Lucifer's Tears

21

I go to another waiting room, Stand and read until my turn comes up. I have a busy workday ahead and waiting frustrates me. A nurse draws some blood. I exit the hospital and look at the prescriptions in my hand. I dislike taking medication in general, but Jari was right. Passing out at Arvid’s house taught me that I need relief. I go to a pharmacy and get them filled.

It’s minus ten degrees, crisp and pleasant, a little after ten a.m. A darkened sky looms over a snow-white city. I lean against my Saab, smoke cigarettes and make phone calls. First in line is Milo. His voice is hushed, uncharacteristic of him. I ask him if he can run background checks on Iisa Filippov and Linda Pohjola. He says he’s working the case from a different angle at the moment and can’t talk right now. He asks if we can meet later, outside the police station. He has things to tell me. I suggest Hilpea Hauki at two thirty. He says perfect, he lives in the neighborhood. My interest is piqued.

Next I call Jaakko Pahkala. I’ve know him for years, since I was a uniform cop in Helsinki, before I moved back to my hometown of Kittila and took over the police department there. He’s a freelance writer for the Helsinki daily newspaper Ilta-Sanomat, for the gossip magazine Seitseman Paivaa, and the true-crime rag Alibi. Jaakko loves filth, specializes in scandal.

“Hello, Inspector,” he says. “This is a pleasant surprise. I thought you would never speak to me again after the Sufia Elmi case.”

Jaakko committed obstruction of justice by releasing details of the murder that I wanted suppressed, published morgue photos that demeaned the victim and did his best to discredit me and have me fired because I refused to grant him an interview.

“I didn’t, either,” I say, “but you have your uses.”

He laughs. His high-pitched voice grates on me. “Who do you want dirt on?”

“Iisa Filippov.”

“I’m interested in her murder myself. What do I get?”

Jyri wants Rein Saar hung out to dry. I’ll make it hard for him. “A good scoop, provided I stay anonymous.”

“Give.”

I light another cigarette, exhale smoke and frozen breath in a long plume. “Iisa Filippov and Rein Saar were both stunned with a taser. He would have had a hard time giving her a prolonged torture session after that. And the taser is missing, wasn’t at the crime scene.”

“Damn,” he says, “that’s good.”

“Your turn,” I say.

“Iisa Filippov was a party girl, fuck monster and trophy dick collector. Notches on her bedpost include Tomi Herlin, Jarmo Pvolakka, Pekka Kuutio, and Peter Manttari.”

Herlin: a heavyweight boxing champion and hero-of-the-people-turned-politician and then finally drug-addled sad case. He committed gun suicide eleven days ago and lay dead for two days before his body was discovered. Pvolakka: the only ski jumper in the world to have won gold medals in Olympic Games, World Championships and Ski Flying World Championships, and to have finished first in the overall World Cup and Four Hills Tournament. Also hero-of-the-people-turned-nutcase and finally loser with a penchant for stabbing others. Kuutio: former minister of foreign affairs. Forced to resign because of a scandal involving hundreds of harassing text messages he sent to a stripper. Manttari: aka Peter the Great. Washed-up porn star.

“Drugs?” I ask.

“Of the recreational variety.”

“Her husband?”

“Straitlaced cuckold.”

I was once made a cuckold and was hell-bent on murder for months, even though I never committed it. I can imagine Filippov feeling the same. I picture my unfaithful ex-wife, Heli, sociopath and killer, burned to death on a frozen lake. I remember some of her last words to me. “Deserve,” she said. “Nobody gets what they deserve. If we did, we’d all burn in hell. We’re all fucking guilty.”

“Friend Linda Pohjola?” I ask.

“Party girl but not fuck monster. Iisa and Linda liked to get high and dress up alike to titillate. They even learned to speak and act alike. Iisa usually followed through after aforementioned titillation, Linda generally didn’t.”

“Anything else I should know?”

“Maybe. I’ll think about it. More will cost you more, too.”

I ring off and go to work.