The Roland Medals: A Novel

By Maureen Cashman

'Scandinavian noir' meets Don Quixote in this intriguing mystery romance set on the Camino de Santiago de Compostela in Spain.

In 1593, a wandering monk, Carmelo, creates a series of medals featuring Roland, celebrated in the medieval epic poem, The Song of Roland. In 2012, Armi, a young Finnish Border Guard, flees a murderous partner and sets out to walk the Camino. Although separated by five centuries, their journeys and stories converge at a ruined monastery on the Camino.

Carlo Fontal, one of the monastery’s owners, is restoring it, but it is unclear where the money for the project is coming from. Armi, her suspicions aroused, is torn between her growing attraction to Carlo and her reluctance to repeat past mistakes.

What secrets connect the medal, the monastery, and the deceased billionaire who owned the Roland Medals? And what does a predator from Armi’s troubled childhood know about them? As Armi strives to find the truth, can she trust her feelings, vanquish her demons and take back the happiness that was stolen from her so long ago?

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Maureen Cashman
• Release date: Jan 25, 2021
• ISBN: 9781922389435

Book preview

restoration

Dedication

To my most excellent Patron

Don Esteban Puente y Fontal

Señor,

At your request, I set out the story of my life and adventures. I hope hereby to amend the rumours that have been circulating about me in Castile and beyond, which follow the modern fashion to embellish truth. As you know, my talents reside less in wordsmithing than in the other arts, which you recognised and fostered long ago. I shall simply relate the events that almost overwhelmed me on the journey to my present unlooked-for fortune. I beg your patience if I occasionally digress from the broad path of narrative and retreat into the byways of my own heart, in which grief and regret contend for occupancy yet.

Carmelo Pequeño

Villaromana Dorado

Castile, 1615

Part One

Journeys

1

Armi

Finland, winter 2011–12

‘Officer Pekkarinen.’

The Super, Oskar, squinting under his bushy eyebrows into the assembly of Border and Coast Guard Academy graduates, found Armi in the third row. Armi’s grey-blue eyes met Oskar’s brown ones steadily, while her hands twitched on the cap in her lap, resisting the urge to push back a strand of hair that had escaped from the bun on top of her head. Oskar’s thoughts were usually well camouflaged behind an almost permanent frown but Armi had the impression that his glower wavered for an instant before he glanced again at his notes.

‘You’ll be with Sergeant Kallinen.’

There was quiet stirring of the dark-uniformed men and women around her, but Armi sat still, breathing out slowly. The graduates had learned weeks previously about the new trial program of placing newbies with highly experienced officers and everyone had been nervous about who their partners would be for the next six months. Behind her, Armi could almost hear her friend Lisa’s jaw drop, and knew why. Student gossip at the Academy often focussed on the high-profile cases Sergeant Jussi Kallinen got involved in. The images in the newspapers, and occasionally on Finnish national television, caught his handsome looks and don’t-mess-with-me attitude. There was a rumour he’d been implicated in some corruption scandal last year, but, Armi recalled vaguely, the case had been dropped for lack of evidence.

Not until Oskar had left the podium and headed for the door at the back of the meeting room did Armi turn to make round eyes at Lisa. Lisa, looking like the proverbial cat with the cream, beamed back. Her new senior partner, Fanni Kivelä, was known to be a calm, grounded officer, whom Armi and Lisa, over coffee this morning, had agreed they’d love to work with.

‘Well, of course, that’s the official reason for this program,’ Lisa had said, spooning chocolate-speckled froth out of her cup, ‘to give us good role models. But’ – she waggled the spoon and narrowed her eyes – ‘I’ve heard on the grapevine Oskar also wants to ginger up some of the old hands.’

They’d discussed a few Oskar might want to ginger up, and others who might be less than optimal to work with for other reasons. Jussi Kallinen’s name hadn’t come up because it hadn’t occurred to either of them that someone like him might be in the program.

With Oskar’s departure, all the graduates relaxed and started to share what they knew about the officers they were assigned to.

‘Congratulations,’ Armi said to Lisa.

‘Yours should be interesting,’ Lisa purred. ‘A bit of a wild card.’

Armi, mouthing but why me, heard, ‘Armi … a moment please.’

Oskar was at the door, stumpy fingers waggling inwards, beckoning her.

‘Or maybe it’s a special assignment,’ muttered Lisa, rolling her eyes. ‘Hush-hush.’

Armi returned a grimace. Sweeping up the loose strand of hair and poking it into place, she followed Oskar along the corridor and into his office. He dropped his notes on the untidy pile of paperwork on the desk and gestured her to a chair opposite, while he fumbled in a pocket of his shapeless cardigan.

‘You’ve probably heard Kallinen isn’t a conventional operator.’

What should she say to that? Armi put on an innocent smile. ‘Yes, he has a bit of a reputation. But he has cracked some important cases. I’m sure I’ll learn heaps from him.’ She remembered too late Oskar’s reputation as a pretty good crap-detector.

‘Whereas,’ he continued, still delving in his pocket, ‘I understand you have a good grasp on procedures and a lot of common sense.’

Shit, Armi thought, still smiling, I’ll go a long way on that assessment.

‘You’re smart, and you’re a bit more mature than the rest of them. You should be fine if you keep your head.’

The corners of his mouth lifted and Armi had a rare glimpse of the gap between his front top teeth. It was the closest she’d ever seen him get to a smile.

‘Smart’ was marginally better than just having common sense, and it was no secret she’d come later to this profession than most of the other new Border Guards. But surely he hadn’t singled her out for a private interview just to give her a character reference. She recalled Lisa’s comment that morning, about Oskar wanting to ginger up some of the old hands. Presumably he was letting her know that the next six months with Jussi Kallinen would test her. And that he believed she was up to the challenge. He had finally succeeded in disentangling a phone from an outsized handkerchief spilling from his pocket and was now prodding at the screen. She assumed he’d finished with her.

‘Thanks,’ she said, getting up and heading for the door.

The phone in her pocket buzzed.

‘I’ve just sent you my number,’ Oskar growled. ‘Let me know if you have any problems.’

She checked the screen on the way to the station room. Apart from the missed call from Oskar, there was a message asking Meet after work? and naming the café where she’d had coffee this morning. It wasn’t from Lisa.

*

From the entrance, she made out the brooding expression and solid frame. As they shook hands, his frown relaxed into a charming smile that would be quite beyond Oskar. She guessed him to be ten years older than her, but maybe less, his handsome features battling to survive a punishing lifestyle.

‘I’ve heard good things about you, Pekkarinen,’ he said, brushing back unruly curls with his hand, revealing an old scar running from his scalp to his left eyebrow. ‘But they didn’t say what kind of coffee you drink.’

‘Americano. What things?’

She took off her coat and folded it over the back of her chair before sitting down and crossing her legs, while he relayed their order to the young man at the bar.

Jussi picked up a coaster and pretended to read it. ‘Intelligent. Sensible.’ Quizzical eyes met hers.

Armi laughed. ‘That’s a good rap, as far as it goes.’

‘I’m not sure your studies in’ – he cocked the eyebrow with the scar – ‘Renaissance literature will be much use on the job, but we’ll see. The languages might come in handy. Russian, Swedish and English, naturally. But the others?’

‘We moved around a lot when I was a kid. I learned German in primary school, and French and Spanish at high school and college in the US.’

It was maybe too much information, but she wanted him to know she was more than just a raw recruit.

‘And’ – he referred to the coaster again – ‘you were in office management?’

‘I did the accounts for an architectural firm before I joined the Border Guards. I take it you’ve read my resumé.’

‘I like to know what I’m dealing with. And to like who I’m dealing with.’ His smile said, And I do.

Okay, I could like you too, she thought. In the flesh you’re not so scary. You could be fitter.

‘Boyfriend?’

Armi wondered how Lisa might deal with that question. Lisa regularly used internet dating, though she complained about the amount of coffee she had to spoon froth out of before anyone interesting turned up. ‘Is that relevant?’

‘Not to me personally, but sometimes it helps to know what’s important in your partner’s other life. But okay.’ He made a conciliatory gesture with his hand. ‘So why did you join the Border Guards?’

Here goes, Armi thought. She rested her chin on her palm and met his eyes. ‘I didn’t want to spend the rest of my life moving figures around. I wanted to make use of my languages and my other skills. Also, I’d like to think I’m doing something to make the world a better place.’

Instead of looking cynical, as she half-expected, he nodded.

‘What about you? What brought you to law enforcement?’ Why should he have a monopoly on personal questions?

He hesitated before replying with an edge of irritation. ‘I saw a lot of it from the other side when I was a kid. I was curious about life on this side. Now it’s a job. Some days are better than others. Like today.’ He leaned forward, his half-scowl changing to the same warm smile he’d had when they shook hands. ‘Seriously, I’m very glad I got you. We’re going to make a good team, Pekkarinen.’

They talked for a while about her time at the Academy and he described some of the routine situations that were likely to occupy most of their days.

‘It’s not all about making the world a better place,’ he commented, ‘and you’ll find there’s a gap between learning and doing.’

She wondered what value he placed on the qualities Oskar had accredited her with, her knowledge of procedures and her common sense.

‘I’m going your way,’ he said when they left the café. ‘Meeting someone near there, otherwise …’

Otherwise, she thought as they strolled along the glistening pavement, their breath streaming through snowflakes swirling under the street lights, he might suggest pasta and beer at one of the bright, crowded Italian restaurants they were passing. They reached the corner of her street.

‘Good night,’ she said. ‘Thanks for the coffee. See you tomorrow.’

‘Look forward to it,’ he said, flicking snow off her shoulder with a gloved thumb and finger. ‘Didn’t think I’d be saying anything like that.’

He headed up a side street full of bars.

I didn’t tell you where I lived, Armi thought, as she walked on to her apartment building. But of course he would know. It would be on her dossier.

*

After a few weeks, Armi began to wonder why Oskar had thought it necessary to warn or encourage her, whichever it was, about her partner. In their day-to-day work, Jussi Kallinen patiently explained his tactics, listened to her views, and was willing to talk things through when she occasionally questioned his decisions. Except for his tendency to stretch the limits of protocols, she found working with him professionally and personally rewarding and he obviously liked working with her, and being with her.

When she arranged to meet colleagues for after-work drinks, instead of heading off to one of his mysterious dates that left him looking jaded next morning, sometimes he came too. As they entered the bar, his hand rested on the small of her back, and sometimes in the course of the general banter his eyes held hers for a few seconds longer than necessary. She was always the first to grin and look away. It would be very easy to start a relationship with him, but there was something, an undercurrent of hostility towards the world in general, that made her dismiss the idea of anything more than a professional friendship.

When interviewing people they suspected of Immigration or Customs violations, they developed a routine whereby Kallinen remained in the background while Armi asked questions to clarify the unfolding story. When that story started to fragment, he slung a chair next to hers and fixed cold eyes on the suspect, whose gaze then began to waver, seeking Armi’s for reassurance. Armi would calmly go through what the interviewee had stated and point out the discrepancies, usually getting a useful document by the end of the session. But on one occasion, instead of waiting for her to finish, Jussi took over and browbeat the suspect, a disintegrating addict who had only recently been released from prison, into a sobbing confession.

As soon as the man was taken away, Armi confronted Jussi. ‘Why did you do that? He was so confused he was prepared to say anything. It’ll be obvious from the recording that he was coerced.’

‘Not our problem,’ Jussi said in a bored tone. ‘The legals will sort it out.’ Then his expression softened. ‘You did great, setting him up.’

‘I wasn’t setting him up. I was questioning him.’

‘Hey, of course you were. We’re a team. Have dinner with me.’

Partly mollified, she agreed. Besides, it was late and dark and there was only a can of sprats in her pantry and maybe half a withered tomato in her fridge.

Over Chianti and marinara they went over the interview and Jussi came as close as Armi thought he ever could to an apology before they moved on to lighter topics. His lips brushed her cheek before they parted outside her building. She ignored his eyes travelling to the entrance while she felt in her pocket for the key.

‘Thanks for dinner,’ she said. ‘Next one’s on me.’

‘It’s nothing, and it’s nicer to have dinner together than … Anyway, I make more dosh than you.’

She grinned to herself as she went up the steps. What was his alternative? She wondered.

Another time, when she objected to an apartment search he wanted to conduct without a warrant, he shrugged. ‘They’ll trash the evidence while we’re still untangling the red tape.’

But he didn’t insist or mention it again, though his manner cooled for a few days. Too bad, she thought. Your problem. Only five months of this to go.

Or maybe she’d imagined the change in the atmosphere, because at the end of that week he asked her to dinner again. Over reindeer stew she learned a bit more about him, his violent father, his alcoholic mother, his knockabout youth. Possibly that was why he was so hard on some of the sad cases they had to deal with, or maybe he was fearful of going that way himself. While he was unburdening, she was thinking that her story, difficult though some of it still was to come to terms with, was tame in comparison.

When he asked why so much of her childhood had been spent out of Finland, she confessed that her parents had separated when she was a toddler and her architect father had taken her along when he worked abroad, hiring housekeepers to look after her. She had no memory of her mother. He seemed to understand that that was all she wanted to say on the matter. He slung an arm around her shoulders on the way back to her apartment and when they said goodnight, she responded warmly to his kiss, but said, ‘Let’s just keep it simple, okay?’

‘Okay,’ he agreed, his fingertips lingering on her neck. ‘For now.’

*

About a month later they were assigned to the train between Helsinki and St Petersburg. Just after the Russian border crossing, as they strode through one of the compartments, Armi spotted an oversized suitcase in an overhead rack. She suggested they go back and check it out. Jussi said it would be a waste of time, but agreed. Beneath the luggage rack sat a stocky guy in the aisle seat, a thin woman in the middle, and a pretty, blond-haired girl of about thirteen by the window. The three held themselves stiffly, their bodies not touching, pretending to ignore the dark uniforms looming over them. The girl kept her eyes on a big illustrated book of Russian folk tales she was too old for. Snapping on latex gloves, Armi asked in Russian if she could have a look at the book. Stony-faced, the girl handed it over. There was a wad of hundred-euro notes in the cut-out middle.

Armi eyed the stocky man. ‘Would you take your suitcase down?’ she asked politely in Russian.

As the man got up, he glanced at Jussi’s impassive face. Grunting, he hefted the case onto the fold-up table.

‘Please open it.’

There was an assortment of items: pelts, icons, cigarettes, packets of condoms. No clothes, though the man said they were on their way to – he paused to think – the Holiday Inn. It was Christmas week, but no, he hadn’t booked a room. Probably a good thing, Armi remarked pleasantly, when the man couldn’t remember which of Helsinki’s Holiday Inns they were planning to stay at.

Meanwhile, Jussi was speaking quietly to the woman. The girl’s pale, turned-away face was reflected in the blur of snow-laden pines streaming past the window.

Jussi finished talking to the woman and gestured Armi to the end of the carriage. ‘Why don’t you go and grab us a coffee,’ he muttered. ‘I’ll handle this.’

His hand on her elbow impelled her in the direction of the restaurant car. Annoyed, but not wanting to argue with him in front of these people, she did as he said.

The last she saw of the little group, they were trudging away from the stationary train towards one of the exits to Railway Square. The man was dragging the suitcase behind him and the girl kept glancing sullenly over her shoulder at Jussi, who was following ten metres or so behind. Her expression reminded Armi uncomfortably of herself at that age, owning secrets she didn’t know how to handle.

‘Why did you send me away?’ she demanded when she’d caught up with Jussi.

‘They’re small-time, not worth the paperwork,’ he said, pulling up the collar of his coat against a flurry of snow. ‘Hauling them in, finding an official translator, doing a report, and then releasing them in the end anyway. Let’s get a beer.’ He palmed her elbow again and tried to steer her across the tram lanes.

Armi stood her ground, while hurrying commuters swerved around them. ‘But the stuff in the suitcase – ’

Jussi’s scowl changed to a strained smile. ‘Okay, next time we’ll do it your way, okay?’

She turned down his drink invitation; she had a date with Lisa that night.

*

Munching Quattro Stagioni pizza and sipping their beer, as usual the two women spent most of the evening comparing work experiences. Lisa was bubbling with news.

‘I met this guy on the net. He looks better than average in the photo and we start Skyping. We like the same kind of music, same movies, blah blah blah. He says he works for Maersk, in transportation services, and goes on about some of the places he’s travelled for his job. I say I’m a secretary. Border Guard is a bit of a turn-off till someone gets to know the real you. Anyway, we arrange to meet at Lasipalatsi next time he’s in town. He’s nice and I’m thinking of owning up to my real job, but before I get around to it, he produces a package from his shoulder bag and asks me to look after it for a few days. He says it’s a present for his mother.’

‘No!’ Armi grinned.

‘I act like I don’t know what’s going on and as soon as I can, excuse myself to go to the bathroom and phone Fanni.’

‘Good for you. He walked right into it, didn’t he?’

Armi told Lisa about the train incident, her disagreement with Jussi and his promise to do things properly in the future. ‘Maybe you were right. Maybe Oskar really does think I’ll reform him. I have my doubts.’

‘Well, anyway, apart from that little episode, I must say you’re having a more exciting time than me,’ Lisa complained. ‘Fanni’s great, but she totally controls what I’m allowed to do. As soon as she arrived at the café, of course she took over. She even seized the opportunity to caution me against online friendships.’ She aimed her pizza at Armi. ‘Has he made a pass at you yet?’

‘I guess you could say that.’ Armi grinned. ‘But he hasn’t got anywhere.’

‘Really? Everyone thinks you two are an item!’

‘Well, everyone’s wrong.’ Armi didn’t know if she was pleased or annoyed.

*

Not long after the train incident, on Jussi’s hunch they took in a suspicious-looking character hanging around the tourists in Market Square. Jussi gave Armi full rein and she eventually got out of the man that there could be a large stash of heroin in a warehouse in the port precinct. And after some threatening body language from Jussi, the informant also revealed the code that gave entry to the place. The dealer, he said, employed students to package the stuff and get it out into the streets.

When the man was removed from the interview room, Jussi and Armi stared at each other. Armi, finding her mouth still open, closed it and raised her eyebrows. Jussi, his face flushed, got up and paced the room, running a hand through his curls. He sat down in the chair the informant had vacated and immediately stood up again.

‘Let’s do it!’ he said.

‘What?’ But Armi already knew. She thought about Lisa’s prompt action when her internet date had produced the package. This, of course, would be more complicated.

‘The word’ll be out by tonight. Or we bust him now, this afternoon. You’re an American exchange student, needing a bit of extra money. We fit you up with a wire and some undercover gear from the costume cupboard. The guy lets you into the warehouse; I’m outside listening. As soon as he talks, I’m there. We’ll have backup, of course.’ He stopped himself before adding, ‘Hell, I should ask you first. You can say no.’

Armi’s blood was pulsing. She had acted scenarios like this in training, and was competent in self-defence, but this would be the real deal. If it came off, as Jussi seemed confident it would, it could be the highlight of her career.

She took a deep breath. ‘Where’s this costume cupboard?’

Jussi hurried her to the room full of boxes and clothes racks, and left her to assemble her outfit while he went to arrange the hardware and the backup. She selected a pilled knitted dress, long, scuffed brown boots and a padded coat with a fake fur collar. When Jussi returned he pretended momentary surprise to see a stranger in the room.

‘Perfect,’ he said, circling her. ‘A hot little American desperado. Doing whatever it takes.’

Armi loosened her bun and her blond hair fell in waves to her shoulders. Jussi, behind her, lifted a strand behind her ear, brushing her cheekbone with his thumb. He kept it there while he slipped the sliver of metal into the lapel of the coat with his other hand. His lips touched her neck.

‘Not now,’ she said. She needed to concentrate on her persona.

*

A middle-aged man let her into the warehouse. He was flabby and pasty-faced, as if he never saw what passed for sunshine in Helsinki at this time of year. His shabby clothes looked like they’d been acquired at the same flea market as her disguise. In his left hand was a dirty dishcloth that could have been used to grime the glasses on the table behind him. With his right, he gestured her inside with a jerk of his gun.

‘Who gave you the code?’ He had a thin, high voice.

‘One of your messengers in Market Square.’ Armi hoped her own voice betrayed the right level of nervousness for the situation, and not the level she felt. ‘He said you needed couriers.’

‘Okay, take off your coat and we’ll talk business.’ Shabby Man flicked the cloth towards a slat-backed chair. ‘Have a seat.’

Armi sat on the uncomfortable chair, the coat over her thighs. She crossed her legs and let the top leg swing.

‘Ever done this kind of work before?’

‘Now and then,’ Armi said, feigning bravado, ‘as the need arises.’

‘You’re a good-looking girl.’ Shabby Man’s shifty eyes travelled over her face and figure while his lips stretched into a cold smile. ‘You could be very useful to me.’

‘Thanks,’ she said, her leg swinging faster. ‘So what do I have to do?’

Suddenly the smile morphed to a snarl as he flipped the gun and lunged forward, smashing the butt on her cheek. Armi fell to the floor, stunned. When she was able to focus, she saw one of his feet inches from her eyes, just before her head was jerked up by the hair, and the filthy dishcloth stuffed in her mouth. She was hurled back onto the chair and her arms were wrenched behind her and bound to the slats with plastic cord.

Her terrified eyes followed Shabby Man to the table with the glasses where, she now saw, there was also a row