“I called about the car on my way over. Nothing similar has been reported stolen, but it’s unlikely that the killer is driving his own vehicle,” Stenman said.
“Would you come inside with me?” I said. “Simolin, once more people show up, take the lead in canvassing the neighbours.”
The body was just now being transported to the ambulance. As a Jew, Jacobson would receive accelerated handling, because Jews expected to bury their dead within twenty-four hours. If the loved ones lived a long way away, the burial could be postponed for a couple of days. Every Jewish congregation had its own holy society, called a chevra kadisha, which took care of burial arrangements.
Of course the burial would be postponed if a criminal investigation demanded storage of the body, but I knew from experience that the chevra kadisha knew how to pull the right strings to inter the body within their preferred time frame. Autopsies weren’t even conducted unless specifically demanded by the investigation. Jacobson was a pillar of the congregation, and getting him into the ground in the prescribed time would be a matter of honour.
Ethel was sitting on the sofa, talking on the phone. It only took a few words for me to gather she was speaking with her daughter in Israel. She intermittently wiped her eyes as she spoke.
Ari’s here… Ariel Kafka… He’s investigating your father’s… I have to go. Tell Rachel and Dan that Grandma sends them her love… Of course I will.”
Ethel rose. “Lea said to say hello. She’ll be arriving on the evening flight tomorrow.”
“Could I have a look around your husband’s office?” I asked.
“Why on earth?”
“Maybe he jotted something down… something that will help us. On his calendar or planner or whatnot. We’ll go over to the company later, as well.”
“I suppose you know what needs to be done.”
Ethel led Stenman and me into the office, although I knew the way. I had a distinct memory of the time Samuel Jacobson asked me to step back there with him, shut the door and lectured me on what was expected of a man who dated his daughter. The list had been a long one: ambition, initiative, responsibility, courage, fidelity, loyalty, respect for traditions, respect for parents…
All of this despite the fact that Lea and I had only been out a few times, and all of my ambition and initiative went into breaking down her moral resistance.
The office was small, and the walls were lined with books, paintings, mementoes and photographs. In one shot, a youngish Jacobson was shaking hands with Ariel Sharon; in another, with General Moshe Dayan. The photos had been taken during a trip Makkabi made to Israel in the 1970s; Makkabi was the Helsinki Jewish congregation’s sports club. There was also a photo of Israeli Prime Minister Golda Meir at the Helsinki Synagogue during her visit to Finland in 1971, and one of defence minister Yitzhak Rabin at the same synagogue in 1986.
In one of the snapshots, Jacobson was sitting on a rattan couch next to a young man I couldn’t identify, despite the fact that he looked familiar. I could identify the setting, though. The photo was taken in the Jacobsons’ back yard.
I pointed at the man. “Who’s he?” I asked Ethel.
“Haim Levi. He was an exchange student in Finland twenty years ago and lived with us for six months. He was appointed Minister of Justice in Israel not long ago. A very nice young man. He loved Finland, especially our cottage in Emäsalo… Has it really been that long?”
Stenman also came over to have a look. “I’ve heard of Levi. He’s a controversial man in Israel.”
“Haim and Roni became very close friends.”
I examined the picture. Although in general my feeling was that photos of a host posing with famous guests didn’t reveal much aside from the host’s self-infatuation, in Samuel’s case they also said something about his status in the Helsinki Jewish congregation. He was respected among his own.
There were two more photos on the desk, and Jacobson didn’t appear in either of them. One was taken in the back yard some summer long ago. In it, Lea and Roni were in an inflatable yellow pool; they were four or five years old. Roni was a year younger than Lea. In the other shot, they were sitting in a garden swing under some apple trees. This time, they were close to adolescence.
Ethel noticed my gaze and picked up the garden shot. “How time flies… What year was it when you two dated?”
“I was eighteen then, so it was…”
“It was such a lovely time when the children were little,” Ethel said, referring to the time before me. “Lea and Roni were never any trouble, bundles of pure joy. Israel is the Holy Land and our God-given homeland, but I still wish Lea hadn’t moved so far away. We don’t see each other often enough.”
Ethel touched my sleeve. I was some link to past bliss, and she didn’t want to come back yet. The same kind of link as a crackly old film strip where children run eternally into their father’s or mother’s arms, take their first steps, learn to ride a bike, ski, swim, where the sun shines through the leaves of the apple trees…
“Lea has two wonderful children, Dan and Rachel. They love visiting their Grandma…”
Stenman’s phone rang, breaking the spell. She went into the other room to talk. Ethel looked at me mournfully.
“Samuel was very fond of you…”
I had a completely contrary view of this matter as well. My impression had been that I hadn’t met Jacobson’s criteria for a son-in-law. I had no trouble remembering his exact expression when he eyed me in this very room twenty-four years earlier. It said that he doubted I was good enough for his daughter. He frowned like a diamond merchant who was being sold a chunk of glass. I probably wouldn’t have got along with him very well if he had become my father-in-law. Ethel, on the other hand, I had liked from the start.
“If there’s anything here, this is where it would be,” Ethel said, opening the desk drawer. “Samuel has a safe at the office. That’s where he kept the loan papers and other important company documents.”
I rifled through the drawer and found three planners and a notebook. Jacobson was the old-fashioned type. He probably wrote everything important down on paper and left the laptop, which sat closed on the desk, unused. On the other hand, it had to be more than a prop.
The notebook contained mostly names and addresses. I put it down and concentrated on the planner. Jacobson had an average of three meetings a day. The previous week he’d had three lunchtime meetings and a slew of others.
Stenman walked over and pulled me aside. “That was Simolin. A racist threat was found at Jacobson’s company. It was in the mail box this morning, but they didn’t report it until now, after they heard what had happened.”
“Let’s head over,” I said, and then turned to Ethel. “We’ll take these with us, and the laptop, too, if you don’t mind. Do you know what your husband used the computer for?”
“He didn’t use it much. He’d use the Internet a little, but he wasn’t interested in these new fads, even though we sold computers, too. When he started out, we were the largest typewriter retailer in Helsinki. He knew them so well that he would even help out with repairs if there was a rush. That was one of the reasons he wanted to turn over responsibility to Roni.”
Ethel went and got two shopping bags for us, and we piled them full of anything of interest from the office.
I was already stepping out of the front door when Ethel said: “Lea will be here tomorrow… I told her you were the investigator… She said she’d like to see you.”
“Of course. I’ll also have to talk to Roni.”
“Why?”
“Maybe your husband told him something.”
“He didn’t. The first day his dad stayed home from work, Roni called from Lapland and tried to pry, but Samuel was as bull-headed with him as he was with me, wouldn’t say a word.”