To give him the whole picture, I tell Jyri about Milo blackbagging Linda’s apartment, about the audio track of the murder and about the video he turned up. Jyri takes it all in.
“Aside from some bizarre sexual-fetish issues,” I say, “Filippov is a straitlaced guy. His wife was a whore and a constant embarrassment. She refused to have sex with him. She fucked everybody under the sun except him. He had what was apparently a gratifying affair with Linda and got what he needed from her. Iisa became an irrelevant millstone around his neck. Murdering her was both revenge on her and a way of getting what he wanted from the establishment. And also, because of the nature of his and Linda’s fetishes, it got them off.”
I’m confident that when Iisa was murdered, although he didn’t understand the particulars, Jyri knew that he and other politicians were being set up. He planned to frame Rein Saar to save himself. I’m sure he eased his conscience as Arvid claims Marshal Mannerheim did in regard to Jews. Like Mannerheim, the chief is prepared to throw innocents to the dogs for what he conveniently perceives as the good of the nation. Rein Saar is intended to be a sacrificial lamb.
We both chain cigarettes off the last ones. “Tell me how you’re going to get me and the others out of this,” Jyri says.
“The murder was videotaped. More than likely, all of you were also videotaped. And there are your DNA samples. Plus, Iisa Filippov kept a diary. It may contain information damning her husband. If all those things are recovered, it might be possible to cover this up.”
“Do it,” Jyri says. “I’ll make sure you get all the resources you need. Just do it.”
I shake my head. “The thing is, I’m not sure I want to. I won’t let Rein Saar get sent down for a murder he didn’t commit. Filippov has to be convicted of the crime. When he gets his day in court, no matter how much evidence gets buried, all of this is going to come out, and all your careers will be ruined. And, I have to say, you all deserve it.”
Jyri drums his fingers on the table, thoughtful. “Filippov killed his wife at least partly out of embarrassment. If you recover the fetish videos of him and Linda, I can threaten to release them. I’ll offer to let him commit suicide and leave a confession letter to save himself the humiliation. Given his mind-set, he might take the deal.”
At first, I have trouble believing he said it. I didn’t realize I was sitting across the table from Machiavelli. If he’ll go that far, I wonder if he would go one step further, fake Filippov’s suicide and have him murdered.
“I’ll give you anything you want,” he says, “just make this go away.”
“That’s another problem for you,” I say. “I don’t want anything.”
He leans toward me. “I’ve been thinking of putting together a black-ops unit. Anti-organized crime. The mandate is to go after criminals by whatever means necessary, to use their own methods against them. No holds barred.”
“We already have such a group. It’s called SUPO.”
“There’s a problem with SUPO,” he says. “They don’t work for me.”
I shake my head again, this time in amusement. “So you want to be some kind of Finnish J. Edgar Hoover.”
“Yes.”