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Jansson arrived at the prearranged time. He was an

unremarkable-looking man a little over thirty with no

distinguishing features. He stood looking at the overcoats.

Petri for his part watched him as a store detective should.

Jansson took one of the coats into a dressing room. Petri

followed him. The package would change owner under the

stall divider.

A few minutes passed. Petri returned to the men’s clothing

department, perspiration on his brow. Would Jansson fall

for the trap? The bills had been marked with ink, visible

only under ultraviolet light. The police would track their

use. It could take years, and in the best case scenario

Jansson wouldn’t even know which money had finally

caused the demise of his money-laundering operation. The

foundation of the plan was that once Jansson got the debt

payment in full he would leave Paula Salo’s family alone.

Petri and Merja had not earned a cent from their thefts, and

though they had committed crimes, it was not my place to

judge them.

The next morning I told Bruun that the thief had been an

external one after all and that I had frightened him so

thoroughly that the game would end there.

“But the penalty? The damages?” he asked.