‘You are aware Pernille Madsen, Tolmar’s ex-wife, was among those killed, aren’t you?’

‘Truly?’ Falenius’s expression was authentically shocked and baffled. It seemed he genuinely had not known. ‘Pernille?’

‘Yes.’

‘I never thought he’d…’ Falenius shook his head. ‘I don’t know what to say.’

‘He’s made you a party to murder, Arto. How does that make you feel?’

‘Sick. To my stomach. But you must understand. I knew nothing about it.’

‘Because you didn’t want to know.’

‘OK. You can say that. But still…’ Falenius stared pleadingly at Eusden. ‘You’ve got the wrong man. I’m not to blame. You should ask Tolmar your questions. Not me.’

‘I would if I could.’

‘I can tell you where he is.’

‘Oh, yes?’

‘He’s hiding. Now I know what from. We’ve… done some dirty things over the years, but…never murder.’

‘Where is he hiding?’

‘We have a kesämökki – a summer-house – up on Lake Päijänne. He’s gone there. He often goes there. To relax. To think.’ Falenius appeared to believe he was winning Eusden over. ‘I can tell you… exactly where it is. He’ll be alone. At this time of the year, very alone.’

‘You don’t need to tell me where it is, Arto. You just need to take me there.’

‘No. I can’t leave Helsinki. I’ll be missed. It’s a… two-hundred-kilometre drive.’

‘We’d better get going, then, hadn’t we?’ Eusden stretched forward and retrieved the recorder. ‘You’re right. There’s nothing more to be said. We’ll leave Tolmar to do all the talking.’

PÄIJÄNNE

FORTY-EIGHT

It was early afternoon when they came within sight of the Falenius family’s mökki on one of the many inlets along the shore of Lake Päijänne. The first half of the journey had been a fast motorway cruise, constrained only by Eusden’s insistence that Falenius keep within the speed limit; he could not risk attracting the attention of the police. Since leaving the main road, however, the going had been slowed by snow and ice. Forests had closed around them. Traffic had thinned and vanished. They were alone, in a wintry world of stillness and grey light and blanketing white. The bumpy track they had followed off the last surfaced road emerged from snow-heavy pine and spruce into a stretch of skeletal ash and maple as the frozen surface of the lake, dead flat and matt white, appeared before them. And there, beside a snow-covered meadow, was the mökki – a simple wooden chalet, with smoke rising from its chimney and a Range Rover parked behind it, next to a log-store.

Falenius pulled up next to the Range Rover and turned off the engine. He looked drained and desperate. The long drive, during which Eusden had said little, leaving him to imagine the worst, had taken its toll.

‘He must have heard us,’ the Finn said hoarsely. ‘Why doesn’t he come out?’

‘Let’s go and see. But, first, give me the key to this thing.’

Falenius pulled it out of the ignition and handed it over. ‘What are you going to do to us?’

‘I told you. I want the whole story on the record. If you give me that, we’ll all leave here alive and well.’

‘I’m cooperating, OK? Remember that. Any problems you have with Tolmar, they’re not with me.’

‘I’ll remember. Let’s go.’

They climbed out of the car. The stark reality of the place they had come to disclosed itself in the cold, misty air. If Tolmar Aksden had wanted to hide, he had chosen the right place. No one would come looking for him here unless they badly needed to find him.

Eusden gestured for Falenius to lead the way. They walked slowly round to the front of the chalet. The roof extended down to cover a planked veranda. Between the chalet and the shore was the snowhummocked shape of a rowing boat. A landing stage jutted out beyond it into the lake. Falenius called out Aksden’s name as he approached the door. There was no response.

‘Look inside,’ said Eusden.

Falenius opened the door and stepped in, calling out again. Eusden stood behind him in the doorway. Warmth from a stove wafted out to meet him. There was a large table and some chairs, a sofa, armchairs and a rug in front of the stove. To his right was a well-equipped kitchen area. A couple of doors led off to other rooms out of his sight. There were books, papers and a laptop on the table, as well as a coffeepot and mug. Falenius touched the pot and looked back at Eusden. ‘Still warm.’

‘He can’t be far, then. We’ll-’

Two short blasts on the Bentley’s horn burst through the silence. Eusden retreated from the veranda and strode to the corner of the chalet. A tall, bulky figure in a quilted parka and flapped cap was standing by the open driver’s door of the car. He slammed it, revealing as he did so the rifle he was carrying, and stood where he was, staring at Eusden with cool curiosity.

‘Where’s Arto?’ The voice was gruff, the tone peremptory. He must have been able to see the gun in Eusden’s hand, but he paid it no attention.

‘Here,’ Eusden replied, stepping back to let Falenius pass.

‘I told you not to come here, Arto,’ said Aksden.

‘This guy gave me no choice, Tolmar.’ Falenius hurried eagerly towards his friend, as if he would give him the protection he needed. ‘He says-’

‘Let him speak for himself.’

Eusden followed Falenius at a cautious pace. Aksden held the rifle loosely and unthreateningly. Yet still it was a weapon. Eusden’s advantage had been cancelled out. ‘Do you know who I am, Tolmar?’

Aksden nodded. ‘Oh yes. Lund told me you were still alive. Why have you come here?’

‘I want the truth.’

‘That’s a large thing to want, my friend.’

‘And a dangerous one, it appears.’

Aksden looked at Falenius with an expression of weary disappointment. ‘You shouldn’t have brought him here, Arto. It was a stupid thing to do.’

‘He threatened me with a gun.’

‘An empty threat, you fool. He’s no killer. Are you, Eusden?’

‘Maybe you’ve turned me into one.’

‘I don’t think so.’

‘Are you going to put it to the test?’ Eusden challenged Aksden with his gaze, but saw no hint of weakness in the Dane’s steely blue eyes.

‘If I have to.’

‘Surely we can sort this out,’ pleaded Falenius.

‘I doubt it. It’s not as simple as either of you think. Were you followed, Arto?’

‘Followed? No. Of course not.’

‘We weren’t followed,’ Eusden declared. He was confident on the point, though curious as to who Aksden thought might have done the following. ‘Police on your tail, Tolmar?’

‘Not that I know.’ Aksden gave him a tight, ironical little smile. ‘Check under the car, Arto.’

‘Check for what?’

‘Anything that looks different.’

Falenius knelt and peered under the Bentley. Something caught his attention. He bent lower. ‘Kristus, what’s that?’

‘What does it look like?’

‘A box. With a… flashing red light.’

Aksden tossed back his head and sighed. ‘Satans også.’

‘What is it?’ demanded Eusden.

‘A tracking device, I expect. Probably attached some time yesterday. You only had to look, Arto, and you’d have seen it. But you never see anything, do you?’ Aksden glanced suspiciously towards the trees. ‘We should go indoors.’

‘Who’s tracking me?’ asked Falenius as he stood up. ‘What-’

The bullet took him in the back. It knocked all the breath out of him. He looked first surprised, then mildly pained. He fell to his knees, swayed for a moment, and slumped forward on to the ground.

‘Run,’ shouted Aksden.

Eusden was already running, making for the shelter of the chalet. A bullet pinged off the bodywork of the Range Rover. Then another shattered one of its windows. Eusden made it to the veranda, blind-sided from the direction of the shots. Aksden lunged after him. The firing stopped.

‘This is your fault, Eusden,’ Aksden gasped. ‘You ought to understand that, you piece of…’ He broke off and shook his head. ‘I only needed another twenty-four hours. That’s all. Just twenty-four hours.’