“Well,” I say, “I was.”
“I told you at our last meeting that if I came upon something of interest, I would deliver it to you. Could you meet with me this morning, perhaps around ten o’clock? I could come to your office.”
“Might this thing of interest be your wife’s diary? I’d very much like to see it.”
“Iisa kept no diary.”
“I’ve been informed otherwise. Bring it to me, or I’ll get a subpoena and seize it.”
“We’ve had this discussion. You can try. I’ll get the subpoena quashed. Will you meet with me or not?”
“Sure, Ivan, because you’re such good company. See you then.”
I can’t imagine what Filippov wants to show me, but I doubt I’ll like it.
I go outside to the balcony. We got fresh snow overnight. I kick some to the sidewalk below to clear myself a dry place to stand, and smoke my first cigarette of the day. The sky is ash-gray. A fierce wind almost jerks the cigarette out of my hand. The cold hurts my face. I check the thermometer. Minus twenty-five. It turned even more frigid overnight. The wind burns down my cigarette so fast that I only get three drags off it before it self-extinguishes.
I sit on the couch, sip coffee and think about Arvid. I could follow his instructions, relay his message to the interior minister and tell him, as Arvid put it, “to stick his charges up his fucking ass.” But that won’t help Arvid. I feel certain he’ll end up on trial in a German court. I like Arvid and don’t want that to happen. I call him.
“I saw you on the news,” Arvid says. “Well done.”
“I’d rather not discuss it,” I say.
The image of standing in front of Legion, holding a gun to my own head, the boy whimpering in his clutches, is so vivid I forget for a moment that I’m talking to Arvid.
“Boy,” he says, “what do you want? I expressed my thoughts on this horseshit in a most clear manner. Our business is concluded.”
I snap back to reality. “I respect both you and your wishes, but you have a problem. I’d like to assist you with it, if you’ll let me.”
“What problem?”
“I’ve done some minor investigating. You’ve been disingenuous. You were at Stalag 309. If I can find the truth in a day, anyone else can, too. If I handle this situation in the way you told me to, it won’t go away. You’ll find yourself in a jail cell. We need to clear you of the charges leveled against you.”
The pause is long. I hear him sigh, then swear under his breath. “You’re a good eater. I like that. Come here today for lunch at twelve and we’ll talk about it.”
I thank him for his indulgence and hang up.
I get to the Pasila station about nine a.m. I check Milo’s office. He’s already at his computer. “What are you working on?” I ask.
“Getting bio material on Linda and Iisa.”
Dark circles render his eyes almost invisible red slits. Looking at his face is like staring into an abyss. “Get any sleep last night?”
The abyss stares back at me. “Some.”
“Ivan Filippov called and wants to meet with me at ten. I expect some kind of antagonistic confrontation. I’ll do some digging, too. Finish getting whatever info you can in the next little while, then come to my office and let’s compare notes. It might help me prep for my discussion with him.”
He nods, turns back to his computer.
I go to my office and give the main newspaper Internet pages a quick scan. Vesa Korhonen, Milo and I are splattered all over them. I don’t read the articles. Jaakko wrote a piece in Ilta-Sanomat stating that Iisa Filippov and Rein Saar were tased before being brutalized. He implies cover-up. I call him.
“Hi, Kari,” he says. “Congratulations for yesterday.”
“We’re not friends. Call me Inspector Vaara.”
“All right Inspector Vaara. What do you want?”
“More dirt on Iisa Filippov and Linda Pohjola.”
“I anticipated your wishes. Gotta give to get.”