Jarkko Sipila - Cold Trail

MONDAY, 2:45 P.M.

HIETANIEMI CREMATORIUM, HELSINKI

The coffin was the cheapest model available. Behind it, the pastor once again shifted uneasily from foot to foot and tentatively recited, The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want.

Aside from the clergyman and his customer, three men in dark suits were the only other people in the large, lofty chapel. The pastor read the Twenty-third Psalm from his book:

Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me.

The final phrase prompted Timo Repo, who was sitting in the tenth row, to raise his head. Thy rod, exactly, he thought. His father, who was lying in the coffin, hadnt been one to spare it. It felt like an eternity has passed since those days-or at least decades. Timo Repo was now fifty-two years old, and Erik Repo had lived more or less the average age for a Finnish male, seventy-six years.

Timo hadnt seen his father in six years and hadnt even learned about the cancer that brought his death until after the fact, from his medical records at the hospital.

Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life, and I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever.

Repo wondered if this was the young pastors first funeral. Repo wasnt a big man, clearly under six feet. His face was angular and his dark hair slightly disheveled, as if it had been combed with nothing but his fingers.

The pastor urged those present to pray. Our Father who art in Heaven, hallowed be thy name

The younger man with a shaved head sitting next to Repo crossed his hands. Repo knew the prison guard by last name only: Eskola.

Repo kept his heavily veined hands apart. The funerals third attendee sat a couple of rows in front of them, his gray head lowered. Repo knew it was his fathers neighbor.

In a way, Timo Repo was pleased that there werent more mourners. More than anything, he felt uncomfortable. Grief was beyond his reach.

Luckily, Mom had died back in the early 90s and hadnt had to suffer through later events. Timo did wonder why his older brother, Martti, wasnt there. Maybe he was off in Thailand again. Rumors of these jaunts had reached Timo. But his big brother hadnt even visited him in the joint. Not once.

The prayer droned on, but Timo wasnt listening. He had lost his faith in God eight years ago, after he had been sentenced to life in prison for murdering his wife. Timos God wasnt merciful; he was an avenger.

The interment continued for another twenty minutes. Afterwards, the coffin slid slowly out of the chapel toward the oven, to a recording of The Lord is My Shepherd.

The guard was the first to stand. Eskola was about six inches taller than Repo.

Well, that was that.

Yeah, Repo answered. They stepped into the aisle.

Ready to head back?

I need to hit the, Repo began.

The gray-haired man, who moved with difficulty, interrupted. Extending both hands, he squeezed first Repos hand and then Eskolas.

Thank you for coming. Erik deserved a bigger send-off, but what can you do. The old man focused his gaze on Timo. Youre the younger son.

Timo nodded.

My deepest condolences.

Thank you, Timo replied politely. The old man looked like he was on his last legs. He might well be the crematoriums next customer. And thanks for taking care of the arrangements I heard you

I carried out Eriks wishes. He knew death was approaching.

And still didnt bother to get in touch, Timo thought. That ate at him, but it was typical of his father. Timo wished he could have asked him a few questions.

Nice service.

Yes, I apologize for not introducing myself. Im Otto Karppi, your fathers neighbor. Youll come to the reception, wont you? asked the old man. The pastor cant make it.

Repo glanced at his escort, who nodded. Prison rules stated that prisoners attending an interment under escort were also allowed to attend memorial services.

We can take the prison car, said the guard. Did you drive?

Karppi grunted. Doc took my license away three years ago.

Well, the state will give you a ride. The weathers so bad theres no point walking, Eskola said, turning to Repo. Didnt you need to use the bathroom?

I can wait till we get to the restaurant, Repo answered.

* * *

The three men in dark suits were sitting at a six-person corner table at Restaurant Perho. There were only a handful of other customers in the beautiful, wood paneled establishment. A young woman in a traditional black-and-white wait-staff uniform poured them coffee from a gleaming pot.

Karppi had placed a photograph of Erik Repo on the table and lit a candle in front of it. The elder Repo had a hook nose and vaguely pronounced cheekbones; his hair was gray and short. Timo felt like his father was staring at him and him alone with his grim, almost angry eyes.

No one seemed to have much to say. Eskolas and Repos dark suits were both from the prisons limited selection of loaners, from which both prisoners and guards could borrow for such occasions. Eskolas suit was a little too small and Repos a little too big.

Eskola broke the silence. So how does cremation actually work?

Repo glared at the guard. They burn the body.

As a matter of fact, its not quite that simple, Karppi interjected. They heat the oven with natural gas until its hot, and then they push in the coffin. It self-ignites and burns for a solid hour, as long as they keep on blowing air. Its more cremation than burning.

So whats left over? Eskola asked.

All organic material burns away. The only thing left behind are the inorganic elements from the bones.

So pretty hygienic then, Eskola reflected.

That was the original idea behind cremation. The custom began to spread through Europe during the nineteenth century because of the poor conditions at cemeteries.

Repo sipped his coffee.

Well, there are still a few practical issues to deal with regarding Erik, Karppi said. The urn will be ready in about a week, and I can take it to the vault in accordance with Eriks wishes. If thats all right.

Timo nodded.

Then theres the matter of the estate. Theres an inheritance of sorts to be divided up. The assets consist primarily of your fathers house. And, as far as Im aware, the heirs are yourself and your brother.

Dont our kids get anything?

Do you have children? Karppi asked.

I have one, and Im assuming my brother does too, although I dont know how many.

According to the estate law, grandchildren dont get anything if the children are alive.

Repo noticed the pretty waitress approaching with a plate of sandwiches.

Uh, listen, I need to hit the john now. My stomachs acting up.

The woman placed the sandwiches on the table.

You guys go ahead and start. Ill be right back, Repo said, standing.

No funny business? Eskola asked.

Course not. Im just going to the bathroom.

Okay, Eskola said, giving Repo a stern look. He checked his watch: 4:05 p.m.

The bathroom was near the front door. Repo walked there with rapid steps. He knew Eskolas eyes were on him. There was a line of sight from the table to the front door, but not to the bathroom area, which was tucked into a small niche near the coat racks.

Repo made it around the corner and paused for a moment at the coat rack. The parties at the other tables seemed to be in the middle of their meals or just getting started. No one was paying attention to him. Repo pulled a gray trench coat that looked about the right size from a hanger. No one started shouting, at least not immediately.

The restroom, with two urinals and two stalls, was empty. There was no window. That would have been too easy, Repo thought. Hed have to go with plan B.