Vengeance hh-2

by Jarkko Sipila

  Takamäki laughed. “Sanna, that’s not how we do it. I believe you and that’s enough.”

  The call ended and Takamäki turned to the others. “Maybe you overheard, but the lead didn’t come from the police or any other official. It came from somewhere else.”

  “That confirms it was a trap,” said Nykänen.

  Suhonen’s eyes met Takamäki’s, then Nykänen’s. “The Skulls weren’t after the police. Larsson wanted me.”

  “What do you mean?” said Nykänen.

  “Larsson was furious at me for locking him up. He must’ve somehow connected Salmela to me. There’s no way he could’ve known about the NBI’s involvement without a major mole in your organization. So, one plus one equals two.”

  “Plus one is three,” said Nykänen. “How many people know both you and Salmela and have also worked with the Skulls lately?”

  Suhonen had one candidate, but he didn’t say anything. Juha Saarnikangas knew both of them and was involved with the drug shipment, too. The man was playing hardball; if he had turned to the dark side, Suhonen could easily start a rumor about him being a nark.

  “Where’s Salmela now?” asked Takamäki.

  None of them knew.

  “We should probably look for him,” said Takamäki.

  “But we’re off the case,” Nykänen said.

  Takamäki and Suhonen looked at Nykänen.

  “I’ll speak with Honkala,” Takamäki decided.

  * * *

  The press conference at Pasila Police Headquarters began at 6:30 P.M. So many reporters and photographers were attending that the Helsinki police press secretary had decided to move it to the station’s lobby. About fifty chairs had been brought down from upstairs, but still, many reporters were standing.

  Though the NBI was leading the case, Pasila Police Headquarters was still serving as the command center.

  The elevator chimed and Honkala ducked out in his gray suit and a matching blue tie. His shirt was a gleaming white and he had hastily straightened his hair in the elevator.

  Camera flashes exploded from all sides as Honkala strode to the table. Though there were chairs, he remained standing. At least three TV networks and two radio stations were broadcasting live. On the table were about twenty microphones and recorders, and on top of that, numerous soundmen were moving about with long microphone booms for the live broadcasts. The photographers bristled every time the soundmen stepped in front of the cameras.

  “The purpose of this press conference is obviously clear to everyone. Today, at 2:20 P.M. a car bomb exploded in the parking lot of the Käpylä ball fields. One person was killed, another critically wounded. Both individuals were agents for the National Bureau of Investigation. The incident is being investigated as a murder and attempted murder. At this time, we will not disclose the names of the victims, nor any details about their assignments,” Honkala began.

  “The forensics investigation is still ongoing, and we don’t yet have any information about the type of explosive or the detonation mechanism. The police have several leads on the motive for the explosion, but for reasons pertaining to the investigation, I can’t discuss them at this time. For the same reason, I can’t say why the agents were interested in the car.”

  Without a second’s pause, Honkala looked straight into the TV camera in the center, “The police are asking for any leads or observations from the public as well as any information on a 1980s beige Opel Kadett. The license plate found does not belong to the car,” Honkala said, but nevertheless, he recited the number twice.

  The captain gave a hotline number to call with information. He announced that he wouldn’t be taking any questions, and that the next briefing was scheduled for noon of the following day at NBI headquarters. Then he marched, unfazed, through the crowd of shouting reporters into the elevator, where an officer stood holding the door.

  * * *

  “Let’s go,” Salmela said to Ear-Nurminen as the televised press conference came to a close. The picture cut to an anchorwoman’s follow-up, but the Corner Pub’s bartender turned the music back up, drowning out the sound of the TV.

  “No work, booze, an axe and the kin. A snowdrift, the cops and the final sin,” crooned Eppu Normaali from the jukebox.

  “What’s the hurry?” asked Ear-Nurminen. A single glance at Salmela was all it took to see that the man was serious. Nurminen finished off his beer as Salmela buttoned up his coat.

  “Let’s grab a six-pack at the store on the way,” said Salmela. That was fine with Ear-Nurminen, who had offered him a couch for the night. At first he had wondered, but hadn’t asked any questions. Salmela would have done the same if, for some reason, Nurminen had wanted to spend the night on his Salvation Army sofa.

  Salmela was pondering the AFR-license plate as they stepped out into the cold air. Damn license plate. That made the situation even more complicated.

  * * *

  “Fuck!” Larsson hissed. The lanky man on TV had just ruined what should have been a victorious moment at the Skulls’ compound.

  He, Steiner, Aronen, Roge and Osku had been watching the press conference on a fifty-inch big-screen in the main room. After the conference, reporter Sanna Römpötti had speculated on the cause of the explosion and the Skulls’ involvement, but that wasn’t the reason for Larsson’s anger.

  “What the hell?” he swore again. “Those were NBI agents? How is that possible? This was supposed to be a Helsinki PD operation.”

  “Very strange,” Aronen remarked.

  “That fucking Suhonen is still alive,” Larsson ranted.

  Steiner sat on the sofa and drew a small cigar box from his pocket. He took out a joint, lit it up and took a long drag.

  “So what?” he asked, sending forth a stream of smoke.

  Larsson scowled at the blond-haired man. “I want that shithead dead, but the fact that the NBI is after us is pretty damned interesting too.”

  “You can say that again.”

  Aronen’s remark earned him a sharp look from Larsson. Stating the obvious angered him.

  Steiner nursed his joint quietly. “The NBI, Helsinki VCU, Espoo PD, the Sheriff of Lapland… Same difference. They’re all packed with the same dickheads.”

  Even if he was right, Steiner’s attitude irritated Larsson. “Go get Salmela. I got some questions for him.”

  Steiner stared at Larsson. “Only if you drive.”

  Larsson fingered the 9mm in the pocket of his leather jacket, but let it be. “Let’s go.”

  “I’ll drive,” said Aronen. “The last thing we need is for you to end up in jail for a DUI.”

  Larsson waved him off. “The pigs don’t have time to bother with DUIs right now.”

  Aronen tried to remember how much Larsson had drunk. A few shots and a beer…sure, he’d stay on the road.

  Larsson turned back to Aronen. “You pick up Niko at the harbor. The ship from Tallinn is docking at seven.”

  “What’s he doing in Tallinn?” asked Roge.

  “Pleasure cruise,” said Larsson as he followed Steiner out. “We’ll take care of this.”

  CHAPTER 22

  MONDAY, 7:20 P.M.

  PASILA POLICE HEADQUARTERS, HELSINKI

  “Well, I’ve got a little time now,” said the NBI’s Captain Honkala as he sat down at the table in the VCU break room. Takamäki had stopped into the conference room earlier, but the captain had been busy.

  It seemed to Takamäki that the legs of his chair had been cut down as, even while sitting, Honkala’s head hovered well above his own.

  “Any progress?” asked Takamäki, gazing up at the other’s face.

  “Nothing substantial. Forensics is looking further into the explosives. Apparently, it was stolen construction dynamite or something of that sort.”

  “Judging by what little was left of the car, I’d bet there was five, maybe seven pounds of the stuff.”

  Honkala nodded. “Round about there. The detonator is a tougher nut to crack, but we should f
ind out within a few weeks, maybe a month.”

  “Were you briefed on our undercover case?”

  “More or less. There was an ongoing investigation into the Skulls, and you guys planted an informant named Salmiakki.”

  Takamäki outlined the conversation he had had in the cafeteria with Nykänen and Suhonen, that this could have been a revenge bombing aimed at the Helsinki VCU.

  “It’s an interesting possibility. We should track down Salmiakki.”

  Nobody else was around. “We can dispense with the code name game now,” said Takamäki, pausing for a moment. “Suhonen and Nykänen left an hour ago to look for Salmela.”

  “Really. I thought…”

  Takamäki cut in, “Salmela has been Suhonen’s informant for years and he knows his friends. If the man is still alive, Suhonen will track him down.”

  “But…”

  “The Skulls are probably after Salmela, so we’ve got to get him under police protection. The best man for the job is Suhonen.”

  “Is it possible Salmela is working with the Skulls, perhaps by force?”

  “Anything is possible, but it’s not probable. It’s more conceivable that they fed Salmela a false lead.”

  “The Skulls will certainly deny any involvement.”

  “Of course, but we’ll worry about that then,” said Takamäki. “We’re not going to solve this case on confessions. Somehow, we have to nail the Skulls for this. Of course, the ideal would be some forensic evidence linking them to the bombing.”

  Honkala backed off. “Well, let’s see where the investigation takes us. And if your guys find Salmela, tell them to bring him here. If he doesn’t come voluntarily, arrest him on suspicion of accessory to murder.”

  * * *

  Helsinki Avenue was lively, especially for a Monday evening, and people were loitering on the sidewalks. Suhonen had noticed a few shady characters, which, on any ordinary night, would have captured his attention, but he didn’t have the time for them now. Nykänen was behind the wheel of a dark green Toyota and Suhonen was riding shotgun.

  Suhonen and Nykänen had checked Salmela’s apartment, as well as a few other places where the guy might be hiding. The informant wasn’t answering his phone.

  They drove past the metro station, westward toward Töölö.

  “What about the Corner Pub?” Nykänen suggested.

  “If we go there, half the town will know we’re looking for him. Too many guys over there know I’m a cop.”

  “What if I go?”

  “You don’t know him and his friends. They know you, though.”

  Nykänen took his foot off the gas and watched a man in a leather jacket walking down the sidewalk. “Well, I’ve seen his mug shot.”

  “That’s not what I meant, I…”

  Nykänen chuckled. “Yeah, I got it.”

  Nykänen had been interviewed on TV as an NBI agent, which complicated his ability to go undercover.

  “Let’s go anyway,” said Suhonen. “We’re sure not getting anywhere here.”

  After a few minutes, Nykänen parked the car in a semi-legal spot across from the Corner Pub. The giant stickers on the windows of the bar promised a pint of beer for €2.50 all day long.

  The officers stepped inside and Suhonen headed past the bar into the back room. He immediately spotted the bony Macho-Mertala at the corner table,

  wearing a ragged jean jacket over a plain white T-shirt.

  A younger man with dark hair was sitting across from him. In all likelihood, Macho was blathering on about his old robberies, which at this point had gone from grocery stores to appliance stores and would eventually turn into jewelry stores.

  “Hey,” said Suhonen, startling Macho-Mertala.

  “Shit! Don’t sneak up on me like that. You’ll give me a heart attack.”

  You’ll get one anyways, thought Suhonen and sat down in an empty chair. Nykänen took a seat beside him.

  The younger one looked inquiringly at the two.

  “The police,” Macho-Mertala explained.

  The man took his beer and made tracks.

  “No need for threats, blackmail or bribes. Let me guess,” said Macho. “You’re looking for Salmela.”

  “How’d you guess?”

  “You’re not the first. A couple gangsters were here a half-hour ago looking for him, too. At first, I thought they had come back.”

  “What gangsters?” asked Nykänen.

  “They didn’t leave their business cards, but if I had to guess, I’d say they belonged to a certain gang. Pretty sure the baldy was Tapani Larsson.”

  “And the other?” asked Nykänen.

  Macho took a swig from his mug. “White hair, thin face. That enough?”

  Nykänen nodded. If the first was Larsson, the other was Rolf Steiner.

  “What did they want with Salmela?” asked Suhonen.

  “Probably the same as you guys-wanted to know where he is.”

  The officers waited for him to continue, but he only sat there, casually sipping his beer.

  “So where is he?”

  “He took off a while ago with Ear-Nurminen. Not sure where they went. Maybe to his place.”

  “Does Nurminen still live over there on Siltasaari Street by the Kallio church?”

  “Yeah. Hasn’t been evicted. But you’re a good thirty minutes late.”

  “You got Nurminen’s number?” asked Suhonen.

  “Yup, but it’s not gonna help. I tried calling both of them, but neither has his phone on,” he said, sounding bored.

  Suhonen turned to leave, but Mertala stopped him. “You think it was worth twenty euros?”

  Suhonen dug a wrinkled blue note out of the pocket of his jeans.

  * * *

  Nykänen fired up the car and stepped on the gas, not wanting to end up behind the approaching bus. From Helsinki Avenue, he swung left at the next intersection toward the fire station.

  “Thirty minutes is a long time when the trip only takes three,” said Nykänen.

  Suhonen held onto the hand-hold over the window as Nykänen floored the gas pedal. “Wonder what the Skulls want out of Salmela now.”

  The acceleration proved pointless-directly ahead of them was a stopped streetcar, and another approached from the opposite direction. No way to get around them. Nykänen drummed on the steering wheel as the passengers filed on and off.

  “Apparently enough that both Steiner and Larsson are after him.”

  They continued along behind the streetcar to the corner of a park, where Nykänen swung right past the fire station. In front of them was the gray-granite Kallio church, built in the early 1900s. The massive building accommodated 1,600 people, but the last time Suhonen had been there-at an old ex-con’s funeral-only four were in attendance: Two of the dead guy’s friends, himself, and the pastor.

  “Pull up slowly and park in front. Let’s look around a bit first.”

  At the corner, Agricola Street led to the left and directly ahead rose a six-story white stucco building.

  “Not this one-the next one down on the right,” Suhonen directed. Nykänen coasted down the hill and double-parked. Though the street was quiet, the curb was packed. The eight-story building, built in the sixties, seemed too new for the streets of Kallio. Suhonen bounded up the entry stairs, which were tucked into a recess. He noticed a gap between the doorjamb and the glass door. With a credit card, he slipped the lock aside and pulled it open. From the street, it appeared that he had simply used a key.

  “You got a skeleton key?” Nykänen smirked. Suhonen could sense the man’s uneasiness.

  “Doesn’t work on too many doors anymore, now that the maintenance guys have learned how to do things right.”

  The stairwell was dark and Suhonen snapped on the lights. Both men checked their weapons instinctively. They didn’t want backup; they’d take care of this one on their own. When Nykänen was still with the VCU, the two had occasionally worked as partners.

  Though Ear-Nurminen lived
on the fourth floor, Nykänen and Suhonen opted for the stairs, which skirted the wall on the right-hand side. The climb took a few minutes. The stairwell was clean, as was the fourth floor landing. Surprisingly, the tag on the door actually read “Nurminen.”

  The door was ajar and a light was on inside.

  Suhonen took up his position to the side of the door with Nykänen just behind him. He slowly opened the door and peeked inside. Nobody. Suhonen recalled that the apartment was a studio. The bathroom was in the hallway on the left, and the only room was around the corner on the same side.

  Suhonen pulled out his black Glock and went in. He gestured for Nykänen to check the bathroom and continued on to the living room. Behind him, he heard Nykänen open the bathroom door. The worst thing he could encounter in the living room would be two bodies on the floor. The second worst thing would be Salmela and Nurminen on their knees with Larsson and Steiner holding pistols to the backs of their heads.

  The same quick peek around the corner. The room was messy and nobody was there. Huh, thought Suhonen as he advanced into the room. A bed, a plastic dining table and a TV were the only furnishings. There was nothing on the floor but clothing and newspapers.

  The search was over quickly. “Nobody in the living room,” he hollered.

  “Come in here,” Nykänen shouted back.

  Suhonen hurried back to the hallway and entered the bathroom.

  Nykänen didn’t need to say anything. In the bathtub lay a fat, naked man. It wasn’t Salmela, who was substantially thinner. The man’s face had been beaten so badly that Suhonen wasn’t able to recognize him as Ear-Nurminen.

  The bathroom was covered in blood and some had pooled at the bottom of the tub. Countless lacerations covered his body. There was no point in speculating on the cause-of-death without forensics. Oftentimes, knife wounds only became evident once the blood was wiped away, especially when there were multiple stab wounds.