Palm Beach, Finland Read online

  PRAISE FOR ANTTI TUOMAINEN

  ‘Deftly plotted, poignant and perceptive in its wry reflections on mortality, and very funny’ Irish Times

  ‘This novel by Finnish author Antti Tuomainen isn’t your standard Nordic Noir. Told in a darkly funny, deadpan style … The result is a rollercoaster read’ The Guardian

  ‘Contains passages of lyrical intensity, along with bloody scenes that would not be out of place in a Jacobean revenge drama’ Sunday Times

  ‘Clever, atmospheric and wonderfully imaginative’ Sunday Mirror

  ‘Tersely written, full of twists and sudden violence, this is nothing less than the birth of a new genre: dystopian detection’ Sunday Telegraph

  ‘Tuomainen writes beautifully’ Publishers Weekly

  ‘This remarkable novel is truly extraordinary, a gem of a thriller, beguilingly and well written, lively and thoughtful’ Shots Mag

  ‘The most lauded Finnish crime novel of recent years lives up to its acclaim’ The Times

  ‘Antti Tuomainen is right up there with the best’ Times Literary Supplement

  ‘The deadpan icy sensibility of Nordic Noir is combined here with warm-blooded, often surreal, humour’ Sunday Express S Magazine

  ‘This is a great book and I enjoyed it immensely’ Nudge Magazine

  ‘A fresh and witty read’ Chris Ewan

  ‘Filled with a sense of menace and brilliantly drawn characters, it is beautifully written’ L.A. Larkin

  ‘Dark and thrilling, funny and intelligent, this Fargo-like novel contains lethal doses of humour’ Sofi Oksanen

  ‘Antti Tuomainen is a wonderful writer, whose characters, plots and atmosphere are masterfully drawn’ Yrsa Sigurðardóttir

  ‘An original and darkly funny thriller with a Coen brothersesque feel and tremendous style’ Eva Dolan

  ‘This was a truly beautiful book – deliciously dark, thought-provoking, and gorgeously written’ Louise Beech

  ‘Brilliant. Absolutely brilliant. I enjoyed every single sentence’ Thomas Enger

  ‘This is Wes Anderson meets the Coen Brothers in rural Finland … a book I will never forget’ Matt Wesolowski

  ‘Dark, captivating and troubling’ Crime Fiction Lover

  ‘Antti Tuomainen again creates a powerful book with sensitive style’ Crime Review

  ‘The clarity and deceptively simple style of Tuomainen’s prose is utterly compelling’ Raven Crime Reads.

  ‘An absolutely cracking read’ Love Reading

  ‘One of those stories that absorbs you into its vortex’ Liz Loves Books

  ‘Fast-paced thriller with its sparse yet highly descriptive language’ Shaz’s Book Blog

  ‘An excellent thriller with all the earmarks of Scandi Noir, gripping, elegant and looks to the bigger issues that play an important role in society’ The Quiet Knitter

  ‘Topical. Frightening. Beautifully written, with a fast-moving story, which makes it almost impossible to put down’ Crime Worm

  ‘An excellent thriller that deals with extremely topical issues’ Random Things through My Letter Box

  ‘In many ways this is a straightforward crime thriller, but the execution achieves so much more. It provides a dark and altogether satisfying read’ Never Imitate

  ‘Antti Tuomainen’s skillful storytelling is as sharp as an ice pick’ Bibliophile Book Club

  ‘A splendid concoction of beautifully evocative locations and compelling characters’ Expresso Coco

  ‘You’re up to your neck in a complex mystery and there’s no way you’re gonna want to leave this story, even after the last page is turned’ Mumbling About

  ‘The author’s beautiful writing is one of the reasons I loved this book as much as I did because it played out like a movie in my mind’ Reviewed the Book

  ‘A book for those who like something deliciously dark and delightfully different’ Off the Shelf Books

  ‘Draws you in with fingers that tickle the funny bone and carefully, exquisitely crafts an unforgettable book’ Ronnie Turner

  ‘Absorbing, delightfully witty and with just the right balance of mystery and suspense’ Jen Med’s Book Reviews

  ‘The plotting is meticulous, the humour is subtle and yet at the same time sharp, and the main character is quite simply sublime’ Cheryl MM Book Blog

  ‘The story has pace, panache and it stands out in a sea of crime novels’ The Book Trail

  ‘One of the most unique books that I have read’ Clues and Reviews

  ‘Antti has a beautiful way of writing characters that get the reader invested from page one’ The P Turner’s Book Blog

  ‘An unforgettable and life-affirming book about death, I highly recommend it!’ Hair Past a Freckle

  ‘This book was just pure reading pleasure, from the topsy-turvy story line to the bizarre characters’ Books from Dusk till Dawn

  ‘Challenges and jangles the emotions’ Trip Fiction

  ‘This book has been an amazing read, with dark humour, a murder and some very interesting twists, a must read’ Varietats

  ‘It’s stunning and will stay with me for a long time’ Books Are My Cwtches

  ‘Tuomainen has produced a story that’s really hard to put down and one I really didn’t want to end’ It’s All about the Books

  ‘This is a stylish crime caper with lashings of black humour and a lot of heart’ Mrs Peabody Investigates

  ‘The outstanding writing and deep characterisation really drew me in’ Novel Gossip

  ‘A beautifully written book with some very strong characters’ Reading Writes

  ‘Intelligent, gripping and full of a cold, noirish wintery landscape!’ Northern Crime

  ‘A chilling tale of secrets and lies, and the lengths we go to uncover the truth’ The Owl on the Bookshelf

  ‘This novel is a wonderful metaphor for the hidden secrets and lies that are buried deep within the psyche of man’ Words Shortlist

  ‘A subtle thriller, with its dark and moody atmosphere surrounding the plot’ Keeper of Pages

  ‘A tautly written, emotional story with a flawed hero’ Crime Thriller Hound

  Palm Beach

  Finland

  ANTTI TUOMAINEN

  translated from the Finnish by David Hackston

  CONTENTS

  TITLE PAGE

  WARNING

  EPIGRAPH

  PART ONE DREAMS

  TWO WEEKS LATER: 1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  PART TWO IMPLEMENTATION

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  10

  11

  12

  13

  14

  15

  16

  17

  18

  19

  20

  21

  22

  PART THREE RESULTS

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  FIVE WEEKS LATER

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  ABOUT THE TRANSLATOR

  COPYRIGHT

  WARNING

  The following is based on real events and real people.

  Nothing has been changed. In Finland,

  the sun shines all year round.

  GROUCHO: Then let’s get down to business. My name is Spaulding.

  CHANDLER: Roscoe W. Chandler.

  GROUCHO: Geoffrey T. Spaulding.

  CHANDLER: What’s
the ‘T’ stand for? Thomas?

  GROUCHO: Edgar.

  —Marx Brothers, Animal Crackers

  ‘There will be killing till the score is paid.’

  —Homer, The Odyssey (trans. Robert Fitzgerald, 1961)

  PART ONE

  DREAMS

  It was an accident. An unfortunate turn of events. It was a misunderstanding, a delicate imbalance between push and shove. And thus the neck broke like a plank snapping in two.

  They met opposite the sign. Kari ‘Chico’ Korhonen was the first to arrive. He tried to look as though he wasn’t waiting for anyone, but this proved unexpectedly difficult. Chico tried to look at the sign as though he was seeing it for the first time, as though he were walking past and just happened to glance to the side. Ten steps towards the shore, a quick look to the right:

  PALM BEACH FINLAND

  It’s the hottest beach in Finland.

  A flinch, as if he’d forgotten something, then ten steps back towards the city, a look to the left:

  PALM BEACH FINLAND

  It’s the hottest beach in Finland.

  To Chico, the change was as mind-blowing as the arrival of colour television. Jorma Leivo, the beach resort’s new owner, seemed to have flicked a giant colour switch. In only two months, what was once known as Martti’s Motel had transmogrified into Palm Beach Finland, as though an earthy grey egg had hatched to reveal a brightly coloured, sweetly singing bird.

  Chico liked the new colour scheme: turquoise, pastel blue, pastel pink, pastel green. The entire resort, which Jorma Leivo had also renamed and completely rebranded, was shrouded in a garish glow: the buildings by the shore, the restaurant, the chalets and changing booths, the shop, the windsurfing rental facilities, even the pizzeria. Everything gleamed with a thick coat of fresh paint. The sign itself measured twenty metres by five metres; passers-by were positively blinded by its bright neon colours, its monolithic lettering and slogan. Given its location, it was probably visible as far away as Tallinn. The beach was dotted with similarly gaudy sunshades, the specific purpose of which was a matter of some discussion. The continuous wind and near-freezing water kept the deckchairs stubbornly empty. Along its other side, meanwhile, the beach was edged with a brave new row of trees, which Chico enjoyed strolling past. Palm trees, freshly planted. Plastic, of course, but still.

  Life was changing. It was about to begin.

  What else could this possibly mean?

  Moreover, what might this mysterious meeting with Jorma Leivo hold in store?

  Never mind that their first encounter had come about because Chico had been caught pickpocketing. It was an accident, pure and simple. Chico had been watching a podgy woman wobbling towards the water; he’d sauntered up to her handbag, pinched a few lunch coupons and returned to the lifeguards’ post, where Leivo was waiting. He didn’t listen to Chico’s excuses about a sudden cashflow crisis or how problematic high-season prices had become for the locals, but said soon afterwards that he – Leivo, that is – might have use for a man of action with a bit of nous. A man just like Chico. And when Leivo mentioned that when you spend your time fumbling about with fivers you miss out on the big bucks, Chico had seen the gates opening before him. Breaking through was always about luck, about chance, he knew that. He’d read the biographies, he knew how Eric Clapton and Bruce Springsteen had started out and…

  ‘Sorry.’

  Chico turned. Robin’s brown eyes met his.

  ‘What are you sorry for?’ asked Chico.

  Robin looked at him. Robin’s entire head was covered in what looked like an even black rug a millimetre thick. It was impossible to tell where his stubble began, where his hair ended, where exactly his face was. Nor was there anything to suggest that Robin was a cook, that he worked in the pastel-blue restaurant on the beach: formerly The Hungry Herring, now Beverly Hills Dining.

  ‘I thought it wouldn’t matter if I turned up late, seeing as we’re supposed to be meeting here by chance and we’re pretending we don’t know each other. I thought I’d say sorry and ask if you had the time.’

  ‘But if you know you’re late, then you know what the time is,’ said Chico. ‘And we do know each other. Leivo said this is all top secret, so best not to attract attention. Let’s do as the boss says.’

  Robin turned his head, looking in turn at the shore and the town.

  ‘I can’t see anyone. Nobody can see us either. We can go.’

  Robin was a reliable guy, thought Chico, even though he was one sandwich short of a picnic. Besides, Robin was a childhood friend. If you’ve known someone your entire life, then you know them through and through, right? It was seven minutes to seven, and they set off to meet Jorma Leivo.

  Judging by his hair and eyes, Jorma Leivo could have been a mad scientist from the silver screen: his crown was bald, straggles of fair hair curled upwards and sideways, and his blue eyes stared with such intensity that before long you had to look away. In other respects he looked like the men in the clothing catalogues from Chico’s childhood. Leivo was trussed up in an extremely pink shirt and a bright-white blazer with shoulder pads that by any standard would be considered over the top. He was sweating profusely and spoke in a voice that was at once gruff and gently encouraging. Chico thought the overall impression was of an international businessman. This was a good sign.

  ‘Nothing too serious,’ said Jorma Leivo as he looked at them both in turn. ‘A smashed window, a rainwater barrel knocked over, a fire in the shed, a stolen bicycle, someone pisses through the letterbox. Be creative. Little things, annoying things. Preferably every day. Preferably so that each little annoyance is followed by a larger one. You understand the principle. A steep curve that keeps rising and rising.’

  Chico waited.

  ‘I need that house and the plot of land signed over to me within the month,’ Leivo continued. ‘The sooner this happens, the better. A month is the absolute limit. You start today. Any questions?’

  Chico tried to look as though he had these kinds of discussions all the time. He leaned back, as relaxed as he could under the circumstances, crossing his right leg over his left.

  ‘We’re professionals in our own field—’ Chico began.

  ‘What field’s that?’ Leivo interrupted.

  Chico looked at Leivo. He should have tried to say more. Now he only had an answer to the next question. Now he…

  ‘That’s classified information,’ Chico heard from beside him. Robin had spoken. He had spoken the way he usually spoke: as though a tape with random soundbites had started playing within him. Leivo glanced at Robin and leaned backwards. He looked as though he was about to ask quite what Robin meant. Chico couldn’t allow that to happen; he had to turn the truck before it reached the cliff edge.

  ‘What kind of fee did you have in mind for this, Chief?’ asked Chico.

  Leivo looked back at him.

  ‘Chief?’

  ‘Well, I thought I could call you Chief, seeing as you’re the boss.’

  ‘Am I?’

  Chico thought about this for a moment.

  ‘It’s hard to talk with staff about who’s the boss,’ he began and instantly regretted his words. ‘And vice versa, I guess.’

  Leivo laid his hands on the table, and opened and clenched his fists.

  ‘Listen, this is off the record. I’m only your boss when you’re in the lifeguard hut,’ said Leivo, looking first at Chico, then at Robin: ‘And when you’re in my kitchen. Let me be very clear: this job has nothing to do with your other duties.’

  Chico could smell the fresh paint on the walls. For a moment a deep silence engulfed the pastel-pink room.

  ‘I only pay for results,’ said Leivo. ‘The fee is five grand.’

  Chico changed position, uncrossed his legs and crossed them again. He wanted only two things: first, he didn’t want to show how much that sum of money meant to him – it meant everything – and second, he needed Robin to keep his mouth shut.

  So it looked like the big four-
oh wouldn’t come to represent Chico’s failure after all. He would make it. He was thirty-nine years old – but what did it matter? It was meaningless. Because this time next year, he would be in full swing. Eric Clapton was seventy, B. B. King was still performing at the age of eighty-seven. A debut record next year, club gigs, sports halls, stadiums, T-shirt sales, merchandise. Chico would catch up with Eric before his fiftieth birthday party, where a young English woman, her breasts tattooed and gleaming would…

  ‘That sounds reasonable,’ he said eventually.

  ‘Of course, it’s for you two to share,’ said Leivo. ‘That’s the full amount.’

  ‘Five thousand divided by two is two thousand five hundred,’ said Robin.

  Two thousand five hundred euros wasn’t quite enough for a bona fide, brand-new custom-designed Les Paul guitar, Chico found himself wondering. Not enough for the kind he had strummed in the instrument shop, the kind he so desperately wanted to get his hands on.

  ‘It’s up to you how you split the fee,’ said Leivo. ‘What’s most important is that we understand one another. We never had this conversation, and you have never done whatever it is you’re about to do. I don’t want to hear anything about it. I have never paid you anything, you have never received any money from me. And now, this meeting is over.’

  Leivo stood up. Chico did not.

  Leivo looked at him, almost with a note of impatience. ‘Is something unclear?’

  ‘In a situation like this, isn’t it usual to provide some kind of down payment?’ asked Chico.

  ‘Without seeing any results first?’

  Chico glanced at Robin, who seemed to be staring at his knees. At least he was still sitting.

  ‘A down payment is like a retainer,’ said Chico and felt a not insignificant amount of pride at his choice of words.

  Leivo was silent for a moment, then pulled his wallet from his jacket pocket. ‘What kind of retainer are we talking about?’

  Chico tried to conceal quite how unaccustomed he was to talking about such sums of money.