Because she left the country to stay with her drug-fiend brother.”

“Oh dear,” he said. “That is a bit of a predicament.”

It was a f*cking catastrophe. I wanted to choke him to death. “What should I do?”

“Where is your child?”

“With me. She dropped Anu off before she left, lied, and told me she would be back within hours.”

“Are you in contact with Kate?”

“No.”

“Well, I can’t treat her if she isn’t here. Is it possible to use your child as a carrot on a stick to entice her to come home?”

“Maybe you’re not hearing me. I—am—not—in—touch—with—her. She—abandoned—her—child.”

“Then I suggest you find a way to get in touch with her. Given the extraordinary circumstances, I’ll tell you what I feel I can without breaking her confidence.”

I sighed. He was wasting precious time. “I would be grateful for that.”

“Kate has related a number of experiences to me that border on the unbelievable. I’m uncertain whether they’re fact or fantasy. Should I enumerate some of them?”

I wasn’t sure and said nothing, uncertain what to reveal and what to hold back.

“When she first came to see me,” he said, “she believed Icarus had flown too close to the sun, his wings had melted, he fell to the earth engulfed in flame and died at her feet. Now she claims she shot him to death.”

He needed at least some truths to do his job and help her. “She shot him.”

“Let me assure you, if you’ve committed crimes in the past, I feel no obligation to report them, and they will stay with me. You were also my patient, and that further complicates matters. If I felt failure to report a planned crime would result in the loss of human life, my obligation would sway toward a potential victim. Is that helpful to you in speaking about these issues?”

“The man in question was a former French Legionnaire. He had paratrooper wings tattooed on the side of his head. And yes, his clothing caught fire, so it’s understandable that she associated him with Icarus. In fact, he referred to his tattoos as the wings of Icarus. Whatever Kate told you is most likely true,” I said, “or at least based in truth. There may be some things she doesn’t know about and so filled in the gaps herself, believing the worst, when it may not have been the case. What might be most helpful for you to know is that she had no choice in killing the man.”

“I see.”

God, I hate when he says that.

“Kate caused a death,” he said, “a most gruesome one, I’m given to understand, and she now accepts that she caused it. She deplores violence. Killing another person violated everything she believed in and destroyed her self-image of who she thought she was. This caused acute stress disorder, which led her to fall into her previous dissociative state. Basically, her mind was protecting itself from an event so traumatic that she was unable to process it.”

“I understand that much,” I said.

“Over the past few weeks, her condition has evolved, or perhaps devolved would be more accurate. Rather than re-associate and come to grips with the events of that day, she has developed full-blown post-traumatic stress disorder.”

“Which means?”

“That she is reliving that event over and over again in her mind, to the near exclusion of all else, and the truth of what she did torments her constantly, even in her dreams. That might be why she left. She may have felt unable to take adequate care of your child in her present state, yet another source of guilt. Or perhaps she feels unworthy of a child, which she regards as a blessing.”

This all made excellent sense. “Can you tell me anything more?”

“No, I can’t. I will say only this. She sees what she views as her own mistakes and inadequacies reflected in you, like a mirror into her own soul. However, if you can return her to my care, I’ll encourage her to tell you this herself.”

“What should I do?” I asked.

“I don’t know. As I said, I can’t treat her if she isn’t here. If she were, I believe her therapy would be short term and she would return to a semblance of emotional normality within a few months.”

“Thank you for being so forthright,” I said.

“Please keep me informed,” he said, and rang off.

• • •

I WENT out to the balcony, smoked a couple cigarettes and thought things through, then came back and sat down again. Katt took his place atop the chair, front paws to the sides of my neck. Talking hurt like hell, but I tried Milo again. This time, his phone was switched on. “Where are you?” I asked.

“I’m fishing in a sailboat near my summer cottage, about to fire up a bowl of dope.”

“I didn’t know you had a summer cottage, a sailboat, or that you smoked pot.”

“Well, now you know. The cottage is on Nauvo, near Turku, has been in my family for generations, and I smoke all the pot I can get. You always comment on my bloodshot eyes and the dark circles around them. They’re bloodshot from the pot, and the dark circles are because sleeping bores me. Any other personal details you would like me to share with you?”

“No. I need your help.” I was so upset that for a minute I couldn’t continue.

“Care to elaborate?”

I pulled it together. “Kate has done a runner. She’s emotionally ill, suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder because of what happened on the island. She left Anu here with me. I checked her accounts. She’s in Miami, Florida. Her brother, John, is there. I’m sure she’s with him. I have his address. My physical condition is too bad for me to do this myself. I need you to go to Miami and bring her home. Please.”

“What if she won’t come?”

“Do whatever it takes. Don’t give her a choice. And there’s more you need to know.” I told him about the shattered window, what the brick said about ten million ways to die, and the tear gas. “We shouldn’t have stolen that money,” I said.

I heard waves break, him suck on a pipe, and the crackle of burning marijuana.

“Do you have any idea how goddamned hard it is to sail and fish with only one good hand? We didn’t steal it, we earned it. If we hadn’t taken it, the national chief of police and the interior minister would have, and then blamed us for it anyway. We were f*cked if we did or f*cked if we didn’t. We might as well be rich.”

He was right. “We have to think of our families,” I said. “They could hurt them to get at us. I’m thinking about your mother.”

He muttered “F*ck,” then went silent for a minute. “Mom is here, I can’t think of anywhere safer, unless I send her out of the country. You know, Vaara, you’re a real f*cking buzzkill.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“I’ll be back in Helsinki in about four hours,” he said. “And don’t worry. I promise I’ll bring Kate home to you.”

“Thank you,” I said, and we rang off.