Raid and the Blackest Sheep (28 page)

    
Further up, a barely visible side road, almost a trail, branched off the main. It led into the heart of a thin, low-lying birch forest.

    
Not wanting to drive into something he couldn’t get out of, Raid closely examined the road. It sloped gently toward the stream and ended in a small clearing about a quarter mile from the main road.

    
The clearing was used for camping. Near the perimeter was a fire pit made of stones and a pile of rusty cans. Based on the labels, canned tuna and pea soup were top choices for campers.

    
Raid and Nygren got out of the car. Nygren took a look around.

    
“Beautiful.”

    
He ascended a footpath leading through the trees. Raid walked behind him. The trail was overgrown in places, and Nygren had to bend the branches aside. After walking for about a hundred yards, he stopped for a rest.

    
“Tired yet?”

    
“You won’t need to carry me, if that’s what you’re afraid of.”

    
“Not afraid of that.”

    
After about twenty yards, they came to a steep bank and Nygren slipped. Raid caught him before he could fall. Nygren exhaled hard and mopped the sweat off his forehead.

    
“Thanks.”

    
He took a break for some time before continuing. They climbed for another fifteen minutes before Nygren found a spot that he liked. From there, they could see a sparkling lake in the valley and the summit of another fell opposite the lake. The stream they had crossed earlier rippled past only ten yards away, its wavelets splashing against the rocks.

    
“This will do.”

    
He glanced about, looking for a place to sit, and chose a grassy tussock at the base of a small birch. Raid sat down next to him. Nygren gazed at him with a faint smile on his face.

    
“You were with me to the end after all…”

    
“Yep.”

* * *

Hiltunen climbed out of the grease pit and wiped his greasy hands on an equally greasy rag.

    
“Can’t you guys leave people alone? Nygren did his time, just like me.”

    
Hiltunen’s voice sounded genuinely annoyed.

    
“We’ll leave you alone as soon as you clear up a few things,” said Huusko.

    
“What things?”

    
“Come on, you know.”

    
“No, I don’t.”

    
“How much you wanna bet?”

    
Huusko held out his hand. Hiltunen stared at it and snorted.

    
Jansson put his hand on Huusko’s shoulder.

    
“Huusko.”

    
“It’s not right to lie, especially to the cops.”

    
“Let’s just stick to the facts. We’re investigating Nygren and we believe he’s been here.”

    
“Can I ask why?”

    
“He’s been seen in the area,” Jansson lied, though his conscience promptly scolded him.

    
Hiltunen took to examining a carburetor on the table. His fingers were thick and his nails chipped, but his touch was light.

    
“I got a right to know why you’re after him, don’t I?”

    
“We’re investigating a shooting and a murder—two different cases.”

    
“And Nygren was the triggerman?”

    
“We’re not sure. We’d just like to interview him for starters. He’s been placed at the crime scene, at any rate.”

    
“Who got shot?”

    
“A guy by the name of Sariola.”

    
“Oh…that asshole. Serves him right. And who got killed?”

    
“Rusanen, sound familiar?”

    
“You think Nygren killed Rusanen?”

    
“That’s what we’re trying to figure out.”

    
Hiltunen shook his head.

    
“Nygren’s no killer… I mean, he can hold his own, but he’d rather use his head. Rusanen thought he could bully him around like the others, but Nygren was too tough, too smart. Rusanen had to leave him alone.”

    
“Can you think of anything Nygren might have against Rusanen?” asked Jansson.

    
“That I don’t know. I’d have thought it’d be the other way around…that Rusanen would’ve retaliated.”

    
“Did they have any business in common?”

    
“Nygren hated Rusanen. Wouldn’t touch him with a ten-foot pole.”

    
“Why then,” said Jansson.

    
“If Nygren shot those guys, he couldn’t have picked two better targets. He always said doing time would almost be nice if there weren’t shitheads like Rusanen and Sariola in every brig.”

    
“We’re not saying Nygren killed him. All we want is to hear his side of the story.”

    
“You wouldn’t be asking me if you didn’t have some evidence.”

    
“Maybe we do,” said Huusko.

    
“I don’t know about Sariola, but I heard Rusanen died and…”

    
Hiltunen’s voice faltered momentarily.

    
“You heard? From who?”

    
“Must have been in the news.”

    
“No, it hasn’t.”

    
Hiltunen’s son peeked in the door.

    
“Dad, it’s almost two, we should go.”

    
Hiltunen glanced at the clock.

    
“Be there in a sec…”

    
The boy disappeared.

    
“I have a…an appointment… I have to go.”

    
“We can drive you. We’ll talk in the car.”

    
Hiltunen went to a steel wash-up sink, slathered his hands with soap and started scrubbing them.

    
“Nygren was here yesterday, but he didn’t stay but half an hour. Said he was going to Lapland to see the leaves.”

    
“What did he want?”

    
“Nothing much…just stopped by as he was passing through.”

    
“Was he the one who told you about Rusanen?”

    
“I don’t remember.”

    
“Was he alone?” asked Huusko.

    
“No, some other guy was driving.”

    
“You know who he was?”

    
“No.”

    
Hiltunen took his cap off, revealing the bald spot on the top of his head. He set the cap on the desk, stripped off his coveralls and hung them on a nail. The shine on his shoes was flawless, but even so, he spat in a paper towel and polished them.

    
“Is Nygren a friend of yours?”

    
“I have no friends… He’s a nice guy, but I wouldn’t call him a friend.”

    
“Then how come he came to visit you in prison and sent money?”

    
“Don’t ask me.”

    
“And got you a maintenance job in Helsinki. You and I met when I was investigating that casino shooting.”

    
Hiltunen took a closer look at Jansson’s face.

    
“Yeah, I thought you looked familiar…”

    
“Did he get you that job?”

    
“I had just gotten outta prison. I figured nobody would know me in Helsinki and people would leave me alone. I needed a job and a place to sleep and Nygren set me up. He knew the owner of the casino.”

    
“You two come from the same town, right?”

    
Hiltunen looked at Jansson, clearly surprised.

    
“We do?”

    
“What, you didn’t know?”

    
“Hell no… If it’s true, he must have moved away before we met…we didn’t get to know each other until prison. He never told me where he was from…”

    
“Did he know where you were from?”

    
Hiltunen’s son peered in the door worriedly.

    
“We’re gonna be late.”

    
“Just a sec. Wait in the car.”

    
He disappeared again.

    
“I gotta go.”

    
“First tell us the rest and we’ll leave you alone,” said Huusko.

    
Hiltunen gave in.

    
“Okay. Nygren told me Rusanen was dead. He’d heard it from somewhere.”

    
“Is that what he came all the way out here to tell you? Did he mention the cancer?”

    
“What cancer?”

    
“That he has cancer and he’s dying,” said Huusko.

    
“Nygren has cancer?”

    
“You sure weren’t very close friends if he hasn’t told you.”

    
The annoyance on Hiltunen’s face turned to seriousness.

    
“This service station is up for sale… Nygren gave me a loan… He didn’t mention about any cancer… I was just headed to the bank with my boy…”

    
“A guy shows up outta nowhere and gives you money. Doesn’t sound quite right,” said Huusko.

    
“I know… I thought the same thing, but the money was already in my account by morning. I’m fifty-seven years old, and spent sixteen of those years in prison for one mistake. This is my only and final opportunity and I’m damn thankful… Or would unemployment be a better alternative, or should I just string myself up…”

    
Hiltunen’s voice cracked and he looked down at his hands.

    
“How much did he give you?”

    
“Fifty thousand.”

    
“And he didn’t even give you a contact number or an account number?”

    
Hiltunen stared at his hands in silence.

    
“Has anyone else come asking about Nygren? Fellow by the name of Kempas, for instance?”

    
“The cop?”

    
“Yes, the cop,” Huusko replied.

    
“No.”

    
“Did Nygren ever talk about Kempas?”

    
“Not this time.”

    
“Did he tell you what Kempas has against him?”

    
“He has something against him?”

    
“That’s how it looks. Any idea why Kempas hates Nygren so much?”

* * *

Nygren raked some fallen leaves together with his fingers and heaped them into a small pile. He stretched out on the ground with the leaf pile under his head. Though the sun was dazzlingly bright, he took off his sunglasses and handed them to Raid.

    
“Genuine Ray-Bans, they’re yours.”

    
Raid slipped them on.

    
“You never told me the story about these.”

    
“It doesn’t matter anymore. Now they’ll have a new story that you can either tell or not tell.”

    
Nygren took a wallet out of his coat pocket. He opened it, slipped a car key out of the coin pocket and pressed it into Raid’s hand.

    
“The spare key to the Mercedes. It’s yours now, you’ll make your own story for it.”

    
“Thank you.”

    
Nygren dug around in his wallet some more and pulled out a folded receipt and a photograph.

    
“Your fee has been wired to your account. Here’s your receipt.”

    
Raid took the paper and shoved it in his pocket without looking at it.

    
Nygren clasped his hands over his chest so they cradled the photograph. Raid could see that it was the picture of Nygren’s daughter with the black-and-white cat in her lap.

    
“When you were baptized, the pastor reminded us godparents of the responsibility we were taking on. He said a godparent’s most important job is to keep his godchild on the path of righteousness. We godparents were supposed to live as good examples for our godchildren. I remember holding you in my lap and thinking, Poor thing…best not take any lessons from your old uncle. I saw your mom looking at me kind of stern, and I’m sure she knew what I was thinking. As you got bigger, things went just the opposite of the way they were supposed to. You started imitating everything I did, both good and bad, especially bad. I noticed it, but for some reason it gratified me and I couldn’t be strict enough. I’ll never forgive myself for that.”