Helsinki White by James Thompson
For my son, Christopher.
And, as always, for Annukka.
With special thanks to neurologist Dr. Jukka Turkka,
specialist in post-trauma neurological recovery and cognition,
without whom this book would not have been possible.
PROLOGUE
It’s May second, a sunny Sunday, a chilly spring evening. I walk around downtown, check out the main drags. The outdoor bars are packed, everyone drunk and happy. Yesterday was Vappu—May Day, the heaviest drinking holiday of the year—and most of these people have been drunk non-stop, morning to night, since they got off from work on Friday. Morning drinking delays hangovers. Eventually, the price has to be paid, but they can be sick at work tomorrow, on the company dime.
Raucous laughter emanates from everywhere. I stop under the clock in front of the main doors of Stockmann Department Store, the biggest and best in the city. I sometimes shop here because they almost always have what I want, and specialize in quality merchandise, even though the prices they charge for convenience and quality are highway robbery.
The clock is a traditional meeting place, central to everything downtown. It’s become a habit. People just say, “Meet you under the clock,” and nothing more need be discussed. Lovers especially are drawn to the spot. I’m waiting on Jyri Ivalo, the national chief of police. We’re far from being lovers. I would describe our relationship as mutual enmity combined with respect. I trust him implicitly, however, because he fears me. The clock says five minutes of four. I’m right on time.
I’m a policeman and hold the rank of inspector. Because of the dime novel versions of some high-profile investigations as related by the media, my name, Kari Vaara, is synonymous with hero cop. Jyri is my boss. Ours is an unusual arrangement. There is no customary chain of command. I work directly under him with no intermediary authorities. The work I do is covert.
In a safe-deposit box, I have a video of him engaged in a fetishistic sex act involving a dildo up his ass a short time before a woman was murdered, at the murder scene, with the victim. Even though it was key evidence in the Filippov murder, I suppressed the video, which is both humiliating, and if you can manage to forget the horrific way his sexual partner was maimed and killed just after the filming, hilarious as well. The video would destroy his life.
A Romanian beggar prostrates herself on the sidewalk. Knees tucked under her. Head to ground, face hidden. Withered brown hands outstretched in an unspoken plea, a rosary interlaced between her fingers. A tough way to earn a living.
When Romania joined the European Union, and citizens from other member nations gained the right to come into the country and stay for ninety days without a visa, some resourceful Romanian entrepreneurs got the brilliant idea of hiring the most wretched souls they could find, bus them to other countries, and organize begging into a lucrative business venture.