FORTY-THREE

The temperature had plummeted with nightfall. The cold was an invisible and hostile presence surrounding Eusden in the stillness and silence of the Kulosaari side street. He pressed the button beside the name KOSKINEN on the panel in the entrance porch of the anonymous apartment block where the taxi had delivered him and stamped his feet for warmth as he waited for a response.

A minute or so passed. Then there was a click from the entryphone grille. And a voice: ‘Hei?’

‘Timo Koskinen?’

‘Kyllä.’

‘We spoke earlier. My name’s Richard Eusden. Your brother knows me. We need to talk.’

‘Who are you?’

‘I’m sure Osmo’s told you all about me. So, why don’t you let me in? If you don’t, I’ll have no choice but to go to the police.’

There was a laden pause. Then: ‘Wait, please.’

Another, longer pause followed. Eusden imagined an anxious conference between the two brothers. It ended in a loud buzz abruptly signalling the release of the entrance lock.

The apartment was a functionally furnished and faintly dowdy bachelor residence. Timo Koskinen was a thinner, older, grimmer version of his brother, guardedly inexpressive. Osmo himself had imploded from affable ease into anguished distraction, his hair awry, his clothes crumpled, the tremor in his hands more pronounced. There was a sheen of sweat on his upper lip and a slack-mouthed, blank-eyed look of helplessness about him. A bottle of vodka stood prominently on the coffee table in the cheerless lounge, with just the one tumbler beside it, cloudy with finger smears.

‘Got anything to say to me, Osmo?’ Eusden asked, taking off his coat and hanging it up carefully in the hall before entering the lounge. Timo followed him in.

Osmo squirmed in his armchair and avoided Eusden’s gaze. ‘I… didn’t know… what they were going to do.’

‘But you knew Pernille and I were being set up.’

‘Yes. But… killing people? I never… imagined…’

‘Did you think I was dead too?’

Osmo rubbed his face, as if trying to force some clarity into his thoughts. ‘Yes.’

‘And maybe you reckoned that was best. No one left to come after you. Well, here I am. And I want answers.’

‘There’s nothing…I can tell you.’

‘You’re going to have to come up with something. I won’t be leaving until you do.’

‘Please, Richard, I…’ Osmo looked at him for the first time. ‘You have to understand… He can destroy any of us… if he wants to.’

‘Or if you let him. He’s gone too far. I mean to stop him. And I need your help.’

‘I can’t-’

‘Go and make some coffee, Osmo,’ Timo cut in, stepping between them. ‘We’ll talk to this man. We have to. You know we do.’

Osmo struggled to his feet. ‘Timo,’ he began, ‘we should…’ He switched suddenly to Finnish, lowering his voice as he did so.

Timo’s response was a decisive shake of the head. ‘The coffee,’ he repeated.

With a defeated shrug, Osmo headed unsteadily for the kitchen.

Timo watched him go, then gestured for Eusden to sit down on the sofa. He took the other armchair, opposite him. ‘He really didn’t know what they planned, Mr Eusden. He didn’t ask. He will tell you that’s the way to do well at Mjollnir: ask no questions. Have you met Erik Lund?’

‘Oh yes.’

‘Lund gave Osmo the case. It was already locked. It was supposed to contain bearer bonds, yes?’

‘Yes.’

‘Well, Osmo took the case to Ms Madsen at the Grand Marina Hotel. Then she and the lawyer, Matalainen, drove away, heading for Osmo’s house. He came here, as instructed. About an hour after he arrived, he got a call from the police. They told him about the explosion. They wanted to know who was in the house when it happened. He said Ms Madsen had asked him if she could use it for a meeting. Who with and what about… he didn’t know.’

‘Did they buy that?’

‘Probably. Why not? They’ve no reason to suspect he was lying. My brother is a respectable man.’

‘Yeah. Like all the other people I’ve met who do Tolmar Aksden’s bidding.’

‘He doesn’t like what’s happened, Mr Eusden. And not just because his house has been destroyed. Mjollnir will compensate him for that. They’ll probably buy him a bigger and better one. No, the problem is Osmo’s conscience. He’s tried to drown it.’ Timo nodded towards the vodka bottle. ‘But it keeps coming to the surface.’

‘Then, he should go to the police and tell them the truth.’

‘Would you be willing to go with him?’

‘Of course I would.’

‘You’d be making a big mistake. It’s probably just what Tolmar Aksden wants you to do.’

‘We can’t go to the police, Richard,’ Osmo said as he shuffled back into the room, carrying a large cafetière and three mugs on a tray. He set the tray down on the table and subsided into his armchair. ‘It would be our word against Aksden’s. There’s no proof of anything. We would end up as the suspects, not Tolmar. I was seen at the hotel. We were both seen at Matalainen’s office. You signed the confidentiality agreement. I witnessed it. It would look like we did the setting up, not Mjollnir.’

‘Sounds to me as if you’re just making excuses for keeping out of it,’ snapped Eusden.

‘I guess I would say the same in your position.’ Osmo stretched forward and pushed down the plunger on the cafetière. ‘I am sorry, Richard. Lund said they wouldn’t harm you. And Pernille? I never thought for a second she was in danger.’

‘How did you explain my disappearance to her?’

‘I said you had gone when I came back from the toilet at the Café Engel. There was no time for her to ask me any questions. She and Matalainen had to leave right away.’

‘Christ.’ Eusden had to look away for a moment. Confirmation that Pernille must have concluded he had run out on her was even harder to bear than he had expected.

Timo leant across the table and poured their coffees. There was silence for a minute or two as they each contemplated the awfulness of what had occurred that day. Then Osmo said, ‘When the police spoke to me, they had no idea what caused the explosion or even how many people were killed. There’s a man in hospital who they think might be involved, but he has a serious brain injury. They’re not sure he’s going to survive. There’s also a man they’re looking for who they think was in the street when the explosion happened. The neighbours said he left in a hurry.’

‘Me,’ said Eusden dolefully.

‘If I was you, I think I would fly home to England and pretend you were never here.’

‘I can’t do that.’

‘But what can you do if you stay?’

‘Make Tolmar Aksden pay for what he’s done.’

‘You’ll fail,’ said Timo, sipping his coffee.

‘Maybe. But that’s better than not trying. That’s better than… living with his heel on your neck.’

The two brothers exchanged an eloquent glance. Timo cleared his throat. ‘What do you want to know?’

‘Tolmar Aksden’s secret.’

‘We don’t know it,’ said Osmo. ‘No one does.’

‘Not quite no one,’ Timo corrected him. ‘Arto Falenius knows, I’m sure.’

‘Falenius? Head of Saukko Bank?’

‘Yes. Grandson of the founder, Paavo Falenius.’

‘Timo used to work for Saukko,’ said Osmo.

‘You did?’

‘Forty-two years, Mr Eusden. Eighteen to sixty. Paavo Falenius was still alive when I started there in 1949. It’s a long time ago. Some of the senior staff had been there from the beginning.’

‘And when was the beginning?’

‘1899. But it was just called the Falenius Bank then. The name Saukko wasn’t used until the nineteen twenties. In English, saukko is an otter.’

‘Why the change?’

‘Paavo never explained. He had a reputation for not explaining things. But it wasn’t the only change. The bank expanded greatly at that time. It was quite a small business until about 1920. Then, suddenly, it was big, rivalling Union Bank, Finland’s oldest joint-stock bank. That took capital. A lot of capital. And no one really knows where Paavo got it from. But everyone who worked for him benefited from how profitably he used it, so…’