Authors: Harri Nykanen
Nights of Awe (26 page)
The day before yesterday, Laya had received a phone call. The caller was a man and spoke French. He had asked Laya to drive the car to a certain spot in Kallio and tape the keys to the bumper. The caller promised to return the car to the same place and leave the fee in the glove compartment. And that’s exactly what had happened.
The caller hadn’t given his name, and the number had been blocked. After seeing Hamid’s photo in the paper and hearing what had happened at Linnunlaulu, Laya had panicked and tried to think what he should do. He had told his girlfriend about lending the car, and she had demanded that he contact the police.
“What was your girlfriend doing at your apartment?”
“I asked her to pick up the car and then come get me. The keys were inside the apartment.”
“Why didn’t you pick it up yourself?”
“I was at work.”
“Where?”
“The paint plant… in Vantaa.”
“Let’s forget the car. Hash and amphetamines were found in your apartment.”
Laya grew grim. Perhaps he thought that the drugs had been destroyed in the explosion and subsequent fire.
“They were only for my personal use.”
“And a sub-machine gun and grenade shards. The investigators believe that one of the grenades exploded or that there was a home-made bomb inside the apartment that exploded and detonated the grenades. The question is whether the bomb exploded by accident or on purpose.”
Laya looked genuinely surprised. For a moment, his mouth actually hung open.
“I don’t have a sub-machine gun or any bombs or grenades. I hate weapons. The people who planted the bomb also planted the gun. Maybe they want you to believe I am some kind of terrorist or big-shot criminal.”
“Who are they? Who are you talking about?”
Laya almost lost his temper. “Don’t you understand – the same men who killed Hamid, or else then it was the man who borrowed my car.”
“What do you know about them?”
“Nothing. I read about it in the paper. I’m not stupid, I don’t believe it’s a coincidence.”
“You also dealt drugs to Hamid. You’d think you’d know at least something about his business partners.”
“No, I didn’t. I lent some to him a couple of times, but I’m not a terrorist. I left my own country to get away from violence. I hate it. I’ve lived here seven years, and Finland is my second homeland…”
“You lent him drugs?”
“He didn’t have any money and he said he was going to be getting some and a big load of amphetamines and hash. He promised to give it all back to me… he had once before…”
“Was it because of drugs that someone killed Hamid and tried to kill you?”
Laya thought for a second.
“I’m positive that it all has to do with Tagi. He was always afraid that something would happen to him. He said that if he held on to a few good cards, he might live. He never said who he was talking about.”
“What did he mean by good cards?”
“Some kind of important information.”
“And he didn’t say what?”
“No, but once he met someone and he asked me to photograph the meeting. I took a picture when they met at Kaisaniemi.”
“When?”
“About two months ago.”
“Where’s the picture?”
Laya wiped a tear from his cheek.
“At Taina’s place.”
“That still doesn’t explain why someone tried to kill you. How would anyone have known about the photo?”
Laya’s voice rose to a shout: “I don’t know, I’ve been racking my brains, but I don’t understand! I’m not some mafioso, I’m a normal man who has only done some small-time stuff.”
“What if Tagi told someone about the photograph, and about you too?”
“Why would he? He was afraid.”
“Did he tell you who he was afraid of?”
“One time when we had done some hash, he said something, but at the time I thought he was just babbling. He told me how someone thought he was so smart, but that he would scam all those Jewish bastards. He said that if the bait is good enough, you can use it to hook however big a fish you want.”
“Jewish bastards?”
“Or he actually used a nastier word.”
“
Moshe manjak
?” I suggested.
Moshe manjak
?” I suggested.
Laya was surprised. “You understand Arabic? That’s exactly what he said.”
“You suspect that he was involved in the drug trade with some Jews?”
“Yeah, but I’m not totally sure. He was always so careful, so careful.”
“What about his cousin Ali, the one who owned the body shop? Was he in on it?”
Laya nodded.
“I think Ali funded the business. I was along once when Tagi got half a kilo of hash from the body shop… I don’t know where it came from.”
“Many kilograms of plastic explosives and heavy weapons were found at Tagi’s place. Could Tagi or Ali have been planning a terrorist attack?”
Laya wiped his eyes as if he were drying tears, but he let out a laughing sound.
“Tagi? He always said that he couldn’t give a shit about religious stuff, live and let live, as long as he can live the way he wants. For him, the good life was a beautiful woman, a new Mercedes, and a nice house on the beach. He wanted to live comfortably and party. Ali was the same way, went to the mosque to pray, but money was always the most important thing. Men like that can’t be terrorists.”
Laya’s girlfriend’s apartment was in Tikkurila. We entered with the keys Laya had given us. The photo was there where it was supposed to be, in an envelope taped to the bottom of the breadbox.
The photo had been taken at Kaisaniemi Park. It was summer, and the greenhouse at the botanical gardens could be made out in the background. The men were standing next to each other, talking. One of the men was Hamid. The other was even easier to identify: Dan Kaplan. It had been ten years since I had seen him last, and now I was running into him everywhere.
“Why did Hamid want the meeting with Kaplan to be photographed?” Stenman wondered.
“I don’t know.”
“Maybe Kaplan was in the narcotics business with Hamid and figured he could blackmail him with the photo if necessary.”
I looked at the picture thoughtfully.
“Laya said that the photo was taken two months ago. We don’t have any information indicating that he was in the country then. He must have been travelling on false documents,” Stenman continued.
I was starting to believe that Dan was no longer the man he was when he left Finland. Still, it was hard for me to imagine him dealing in drugs. I could only think of two reasons why he would have met with a drug trafficker like Tagi Hamid in Finland without contacting his friends or relatives.
Klein had said that Dan had been forced to resign from the army for stealing weapons. Dan had said basically the same thing in slightly different words. I didn’t believe either of them.
The surroundings of Ali Hamid’s body shop hadn’t changed since our previous visit. Autumn was a few days further along, and the trees had shed more leaves onto the roof of the RV. Soon it would be covered in snow, and Jäppinen would be shovelling himself out like a vole.
I knocked on the door. Stenman was standing behind me, as chic as ever. A half-length sheared fur had replaced the English oilskin. It looked warm and expensive, like Stenman herself. She was a little too aristocratic for my taste, but there was still something about her.
I liked her.
I said: “Take a look in the window.”
There was a curtain blocking it, but Stenman peeked through the crack.
“There’s someone in there, all right.”
I banged on the door with my fist. The tone of my banging wasn’t apologetic, it was authoritative.
“Who the hell… at this hour…”
For Jäppinen, at this hour meant nine-thirty. He clearly wasn’t a morning person.
He opened the door in his boxer shorts. His hair was sticking out all over the place, and we were assaulted by a gust of fermenting interior air.
Jäppinen noticed Stenman and blushed.
“Can’t a man even get dressed?…”
He yanked the door shut. Stenman looked at me, amused.
“Aah, the bachelor life, so glamorous and carefree.”
“Ain’t that the truth,” I agreed.
Suddenly Stenman looked thoughtful.
“That was quite a stench that wafted out. Did you smell?…”
I gave her a questioning look. Then I understood. I stepped aside and made a call.
I was hanging up just as the door opened. Jäppinen came out, fully dressed and his wet hair slicked back. Even though it was almost foggy, the light blinded him, and he squinted his night-owl eyes. Feeling his way, he cautiously lowered himself to the RV steps. His tremulous hands moved to his lap.
“You said that Ali Hamid used to work for you and then he bought the body shop?”
“That’s right.”
“How much did it cost?”
“He got a package deal: all the equipment, three lifts and the other big-ticket machines, plus all the tools, screwdrivers and everything, and a loyal customer base on top. I got three hundred and fifty thousand marks… I gave him a good-guy discount, but I respect a hard-working man, and that’s what Ali was.”
“So about sixty thousand euros.”
“Around there.”
“And he paid all at once?”
“Course. Got the papers and receipts to prove it.”
“Where did he get the money?” Stenman asked.
“The bank, I guess… or wherever people get money from… He didn’t have that kind of dough himself, they were renting, and raising a big brood like that costs a mint.”
“We believe that Hamid was dealing drugs. Did you ever see anything like that?”
Jäppinen glanced around furtively. He cleared his throat and fished a half-smoked cigarette out from his pack.
“No… no… I never did.”
“Did he give you the money in cash or was it transferred to your account?”
“My account, the whole shebang.”
“I’d like to see the receipt,” I said.
“Now?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t remember where it is right now… You mind if I look for it and give you a call… I could use a lift down to the Teboil for my morning cereal.”
I looked into Jäppinen’s beady eyes and changed tack.
“I just made a call and asked a few questions about you. You’ve been convicted three times for narcotics violations. Use and smuggling.”
Jäppinen’s expression froze, then he swallowed and said: “That stuff’s ancient history. Back when I was a young…”
“I can call in a drug dog to come sniff out your RV.”
Jäppinen grew pale and his upper body swayed as if he were about to faint.
“Don’t bother. Is it really that big a deal if I take a few puffs for my own pleasure sometimes, an old man like me? Who’s getting hurt?”
“We’re interested in Hamid, not you.”
Jäppinen lit his cigarette and took his first drags of the morning.
“He was dealing hash and amphetamines. I don’t know how much, but I’d buy small amounts from him sometimes. He said he’d quit as soon as he got his finances in order. He used to send money back to just about his entire extended family in Iraq or wherever it is Kurds live these days.”
“What about his cousin Tagi?”
“Yeah, he was in on it too.”
“Anyone else? The killings might have something to do with the drugs.”
“He said the drugs came from Spain and Morocco. I don’t know who he bought them from, not a Finn at least. Could we—”
“Just one more question. Did you see anything that evening when Ali and Wasin were killed? Think carefully; you don’t want to make the biggest mistake of your life.”
“Two cars… and a few guys… a white van and a Passat.”
I had a photo of Oxbaum’s stolen Nissan in my pocket. I showed it to Jäppinen.
“That’s what it looked like at least. I remember the plate number, it was JFK-37. JFK are the initials of that Yankee president and thirty-seven happens to be the year I was born.”
“What about the Passat?”
“Dark and a diesel. Didn’t see the plates.”
“But you saw the men?” Stenman suggested.
“The white van came first, but I didn’t see when it came. I only saw when the guys were leaving. The yard lights are pretty bad and I couldn’t see very well, but I heard them talking in some foreign language, I don’t know which one. I thought they were Ali’s or Wasi’s Arab buddies.”
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