“Lisbet S?derlund was murdered. Her head was sent by mail to the Finnish Somalia Network. It was sent by normal post, packed in Styrofoam peanuts and newspaper. A note composed of letters cut from headlines of a newspaper said ‘nigger lover.’ Forensics is there now. The case is yours. I need you to go over there right now.”
I turned the relevant facts over in my mind, considered the ramifications of taking the case. The Finnish Somalia Network, as the name suggests, is a political group that represents Somali immigrants in Finland. S?derlund was a Swedish-speaking Finn—and so, needless to say, white—politician belonging to the Swedish People’s Party. S?derlund was a member of the European Parliament for about a decade. After the 2007 elections she was chosen to be the new minister of immigration and European affairs. She had come to be a symbol in her self-appointed role as a champion of immigrants’ rights, far beyond the call of duty of her post. As the government’s foremost advocate of immigrants’ rights, she became the object of contempt and hatred of the extreme right and racists. For a time, until it was removed because of its illegality, a Facebook page existed called I Would Give Two Years of My Life to Kill Lisbet S?derlund. The page attracted some hundreds of members.
Her head in the mail was an escalation over a previous event involving the Finnish Somalia Network. During the last holiday season, they were sent a pig’s head, along with a note reading “Merry Christmas.”
I said, “It’s political, it’s high-profile. Her assassination will be remembered by history and the eyes of the world will be focused on the investigation. It will draw attention to me that I don’t need. It doesn’t serve your purposes, either. It’s a bad idea.”
“It’s the most significant murder in the region since Olof Palme was assassinated in 1986. I agree, and I don’t want you involved. However, the president does.”
“Why the fuck does Tarja Halonen think I should investigate this?”
Jyri sighed, aggravated. “It goes back to the Sufia Elmi murder. Immigrants are going to be up in arms over this. There will be protests, maybe retaliatory crimes. You solved the only case in our history of a high-profile black person’s murder. Therefore, Halonen believes your involvement will give the immigrant community confidence that the government is committed to solving S?derlund’s murder, and help assuage their anger. And she’s probably right.”
“Then I suppose there’s nothing to be done about it,” I said. “The president gets what the president wants.” There was no possible argument to the contrary. “But let’s do it like this. You say this is a matter of national security and I can’t speak to the press until the case is over. You take the limelight and attention away from me.”
“That was my plan. The address is Kuninkaantie 38. Let me know what happens. I have to keep the president apprised.” He rung off.
I THOUGHT ABOUT bringing Milo, decided against it. He would talk incessantly and have strong opinions on every detail. I didn’t want to hear them. I called Sweetness and he drove me to the crime scene. It had been five weeks since my surgeries. In a couple weeks, after I gained just a little more strength in my knee, I could trade in these crutches for a cane and drive again.
On the way over, I tried to impress the gravity of this case on Sweetness and repeated Jyri’s comparison to the murder of Olof Palme.
“Who’s he?” Sweetness asked.
I couldn’t fucking believe it. Had this boy been to school? Did he spend history classes sniffing glue?
“He was a Swedish prime minister and was assassinated in 1986. He was a harsh critic of both the U.S. and the USSR, among other governments. The murder went unsolved. Conspiracy theorists claim that either the CIA or KGB assassinated him. The point is that these two murders will be compared, and the whole world will be watching to see what happens.”
“Are we going to be famous?”
“Probably.”
“Cool.”