Helsinki Homicide: Against the Wall

by Jarkko Sipila

  “Have a seat there,” Joutsamo directed. She took her own seat behind the computer, but didn’t turn it on.

  The blond girl’s face was thin, and her eyes red from crying.

  “Tell me what happened,” Joutsamo began. She wanted to hear the story as candidly as possible before even checking the woman’s ID.

  “Well, I haven’t heard anything from Jerry for a couple of days. He hasn’t called or answered any of my calls. I’m afraid that something happened.”

  “What could have happened?” Joutsamo asked calmly.

  “I really don’t know, but he hung out with some strange guys sometimes…” she left the thought hanging.

  “And what?”

  “I really don’t know. Some of them are just weird, like, you know,” she said and swept her hair back.

  “And Jerry Eriksson is your boyfriend?” Joutsamo asked.

  “Yeah. He’s my boyfriend. He’s never done anything like this.”

  “When did you see each other last?”

  “On Monday night we went out to eat at Tenkka Bar, and Jerry got a call around nine. He left pretty soon after that to meet someone…”

  “Who?” Joutsamo interrupted.

  “I don’t know. He doesn’t tell me about that stuff.”

  “Was it just the two of you at the restaurant?”

  “Of course there were other customers, but we sat by ourselves. One of his friends had recommended it, and Jerry wanted to try the place.”

  “Did he seem worried when he left?”

  “Not that I could tell. More like excited, somehow. He said it would probably take a couple hours, and he’d call me afterwards, but he never did,” she said. A tear rolled down her cheek.

  “There was nothing unusual about that?”

  “Well, no. Every now and then he takes off somewhere, but he always calls. Later that night, we were supposed to go to another bar with some of his friends, but I got tired of waiting and went home at about midnight.”

  “What friends?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Do you live with Jerry?” Joutsamo asked, intentionally using the present tense. She knew the girl didn’t live in the Kannelmäki apartment.

  “Not really. Jerry has an apartment in Kannelmäki next to the mall. I stay there sometimes, but he’s never given me a key.”

  “How well do you know Jerry’s friends?”

  “Not very well. I know who they are, but they’re not my friends.”

  To Joutsamo, the young woman didn’t seem like a criminal, just genuinely distressed. And for good reason, but the detective wasn’t about to tell her that.

  Joutsamo switched on the computer. “Do you have any ID so I can take down your information?” Joutsamo entered her password and searched for the missing persons form.

  At least Eriksson’s activities were taking shape and the police would get his phone number from her. He probably had several phones, but even one was valuable, since the warrant for the phone records enabled them to search for any other numbers he could have used.

  The blonde pulled a driver’s license out of her purse and handed it to Joutsamo. Her name was indeed Kristiina Nyholm, as she had announced downstairs.

  CHAPTER 16

  BOARD OF CUSTOMS, EROTTAJA

  THURSDAY, 9:15 A.M.

  Jouko Nyholm sat in his Erottaja office, cursing the fact that he hadn’t bought the Thailand vacation package advertised in the travel agent’s window across the street. A couple weeks in the sun would do him good. It would probably help his headache too, or at least there he could treat it first thing in the morning by hitting the bottle.

  Nyholm knew his irritation was pointless. He could walk over there right now if he wanted, but he knew he wouldn’t.

  Still, it was a good day: last night when he got home, his wife had already been asleep, and this morning she had left for work before he woke up.

  His desk phone crackled and Snellman’s voice came over the speakerphone, “Get over here.”

  Nyholm swore again and got up.

  The boss was sitting behind his desk, and Nyholm took a chair opposite him. The legs on Nyholm’s chair were short so he had to look up in order to make eye contact.

  “Did you find anything on this Jerry Eriksson that we can tell the police?”

  Nyholm shook his head. “No. I made some calls, but nobody’s heard of him.”

  “So we’re telling him we got nothing.”

  “That’s right,” Nyholm answered calmly.

  “Do we have anything else going on?”

  Nyholm shook his head again. “Nothing out of the ordinary. Some phone taps and normal undercover ops on a few drug cases, but otherwise no.”

  * * *

  The digital speedometer read 54 miles per hour. It was over the limit, but not by much.

  The landscape along Route Six between Kotka and Kouvola was numbingly gray. There was no traffic to speak of.

  That morning Markus Markkanen had received confirmation from the Kotka harbor that the containers had been unloaded and transferred onto semi-trucks.

  There had been no issues with Customs or otherwise. The majority of the ship’s cargo was headed directly for the Russian border, save for his two containers, which were en route to Kouvola, a town of about 90,000 just north of Kotka.

  Markkanen had booked a warehouse in an industrial park, where the TVs would be unloaded and the containers filled with rubber gloves, as the packing list stated. The containers would then be shipped to Russia. The same gloves had already been back and forth over the border half a dozen times.

  Each container could fit fifty to seventy large flat-screen TVs. Retail values for each was between eight and fifteen thousand euros. The TVs already had a buyer, though Markkanen only had a name, probably fictitious, and a phone number.

  Only twenty more miles to go.

  Over the past year, the news had been reporting that Russians were buying cabins and lakeshore lots in Eastern Finland. Markkanen wondered if these TVs were bound for their summer villas, or to be sold in shady retail stores. It was none of his business. His job was to ensure that the transfer at the warehouse went smoothly, and to collect the money.

  The speedometer had climbed over sixty, and Markkanen eased his foot off the gas.

  * * *

  Suhonen’s phone beeped. He bolted awake and snatched it off the nightstand before realizing that it wasn’t a call, but the alarm. The room was dark; the curtains blocked out the sunlight.

  He flopped onto his back and scratched his side. An old stab wound itched from time to time, begging for lotion.

  Suhonen stretched his arms and legs. He’d have to make it to the gym today. That and wash the dishes, do laundry, and vacuum. His two-bedroom in Kallio wasn’t exactly tidy.

  After Suhonen’s “marriage candidate” had moved out, Kulta proposed that they room together. If they pooled their money, they could save enough for a flat-screen TV and a housekeeper. The stove and dishwasher were dispensable, since the pizza guy would bring the food. If you brought a girlfriend to the pad, you’d have to fill the fridge with beer. The house cleaner could be paid with deposit returns from all the empty bottles and cans.

  Suhonen had promised himself that he’d eat healthier. But once again, the night had ended with a meat pie doused in ketchup and mayo and a pint of milk from a 24-hour grill stand. He had pounded down the calorie bomb at four in the morning.

  Should, should, should… He should get in the shower now.

  Suhonen grabbed his phone off the table and squinted at it. The clock said 9:31 A.M. He checked the GPS tracker for Saarnikangas’ van. It was still at the apartment in Pihlajamäki and hadn’t moved all night.

  He selected another vehicle from the drop-down menu. This one had sat in Pikku-Huopalahti overnight. The previous evening, he had caught up to Ilari Lydman’s Mazda, followed it, and installed a tracking device in the parking lot.

  Suhonen stood up, took off his boxers, and head
ed for the shower.

  He stopped at the bedroom door and took turns stretching his quads.

  CHAPTER 17

  PASILA POLICE HEADQUARTERS

  THURSDAY, 10:30 A.M.

  “Glad to see everyone made it,” Lieutenant Takamäki said to start off the meeting. He had arranged it on short notice. Mikko Kulta, Kirsi Kohonen, and Anna Joutsamo sat on one side of the conference room, Takamäki and Suhonen on the other. Kannas, the head of Forensics was at the end of the table behind a stack of papers.

  Sergeant Maija Laakso from the Financial Crimes Unit sat a couple chairs further down. Earlier, Suhonen had wondered aloud why she was attending, but Joutsamo explained that Laakso was representing the computer nerd unit. Apparently, they had found something on Eriksson’s laptop.

  Suhonen tasted his coffee. He could have gone for some pastries too, but thanks to budget cuts, they were bound by a coffee-only policy. He studied Joutsamo’s timeline on the wall. Eriksson’s movements on Monday evening were beginning to come together.

  “Let’s get started,” Takamäki continued, glancing at Kannas.

  “Okay,” the big man growled. “Some of the evidence from the crime scene has been analyzed. We found a decent amount of hair and fibers, but we haven’t been able to go through them all yet. We do know that someone with blue overalls and a black wool hat has been at the scene. Of course, we’re waiting for you to bring us samples for comparison.”

  The detectives nodded.

  “We found a wad of chewing gum and some cigarette butts in the yard. There were plenty of those, but we focused on the fresh ones. The most interesting piece of evidence was the gum, which gave us a DNA sample. We compared it to the DNA database this morning and found a match,” Kannas paused. “In other words, we have a possible suspect.”

  “Wow,” Kulta exclaimed.

  Kannas slid a document toward the detectives. Joutsamo snatched it first and glanced at Suhonen. “Juha Saarnikangas.”

  Suhonen’s face was expressionless.

  “It’s difficult to determine how old the gum is, but we can probably try some further analysis at the lab. I would think they could tell from the composition whether it’s relatively fresh or been there awhile, but I don’t actually know. However, it’s clear that Saarnikangas has been at the crime scene at some point. The timing could be confirmed by analyzing the tires on his van. The tire tracks at the scene were left by GT Radials, and, according to Joutsamo, Saarnikangas has a matching set on his van. If we get our hands on the tires, we can easily check whether it was the same van.”

  Takamäki nodded. “So Saarnikangas is a strong suspect. You all remember, of course, that Saarnikangas owed Eriksson a rather large sum of money. I should also mention that according to Customs, the tip about Eriksson being their informant is not true.”

  Joutsamo interjected. “In other words, Saarnikangas had an apparent motive, and we’ve linked him to the crime scene. His criminal record is another strike.”

  Takamäki interrupted Joutsamo. “Before we make any conclusions… Maija, why don’t you tell us what you found on the computer.”

  Laakso had dark hair, a round face, and heavy build, and she wore glasses. Suhonen figured she hadn’t attended the police academy, but was hired from some IT firm.

  “Right,” Laakso began. “The computer was a run-of-the-mill laptop, costs about a thousand euros. The internet service provider was Wizard. We haven’t received the broadband service reports from the ISP, so for now we’re just relying on the data from the laptop.”

  Laakso glanced at the others, but nobody said anything.

  “So… We found Jerry Eriksson’s fingerprints on the keyboard, along with somebody else’s,” she said, glancing at Joutsamo. “Based on an initial comparison, the second person was probably Kristiina Nyholm.”

  Joutsamo cut in. “This Kristiina was here this morning to report Eriksson as missing, and I interviewed her. She told me about the events of the evening, and also gave me Eriksson’s cellphone number. We’ve filed a warrant for the phone records. Just in case, I took her fingerprints and had a look at them with a magnifying glass. They appear to match those found on the laptop.”

  “Did you have the legal authority to take her prints?” Kulta asked.

  “I asked her and she agreed,” Joutsamo answered.

  “I don’t suppose you told her that her lost property had been found already.”

  “No.”

  “Cruel,” Kulta scolded.

  Before Joutsamo could say anything, Takamäki interjected, “Anna and I agreed on that strategy. Go on, Maija.”

  Kulta shrugged.

  “He had your typical Windows software, but we didn’t find any interesting documents. There was some photo-editing software and what not, but no photos on the hard drive. Because of child porn cases, we have excellent programs for finding photos anywhere on the hard drive. Nor did we find any Word or Excel documents. The email application had never been used.”

  “What we found on the internet side was much more interesting. Apparently, he used the computer for banking. Here’s the account number,” Laakso said, passing a sheet of paper to Takamäki.

  “Whose is it?”

  “It belongs to a fronting company. We haven’t requested the official account information since that requires a lieutenant’s authorization.”

  “Consider it done,” Takamäki said, handing the paper to Joutsamo.

  “The computer has also been used to access a couple of free email servers. Here are the user names and passwords,” she said, and gave the paper straight to Joutsamo. “We found a few fragments of text, which are included on that document.”

  Joutsamo glanced at the page. The text was a lot of sports talk, but more importantly, the recipient’s email address was included. It was unlikely that Eriksson would jabber on about hockey games with his killer, but if need be, the address would allow them to learn more about his circle of friends. At this point, that was unnecessary: Saarnikangas’ DNA had been found at the crime scene. That was strong evidence.

  “In addition, I have a list of the webpages he visited recently. To an outsider’s eye, it looks like fairly ordinary internet activity, but since I don’t know the details of the investigation, I’ll leave that to you. But there are, for example, Google searches for ‘police’ and he’s also been reading about criminal law.”

  “A civilized criminal,” Kulta said.

  “Thank you, Maija,” Takamäki said.

  Laakso stood up. “Let me know if you need anything else.”

  “The DNA evidence is definitely the most significant,” Kulta said.

  “Thanks,” Kannas muttered. “Crime scene investigation. Work with a purpose!”

  Kulta spoke up. “I think we should take Saarnikangas into custody and start the interrogation. He’ll talk. Maybe not right away, but he’s in so deep that he’ll have to say something.”

  “My thoughts exactly,” Joutsamo added.

  Takamäki looked at Suhonen.

  “I don’t think he did it,” Suhonen pronounced. “And even if he did, it wasn’t because of the debt. Yesterday I went to shake him up a bit, and right afterwards he left to meet a certain Ilari Lydman. Then, right away, a livid Lydman went out of his way to make a call on a landline. Those actions don’t indicate that debt was the motive.”

  “I’m not arguing with that,” Joutsamo added. “This could very well be a contract hit, but we’ll know more when we get him to talk. If he doesn’t talk, then that’s his own fault. He’ll get life.”

  Takamäki nodded. “Suhonen, bring him in.”

  * * *

  Markus Markkanen reached the entrance of the warehouse grounds and opened the padlock on the chain-link gate. The lock was new, but the fence was falling apart. Rust had eaten through the coating on the steel.

  Maybe the Kouvola industrial district was too crowded for this type of job, but nobody would pay attention. The section he had rented was tucked away on the perimeter.r />
  Markkanen drove inside, leaving the gate open. The warehouse was clad in corrugated sheet metal, and was large enough that a semi-truck could fit inside.

  He left his car behind the building and walked the grounds. Not much to check out: a few worn-out tires and a stack of pallets.

  The gate key also fit the lock for the warehouse, and he opened the door. The building was long, cold, and empty, designed expressly for unloading cargo. He snapped on the lights.

  The semi would have enough room to back up to a loading dock in the rear. From there, a ramp descended to ground level. The goods would be quickly transferred from the shipping container to a truck or van. The smaller vehicles had a separate entrance. When a van was full, another would take its place. The forklift in the corner of the building would speed things up considerably.

  Along the wall were a tall stack of cardboard boxes and some plastic pallets with Russian text. Those were the rubber gloves.

  He tried the forklift, which started easily. Everything was in order. He glanced at the clock: 10:40 A.M. The buyer’s vehicles would be there at 10:50 and the first semi at 11:00. If everything went smoothly, the loading and unloading would take less than an hour.

  Markkanen checked the holster on the small of his back again. The gun was still there.

  * * *

  Takamäki was sitting in his office, sifting through piles of email. It seemed like the Ministry of Interior had gone nuts. Every week, a new flood of directives on criminal investigations arrived. This time, the Narcotics Unit was to blame—a few of their officers had allegedly used rogue investigative methods, which had been making headlines for a year now, but the case was still pending. Takamäki couldn’t help thinking that on paper things were simpler—out on the streets, it was different. Maybe the desk jockeys ought to spend more time working undercover before judging others, he thought.