Helsinki Homicide: Against the Wall

by Jarkko Sipila

  “Okay,” the lieutenant said. “Let’s go around the table and figure out where we’re at. Anna?”

  “We’ve made the first arrest in the case,” Joutsamo began. “Lydman was taken into custody at the airport trying to leave for Bangkok. At this point, he’s suspected of murder. Our case against him isn’t very strong, but in my opinion, we can detain him on the grounds that he answered all our questions with ‘no comment.’ Even so, the evidence is pretty thin so far. Our suspicion is primarily based on the fact that he met with Saarnikangas a couple of times after the murder. On Saarnikangas’ end, we’ve confirmed his story with security camera footage. He was at the Teboil on the night of the murder, and we also found pictures of him at the Parkano ABC. Seems like Saarnikangas has been telling Suhonen the truth. Mikko has the details from Valkeakoski.”

  Takamäki continued around. “What’s new over there?”

  “What’s ever new over there? Friggin’ cold and wet. But the Fire Department divers fished out the murder weapon for us. It took until two in the morning, but they finally found it about a hundred feet from the shore…well within throwing distance. It’s a .22 caliber pistol and at the lab now… Haven’t heard from them yet. The local police are scouring the beach and the area around the cabin. The soil wasn’t the right consistency to hold tire tracks or foot prints. The owner of the cabin is apparently not connected to the case in any way. I spoke to him last night and seems he hasn’t been there since the beginning of September.”

  “Kirsi, anything new on the phone front?”

  “Surveillance is still quiet—no traffic at all. I did manage to get through the phone records. We got a cell number from Lydman, but it didn’t match any numbers on the lists. Apparently, these guys have been using so many single-use phones that it’s become impossible to track them all.”

  “Or they could have used a CB radio,” Kulta interjected.

  “Possible,” Takamäki said. “So the evidence is still leaning strongly toward Saarnikangas. He was linked to the crime scene with forensic evidence, and furthermore, we found a possible murder weapon based on his story.”

  Joutsamo was nodding.

  “Where is Saarnikangas now?”

  Suhonen glanced at his cellphone. “His van’s still at his apartment in Pihlajamäki; I would assume he’s there too.”

  “Assume?” Joutsamo asked.

  “That’s what I said.”

  “Since we have Lydman, we should bring Saarnikangas in, too. Let’s get the two of ’em tangled up in their own stories. Can we assume he’ll go on record?”

  “That I don’t know,” Suhonen said.

  “Did you make any progress last night?” Takamäki asked.

  “Well, a little. As far as I can tell, Saarnikangas is on the bottom rung. Next up is Lydman, and then one step further is this Markus Markkanen.”

  “Who’s that?” Takamäki asked.

  “Not a major player. He’s been a low- to mid-level violent offender. Goes by the nickname ‘Bogeyman’, which says a lot. Various beatings and debt collections, but recently he’s been clean. Not even a speeding ticket…”

  “Uhh,” Joutsamo interrupted. “I have to ask… How’d you know this Markkanen is involved?”

  Suhonen looked her in the eyes, “I met him last night.”

  “And he confessed to you?”

  “Well, no. But don’t interrupt,” said Suhonen. He had decided in advance what he would disclose, and how. “So… Markkanen is above Lydman, but the ladder doesn’t stop there. A businessman named Kalevi Lindström is also involved.”

  “Hey, wasn’t that…” Kulta blurted out.

  Suhonen nodded. “Exactly. Last night, someone threatened this Lindström by placing a pig’s head on the hood of his Mercedes.”

  “Who would threaten him, and why?” Kulta asked.

  “Weeell,” Suhonen spun his words. “From what I know, Markkanen is probably behind it, but he’s also associated with Lindström somehow. Both their cars are registered under the same owner, for example. Also, Markkanen is at Lindström’s apartment on Tehdas Street right now.”

  “How do you know that?” Joutsamo asked.

  “I was there watching when Markkanen went in,” Suhonen said, glad that they had passed up the pig’s head without any nosy questions. “I put his car under GPS surveillance.”

  Takamäki cut in. “So Markkanen’s playing games behind Lindström’s back.”

  “That’s what I’d say, but we have no hard evidence. This isn’t stuff that we could really take to court.”

  “So, how do you think Eriksson is mixed up in this?”

  “That I don’t know, but Anna can figure it out.”

  Joutsamo cracked up.

  Suhonen went on, “We still don’t know who pulled the trigger. Saarnikangas doesn’t know. If he did, he’d have told me.”

  “Okay,” said Takamäki, trusting Suhonen. “Lindström is clearly a new lead. Let’s follow that. So dig up his and Bogeyman’s records, backgrounds, and known associates. We’ll put their phones and internet connections under surveillance immediately. Once we get a little further, we’ll decide whether to bug the apartment.”

  “What about Saarnikangas?” Joutsamo asked, looking at Suhonen. “Just let him go free, or what?”

  “I think we should bring him in,” Suhonen said coolly, and stood up.

  “Wha…?” Joutsamo was stunned.

  “He did his job, and led us further down the trail. Bring him in. No need for the SWAT team—you’ll find him there in Pihlajamäki.”

  “Where you going?”

  Suhonen smiled. “Coffee…it’s ready. Anyone else want some?”

  * * *

  Markkanen tossed a paper cup full of coffee into the trash at the corner of Tehdas and Kapteeni Streets.

  “What?” Lindström asked.

  “Disgusting piss.”

  Lindström shrugged. He had ordered Markkanen to come along on his morning walk. Since he’d been forced to cancel the personal trainer, he had to make his own exercise. Markkanen didn’t have to walk the whole distance, but was permitted to stop for a few phone calls.

  The men stopped at the same corner where, eleven years earlier, Steen Christensen had executed two policemen. The chilling murders had shaken the whole country. Christensen had escaped from a Danish prison and made his way to Helsinki. In the middle of the night, he robbed a few hundred euros from a hotel cashier before being stopped by a patrol car while on foot. The Dane somehow surprised the two policemen, made them kneel and shot them execution style. This led to a massive manhunt before Christensen was finally apprehended two days later, sixty miles north of Helsinki.

  Lindström was wearing a blue tracksuit, and Markkanen a leather jacket.

  “The Skulls were behind Eriksson’s murder.” Markkanen said.

  “Where’d you get that information?”

  “A prison source. Better if you don’t know the details.”

  Lindström gazed up the street. The parking spaces were all full, but few people were out in the bleak gray November air.

  “They wouldn’t initiate something like that on their own. So who?”

  “No, they wouldn’t. A criminal from Lahti named Suikkanen took out the contract. Now the Skulls want a hundred grand to switch sides.”

  “A hundred grand?”

  “If you ask me, it’s worth it. We’d be back in business, problem-free. Otherwise they’ll stick with Suikkanen.”

  A cold gust of wind rushed down the street. Lindström had worked up a light sweat that had begun to cool. He pulled his blue stocking cap down a bit further.

  “Can’t you take care of this?” Lindström suggested.

  “I can take care of Suikkanen, but I need back up to go against the Skulls. That would cost a lot more than a hundred Gs.”

  “I’ll have to think about it.”

  “They want an answer today. Visiting hours at the prison end at 2:15. We have to decide by then, otherwise it
could get ugly.”

  “Who’s this Suikkanen?” Lindström asked, beginning to run in place.

  “I don’t know him. I hear he’s some gangster from Lahti running booze and cigarette rackets. But we can’t start a war against the Skulls. We can take care of Suikkanen later, as long as we resolve the immediate danger.”

  “How’d Suikkanen know about Eriksson?”

  Markkanen shrugged.

  “What about the next shipment? Did you call the Customs guy?”

  “Yes,” Markkanen said, telling the truth this time. “He was a little worried, but apparently we have the green light. They had nothing on the ship.”

  “Good. I’ll call if I need you,” Lindström said, and trotted off towards home.

  Markkanen watched him jog away, his shoes scuffing the ground. Geezer. How could someone so stupid be so rich. There was something wrong with that.

  * * *

  Jouko Nyholm was sitting at his desk at the Customs office. The morning had been bearable, but now sweat began to bead up beneath the inspector’s collar.

  Markkanen’s call had violated the email protocol they had agreed on. Once again, he was told to sift through confidential Customs intelligence on some ship and its cargo. This time, Nyholm hadn’t dared, since all computer searches were archived and could be easily retrieved.

  He was convinced the police were onto him. The connection from Eriksson to his daughter, and then on to him was too obvious. Chances were, his phone was already tapped and his computer activities were under surveillance. He struggled to remember what words he had used with Markkanen. Could they reveal the entire scheme?

  Now he’d have to lay low. He had told Markkanen that the coast was clear. And maybe it was, but Nyholm wasn’t sure. Ships and their cargoes were continually analyzed, right up to the point of arrival.

  How could he get out of this? To begin with, he had to calm down and give the impression that everything was fine. Why the hell had he come to work? He should’ve just called in sick; that would’ve been easiest…the flu or something.

  “Hello.”

  The low voice startled Nyholm. It was Snellman; he hadn’t even heard any footsteps.

  Nyholm spun around in his chair and tried to smile. No sound escaped his lips.

  “What’s wrong?” Snellman asked. “Something bothering you?”

  He coughed. “The flu has me on the ropes.”

  “Hmm, well, don’t leave just yet. That detective lieutenant called to say he’s coming to ask about something again. He wouldn’t say what it was over the phone. I might need you, so take two aspirin and sweat it out.”

  Nyholm’s throat was so dry and constricted he nearly vomited.

  CHAPTER 24

  HELSINKI PRISON

  FRIDAY, 1:10 P.M.

  Eero Salmela sat in the visitors’ area of the prison compound, waiting. He was alone, apart from the blue-uniformed guard who had escorted him out of the cell block. The guard stood by the wall.

  The large, elongaged room contained half a dozen tables fitted with low Plexiglas dividers. The tables had two, sometimes three plastic chairs bolted to either side.

  Most of the room was below ground level. The windows, high up on the walls, were just above grade level.

  Salmela had already been waiting for five minutes. He glanced at the brawny guard, who was staring blankly at the opposite wall. He pitied the guard: someday he would get out of here, but the guard’s job tied him to this shit pen for life.

  The door opened, and a second guard brought in a big man wearing a leather jacket. The man’s demeanor was confident, yet somehow uncertain. Salmela had never met him, but could immediately tell that the man had done time before. He wasn’t surprised.

  The guard led the visitor to the table. “You both know the rules. No contact, no matter how much you love each other. If you want that, you need to apply for a family room.” Then he withdrew to the wall.

  The big man sat on the chair. “How long you in for?” he asked, trying to appear sympathetic.

  “What’s it to you?” Salmela rasped. The noise level in the visiting room was always at a whisper. Nobody wanted to be heard by the next table, and even less by the guards. “I’m not counting anyway… What do you want?”

  The man squinted his eyes. “Shit, you want me to go?”

  “Whatever. Doesn’t matter to me.”

  He remained silent, looking at Salmela. “Name?”

  “What’s yours?” Salmela shot back. In case the guards asked, both the visitor and the prisoner needed to know each other’s names.

  “Markkanen.”

  “Salmela.”

  Markkanen nodded. “Okay. I’ll keep this short. Tell Larsson I need Korpela again. Everything’s under control, no problems. I’ll take care of the money and the other demands.”

  Salmela nodded, reflecting. For Larsson, that might be enough, but he wanted to know more. The guy clearly didn’t know who or what rank he was dealing with. “How much?”

  “Same as before.”

  “Not enough,” Salmela said. If he was to negotiate on the Skulls’ behalf, he might as well act the part. Nothing was ever enough for them.

  “What do you mean ‘not enough?’ A deal is a deal.”

  Salmela wanted more background on this deal, even if it wasn’t very smart.

  “C’mon. You need help—we do that, but it don’t come free. Thirty percent more.”

  “What?” Markkanen groaned.

  Salmela’s face was rigid. He tried to guess at what Larsson might demand. Money for sure, but the Skulls couldn’t send an assassin after just anybody. Larsson would definitely be interested in the target.

  “You heard me.”

  “Okay. Thirty.”

  Salmela accepted the offer. “Someone’s gonna call you on the cell today. If he asks about your bro, then it’s a go. But if he asks about your sister, no deal.”

  “Understood.”

  “You sure? Girls usually say no, so that’s a refusal.”

  “Nice code.”

  “One more question: who’s the target?”

  “What’s it to you?”

  “Don’t be stupid. Loyalty is all that matters in here.”

  Markkanen sized up Salmela. Who was this guy? He’d made the contact through the usual channels, so there was no reason to doubt the guy was representing the Skulls. Something was not quite right, though. Most messengers just rattled off information, but this guy was negotiating. Maybe this Salmela was some kind of lieutenant or something, though Markkanen didn’t know much about the Skulls’ hierarchy.

  “Well, okay,” he began. “A guy from Lahti named Suikkanen. He thinks he’s hot shit, but he’s not. I want him gone.”

  Salmela tried to seem indifferent. “What’s he look like?”

  “Early forties. Wears a leather jacket and has a long rap sheet. Short, dark hair.”

  Salmela nodded. Aside from Suhonen’s alias, he didn’t know any other Suikkanens who’d match that description. What had his old friend gotten mixed up in now?

  * * *

  Suikkanen was a convenient pawn, Markkanen thought. Very convenient.

  It was nearly 1:30 P.M., and the Corner Pub was beginning to fill up in honor of Friday. It probably had more to do with the fact that their beer was the cheapest on the street today.

  Suikkanen brought the coffees and sat down on the other side of a table pock-marked with cigarette burns.

  Suhonen and Markkanen leaned in closer. They kept their voices to a murmur.

  “Did the Mercedes guy pay up?”

  “No,” Markkanen said. “He laughed in my face and said he’d save the pig’s head for Christmas.”

  Suhonen sipped his coffee. “Should we try again, maybe a bit more persuasively?” He clenched his fist.

  Fool, but a gift from heaven, Markkanen thought. “That’s what I was thinking, though it won’t do me any good if you just kick the shit out of him.”

  “You want the mo
ney, right?”

  “Precisely. The guy lives in the same complex where the garage is. There’s a safe in his apartment with cash in it. Not sure how much—I just know he’s loaded.”

  “So whaddya want me to do?” Suhonen asked.

  “Simple. Go to his apartment, make him open the safe, and bring me the money. I’ll collect my debt and the rest is yours.”

  “Just leftovers?”

  “Five grand no matter what, of course.”

  Suhonen raked his fingers through his hair. “I don’t know. What kind of guy is this?”

  “Name’s Kalevi Lindström. He’s a businessman selling black market goods to Russia. He runs a tight ship, but otherwise he’s soft. You shouldn’t have any problems.”

  Suhonen narrowed his eyes. “Why don’t you do it yourself?”

  “I can’t jeopardize the relationship. We’re in the middle of a couple deals.”

  “Okay,” Suhonen said, hardening again. “How far do you want this to go?”

  “Just rough him up a little…that should be enough. He’s weak.”

  Markkanen was sure Lindström wouldn’t open the safe without a fight. Might even die first.

  His plan was beginning to look better and better. Suikkanen would take care of Lindström, and the Skulls would off Suikkanen. And even if Lindström didn’t die, he’d certainly end up in the hospital for a stretch. Suikkanen had what it takes. Shit, he even beat up a cop. In any case, the old power struggles would cease, and Markkanen would be firmly second in command, maybe even in Lindström’s shoes. That gave him another idea: might it be better if he arrived just in time to save Lindström’s life?

  Eriksson had wormed his way into his job with deceit and lies. Now he would do the same. His hand was just a little heavier.

  “When?” Suhonen asked.

  “Today. It’s urgent. He’ll be at home from three o’clock onward. Be there at four.” He took a piece of paper out of his pocket and began to sketch a floor plan of the apartment.