Sulo shrugs, that’s the way it has to be.
No one invites me to sit down, so I stand in the doorway and keep my boots on. “I just came to offer some friendly advice,” I say. “You stabbed those bouncers yesterday evening. They probably got what they deserved, but you’re going to get nailed for it. It’ll cost you years of your life. I’d like you to consider turning yourself in. You’ll still have to sit for the crime, but maybe for three years instead of five.”
Sulo starts to speak, but Papa speaks for him. “Sulo was here with us, as I told you bastards yesterday. Fuck off and leave him alone. He lost his brother. This family has gone through enough.”
“You’ve gone through a lot,” I say, “but losing Sulo to a long stretch in prison won’t make it better.”
Papa chugs his beer dry and throws the can down beside the couch. “If Sulo had stabbed those cocksuckers, which he didn’t,” he shoots Sulo a dirty look, “he did a shit job of it. They’re alive, and our Taisto is dead.”
So, Papa put Sulo up to the attack.
Sulo finally speaks for himself. “Inspector, it’s nice of you to come here. I know you did it out of concern, but I didn’t do anything wrong. And besides, I’m thinking about leaving the country soon. I don’t have a job. I may go to Sweden and look for work.”
As if we can’t extradite him from Sweden. That doesn’t leave much to be said. At least I tried. “Okay, Sulo, I wish you luck.” I take a business card out of my wallet and flip it over to him. “Call me if you need anything,” I say, and leave for work.
I drive the few minutes to the Pasila police station and sneak to my office, bypass the common room. I sit for a while and contemplate December Day, my print of the Albert Edelfelt painting. It portrays a village on a frozen river in sepia and monochromatic colors. I hung it here because it soothes me.
I think about my meeting with Filippov later and what I could possibly say to him. I come up with nothing. I call Jyri and fill him in. I don’t want to, because his input will be Machiavellian, but I have little choice. He takes a while, turns it over in his mind. I turn on the recorder in my cell phone and document the conversation, to protect myself in case all this goes wrong.
“Why do you think he left the semen in his freezer, in clear view?” Jyri asks.
“Arrogance. He didn’t think we’d figure out that DNA samples were part of his blackmail scheme.”
“Then he’s made other mistakes, too. We just need to buy some time to find out what they are.”
“I’m not sure we have much time. Filippov might get pissed off or feel cornered and pull the trigger on you and the others. Release the videos to draw attention away from himself.”
“Maybe.” Jyri pauses. “Tell him we’ll give him the business contracts he paid us for.”
I note the use of pronoun, us. Jyri also takes bribes.
“And tell him if he returns the videos, we’ll guarantee that he never becomes a suspect in his wife’s murder investigation.”
This was my fear. Jyri will go the obvious route and hang Rein Saar out to dry. “You’d let an innocent man sit for murder?”
“Do you have a better plan?”
I think yes, let the truth come out and justice be done. “Not at the moment.”
“The only other option,” Jyri says, “is to let the case go unsolved. Release Rein Saar on the grounds that he couldn’t have been tased and then murdered Iisa Filippov.”
This is the lesser of two evils, but unsatisfactory. Ivan Filippov deserves punishment. “What about your precious murharyhma track record?”
“An unfortunate necessity.”
“Because I ruined it, I’ll look like an asshole, like a shitty detective. And it’s not a great start for Milo’s career, either.”