Found Wanting

FORTY-SIX

‘I’m not going to let them get away with it,’ said Eusden, breaking the silence that had followed Tallgren’s bleak conclusion.

‘Brave words, Richard.’ Tallgren smiled at him. ‘I would have spoken them myself once.’

‘But it’s worse than theft and fraud, Pekka. They’ve killed people, including Tolmar’s ex-wife. Pernille was actually trying to help him, for God’s sake.’

‘She should have known better.’

‘Is that all you can say?’

Tallgren looked surprised by the flare of anger in Eusden’s voice. ‘Anteeksi. I forgot you knew her. What was she like?’

‘A fine and brave person.’

Tallgren sighed. ‘I am sorry. But… they’ve always been ruthless. Consider what happened to Karl Vanting in the end.’

‘What did happen?’

‘He was found shot dead at his lodgings in Hakaniemi on New Year’s Eve, 1925. It was a poor area of the city then. Whatever money Paavo Falenius gave him, he must have lost it. Then, perhaps, he asked for more. The police decided it was suicide. Maybe it was. Maybe it wasn’t. I saw the television news this evening. They interviewed the officer in charge of investigating the explosion at Osmo’s house. He talked about a gas leak as the likeliest explanation.’

‘They’ll find traces of explosive.’

‘Will they? I guess that depends how thorough they are. Even if they do, what evidence do you think they’ll find that Tolmar Aksden had anything to do with it?’

‘None,’ Eusden admitted.

‘Let me show you something.’ Tallgren rose stiffly to his feet and left the room, patting Eusden consolingly on the shoulder as he passed.

There was the sound of a filing-cabinet drawer being slid open and of papers being shuffled. Then Tallgren was back in the kitchen, carrying a bulging file. He placed it carefully on the table. On the cover was a single word written in felt-tip capitals: WANTING.

‘The fruit of my research. Not very sweet, I’m afraid.’

‘Wanting is… Vanting?’

‘Ah. The spelling. Yes. The name’s probably German originally. The W is pronounced like a V, of course. In English, it makes a sick kind of joke, doesn’t it? He wanted a lot. Revenge. Wealth. Success. He didn’t get any of it.’ Tallgren flicked the file open. ‘My notes are all in Fi

Tallgren pointed to a short, middle-aged man near the top of the steps, who seemed to be conversing with two other men, one older, one much younger. All three were dressed in dark overcoats. The youngest man was bare-headed, but the other two wore dark Homburgs, the brims pulled down so that only the lower halves of their faces could be seen.

‘Eino Falenius, Hakon Nydahl and Tolmar Aksden. There they are, Richard. Caught together, for once. They say Eino looked a lot like his father. He was in his forties then. Nydahl was in his seventies. And Aksden was… just eighteen.’

Eino Falenius was a sleek, elegantly tailored businessman ru

‘What was a teenager from a farm in Jutland doing at an eminent Fi

‘We’ll see about that.’

‘What do you intend to do?’

It was a good question. And the answer was only just begi

‘Yes.’

‘Can I borrow it?’

‘Sure, but-’

‘Do you know where Arto Falenius lives?’

‘Yes. He owns a villa near Kaivopuisto Park. The embassy district. Very smart. His father and grandfather lived there before him. The Villa Norsonluu, in Itäinen Puistotie. You’re thinking of going there?’

‘Tolmar Aksden’s out of town. So, it has to be Falenius. He’s probably the easier of the two to crack anyway.’

‘Crack?’

‘I’ll make him explain to someone like me. On tape.’

‘He’ll never agree to do that.’

‘I don’t propose to give him a choice in the matter. Do you know anything about firearms?’

‘Well, I did my eight months in the army. They made me fire a rifle. Plus take it apart and put it back together again.’

‘That’s more than I’ve ever done. I’ve got a gun, you see. An automatic pistol. In my coat. I’ve no intention of using it. But I need to look as if I know how to. And I don’t want any accidents.’

‘You’re going to force a confession out of Falenius at gunpoint?’

‘Exactly.’

‘Are you crazy?’

‘Probably.’

‘Even if you could, it wouldn’t… prove anything legally.’

‘I don’t care about that. I’ll have it. And I’ll make what use of it I can.’

‘You are crazy.’

‘I’m not asking you to go with me, Pekka. Just give me the tape recorder and show me how the gun works. Then wish me luck.’

Eusden slept for a few hours on the sofa in Tallgren’s lounge, his sleep the dreamless unconsciousness of utter exhaustion. He woke before dawn, reluctantly ate some porridge and less reluctantly drank a mug of strong black coffee. Then Tallgren drove him over the bridges of Suomenli

‘I fear you’re about to make the biggest mistake of your life, Richard,’ he said as Eusden climbed out of the car.

‘I don’t think so,’ Eusden replied with a wry smile. ‘A bigger mistake would be to do nothing.’