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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.