Helsinki Homicide: Vengeance

by Jarkko Sipila

  The agents took an interest in his time in prison as well. What cell had he been in? Whom had he spoken with? How had he met the Skulls’ Larsson? They wanted to know how Salmela had gotten his head injury. He gave them the same yarn he gave while still in prison: he had tripped on the stairs. In truth, Salmela’s enemy had paid a prison guard for the hit.

  The agents weren’t convinced by his story, but they accepted it.

  They pried into the origins of his debt and his recent experiences with the Skulls. Salmela had complained about his headache and was allowed to rest in the bedroom for half an hour. He had assumed that Suhonen had told the agents about those encounters. The rest did him some good and he ate some more. He’d stay quiet about the hike in the Nuuksio forest.

  “Alright, then,” said Aalto, drawing a hand over his long face. “We’ve made good progress here and your honesty is encouraging. I think we’re on the same wavelength.”

  Salmela was suspicious of this, but didn’t respond. The cops might think they were on the same wavelength, but he didn’t share the sentiment.

  “You have kids?” Salmela asked Aalto.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “I have to trust you, so tell me.”

  Aalto was taken aback. “Yes. Two little girls.”

  “What’s your wife’s name and profession?”

  “What?”

  “What church were you married in? Where do you live?” Salmela pressed on.

  Aalto was irritated. “We can get back to that once we’ve worked together a while.”

  Salmela nodded. Clearly a one-sided relationship that wouldn’t last.

  “Let’s get back to the matter at hand,” said Aalto. “We still have a lot to talk about, and we’re already in the critical phase.”

  “What?”

  “You’re already on the inside,” Aalto elaborated.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Typically, in these cases it takes a long time to get the informant on the inside, but not in your case.”

  “Okay,” Salmela caught his drift. He had a job at the Skulls’ compound and the cops wanted intel from there. “What do you want from me?”

  “We need to know who hangs out there. Who meets with the bosses, like this Larsson. What do they talk about? If they have parties, we need you to bring us the cigarette butts.”

  “How come?” asked Salmela, remembering the marijuana butts in his pocket. Hopefully the cops wouldn’t find them.

  “We can find out who was there by extracting DNA and comparing it to the database. If someone you don’t know seems important, bring us his beer glass and we’ll get the prints. Of course, if you sense the risk of getting caught, forget it. Don’t put yourself in danger.”

  “Okay” said Salmela again. It seemed simple, yet left him with a foul taste. He wanted out of the Skulls, but now he was being squeezed between them and the police.

  “But the most important thing is that you keep your ears open and tell us if you notice any conflicts or tension. If anything really urgent or sudden happens, you’ll call my number, but otherwise we’ll meet weekly at this apartment or another.”

  “You have a lot of these, then?”

  “Enough,” Aalto smiled.

  “I don’t suppose anyone lives here?”

  “No.”

  Salmela thought for a second. Now it was his turn to ask the questions, “What’s in it for me?”

  “What do you want?”

  “To be safe for the rest of my life.”

  Both agents nodded their heads. “Your safety is our highest priority.”

  That was a smart answer, but it didn’t convince Salmela.

  “These Skulls are brutal. If they find out I’ve been talking to you, I’m dead.”

  “They won’t find out from us. If you let it slip yourself, all we can do is react, but I can guarantee nobody will find out through us.”

  “I just can’t believe you can actually wipe out the Skulls. They think I owe them twenty grand, so if I want to live, I have to pay up.” Salmela paused before continuing. “How do we deal with that?”

  “While the state can print money, they don’t do it for the police,” said Aalto. “Not even if we beg. Once we have something to go on, we’ll be able to pay you an appropriate amount to help with your financial needs.”

  The promise seemed nebulous to Salmela. “So you’ll only pay when you get something. But if I can’t bring you anything, you pay nothing?”

  “It’s not like that either, but my boss doesn’t cut blank checks.”

  Salmela stared Aalto in the eyes. “So maybe I should talk to your boss?”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “He doesn’t know who you are, nor do we want him to. Within the NBI, you have a code name that we can’t reveal to you. Your real name and code name are sealed in a safe.”

  “You never answered my question about the debt.”

  Aalto took a sip from the water bottle on the table. “It’s like this, Salmela. Right now, your value is about the same as this water. If I end up sitting at my desk staring at the screen, I won’t get thirsty. Coffee will do fine. But if you get me to run, sweat and get my heart rate up, then that’s worth something, and you’ll get your money. It all depends on you.”

  Right, of course, Salmela thought. He was regretting his decision already.

  “One more thing,” he said. “How long you think it’s going to take?”

  “We don’t know. A couple weeks, a couple months, a couple years. If you’re in that compound every day, it’s bound to yield some intel we can work with.”

  Salmela felt cold. The Skulls wanted him for a year and the cops for two. His mind conjured the image of a grill at a hot dog stand, with sausages pressed between two iron grates.

  One of the agents rose and walked over to the stereo, perhaps wanting something more cheerful to lighten the mood.

  A familiar hit sounded from the speakers. The singer’s ragged voice belted out, “You’re a beer glass on the bar, glossed by thirsty sips… The black rock of Islam, smoothed by countless lips.”

  Hell, Salmela thought. He rearranged the rhyme in his head, “A losing poker hand, give up the chips.”

  * * *

  Suhonen pulled his unmarked silver Peugeot into a parking space on the roof of the Prisma grocery store in southern Espoo. He seemed to recall having been to this store before, but wasn’t sure. All Prismas were alike—if you’d been to one, you’d been to them all.

  The undercover detective didn’t know why Juha Saarnikangas wanted to meet in Espoo of all places. Perhaps his informant had some business in the western suburbs or maybe the man had moved. The last Suhonen knew, Saarnikangas had lived across town, somewhere in East Helsinki.

  The ex-junkie had asked Suhonen to be at the parking ramp at six. Now it was five minutes till. The store was closed on Sundays and only a few cars remained. Suhonen spotted Juha’s white Ducato van near the entrance of the store.

  He pulled up to the side of the van. Saarnikangas watched from the driver’s seat as Suhonen got out of his car and climbed into the passenger seat.

  “Did you move or something?” asked Suhonen.

  Juha wiped some crumbs from his ragged army jacket. His dirty brown hair emerged from beneath a black beanie cap.

  “What do you mean?”

  “What are you doing here in Espoo?”

  Saarnikangas grinned. “Friend of mine lives around here. I’m doing a little remodeling for him.”

  Suhonen was skeptical. A few years ago, while in the clutches of a heroin addiction, the man would have scarcely been able to hold onto a hammer. Though now he could probably manage to hold on, Suhonen doubted the former art student would even know which end was up.

  “Plumbing or wiring?”

  Saarnikangas ignored the ribbing. “Neither, I’m putting in a parquet floor... You wanted to meet?” Juha looked impatient.

  “About your friend Karjalainen.
”

  “Right. I gathered that much over the phone, but why couldn’t you just ask about it then?”

  “I want to see your face when you answer,” said Suhonen with a steady gaze.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Just what I said—if you lie, I’ll see it.”

  Juha forced a laugh. “I figured you guys already had those phone-based lie detectors.”

  “Those are still in testing at the insurance companies.”

  “Listen, always nice to chat, but if you have something to ask me, ask it. I gotta run some errands.”

  “I thought you were laying some parquet.”

  Juha answered quickly, “Yeah, but I gotta get the wood first.”

  “Right,” said Suhonen. He made an expression that showed he had caught the man in a lie.

  “Karjalainen didn’t have any money in his pockets. Did you empty them?”

  Juha waited a moment too long to respond.

  “Don’t bother lying. If your hand was in his pocket, we’ll get the DNA.”

  He wasn’t sure if that was true, but the important thing was that Juha believed him.

  “Yeah, I cleaned ’em out.”

  “Why?”

  “He didn’t need it anymore.”

  “How much did he have?”

  “Maybe twenty, thirty euros. Not much.”

  “Where’s his cell phone?”

  Juha looked at Suhonen. “That’s what you want?”

  “What I want is to know what game you’re playing.”

  “Huh?”

  Suhonen’s expression was hard. “I suspect that Karjalainen was involved in amphetamine smuggling and had contacted you. You say he owed you some money, and suddenly, an experienced doper dies of an overdose in the train station’s bathroom. Doesn’t that make you wonder?”

  “Well, I guess…” said Juha, wondering how Suhonen had found out about Karjalainen’s involvement in the smuggling job. “…I sure ain’t mixed up in that… So what…” he trailed off. He had seen Suhonen with Salmela, who was also involved in the job. So was Salmela the rat?

  But, Salmela shouldn’t have known anything about his involvement in the drug shipment, Juha thought. Was the guy just faking his head injury? Maybe he wasn’t as dumb as he pretended to be. How much did Salmela actually know? Juha wouldn’t have believed that Salmela could have discovered his role in the job—the man had even sought financing from him. But apparently, Salmela knew much more.

  “What do you mean ‘so what?’” Suhonen demanded.

  “Nothing… Just that there’s a constant stream of drugs coming over from Estonia.”

  “How do you know this has anything to do with Estonia?”

  Saarnikangas snorted. “What do you mean? Almost all the speed in Finland is cooked in the Baltics and comes over by ship. Besides, Karjalainen told me he’d been over there.”

  “When did he say that?”

  “When we set up the train station meeting. We were supposed to meet earlier, but he’d been in Tallinn. I think he had some woman over there.”

  Saarnikangas tried to remember when he had talked to Karjalainen, and what phone he had used. Suhonen would doubtless find Karjalainen’s number, which would allow him to trace the calls.

  The full smuggling scheme wasn’t entirely clear to Saarnikangas. Karjalainen, deep in debt, had told him that a woman had given him the packets on the ship in order to spread the risk. Apparently, someone in Tallinn had ratted out the woman as payback for her flings, or so he had heard.

  His own role was minor. He had picked up Karjalainen from the harbor, taken the dope, and cut it to street purity. Then, under orders from Mike Gonzales, he had delivered it to the Skulls’ compound.

  “I see,” said Suhonen. “A woman, huh?”

  “I believe so.”

  “I don’t.”

  Saarnikangas had no intention of taking the fall for this gig. There was no point in talking to Suhonen anymore. The cop was just fishing for bits of info and connecting them until, one day, Juha would end up in jail for a stupid drug deal. Then, inevitably, he would be the fall guy, since he couldn’t talk about his employers, at least not if he valued his life.

  Saarnikangas grew impatient. “Fuck, I don’t know. He lived by the fire station and had a common-law wife. They rolled junkies together. Wouldn’t surprise me if he pimped her to pay debts. He even offered her to me once.”

  “You take him up on it?”

  “No. Pretty sure that broad’s got HIV. I’ve been lucky and dodged it so far, so I don’t want to take the risk. I’m just trying to stay clean and get my life back in order… I’ve got no part in this except Karjalainen owed me some money, went to the bathroom and died. And I was stupid enough to call you in a panic.”

  Suhonen didn’t respond.

  “You need anything else?”

  “Not now, but if you want to stay out of jail, don’t lie to me anymore.”

  As Suhonen climbed out of the van, Saarnikangas cursed Salmela under his breath. They had meant to take advantage of the simpleton, but the fool had gone and talked to the cops, and most likely, Salmela had mentioned him by name.

  * * *

  Joonas was sitting in the kitchen eating the spaghetti his dad had just prepared.

  “This is great,” he said between gulps of milk from a plastic mug. “What is it?”

  “A secret recipe,” said Takamäki.

  “So… Barelli spaghetti and Ragu sauce.”

  Takamäki sat down at the table with his own plate. Six chairs circled the table, but two were buried under piles of mail. “Not sure about the brands, but you got the recipe right.”

  As hungry as the boy was, Takamäki suspected he wouldn’t have noticed if the hamburger were raw and the pasta uncooked.

  “Can I ask you about something?” said Joonas.

  “Of course.”

  “We went through the principles of business today in econ and learned that the primary purpose of every business is to maximize profits for its owners.”

  Takamäki wasn’t entirely sure that he agreed, but apparently that’s how it was explained. “Yeah.”

  “So, with that same logic, what would you say is the purpose of an ordinary citizen?”

  Takamäki wasn’t prepared for this kind of conversation, but at this point, he couldn’t wiggle out without an answer. “What did they tell you in class?”

  “Nothing. That’s why I’m interested.”

  “Well, under that model, I’d say it would be to maximize your own welfare as well as that of your family and friends,” said Takamäki. “And the best way to maximize your welfare is to…”

  “Don’t get into that yet,” said Joonas. “Let’s stick to the principles. So, let’s take a look at you, Dad. What’s the objective of a civil servant?”

  Takamäki thought for a moment. “To maximize the welfare of society, certainly. A civil servant can’t think about himself.”

  Joonas nodded. “Let’s keep going. So, what about a criminal?”

  Takamäki wondered if he was walking into a trap.

  “Criminals only think of themselves.”

  “So,” the boy paused. “You said the goal of an ordinary citizen is to maximize his own welfare, but isn’t that the same objective as the criminal’s who only thinks of himself?”

  Takamäki bobbed his head vaguely. “As an end, maybe, but the means…”

  “Let’s not get into the means, let’s just stick with the principles.”

  “These principles…”

  Joonas cut him off. “And with the civil servant thinking of the entire society’s welfare, which is actually pretty far removed from the interests of its individual citizens. Aren’t citizens just tools of the society?”

  Takamäki took a deep breath. “As I recall, the conversation started with economics, and how the goal of a corporation is to make a profit. That right there is a banker’s philosophy, but in my view, profit can’t be the sole objective
for business owners. A healthy society benefits business owners, too. What good is a wheelbarrow full of money if you can’t buy anything with it?”

  “What do the police want, then?” asked Joonas.

  Takamäki paused to think. “The police want to eliminate crime, of course.”

  “So they’d put themselves out of a job.”

  “Honestly, I’d rather be a florist than a cop. But because this banker’s philosophy of self-interest is so deep-rooted in society, somebody has to do the dirty work. The police are society’s scrub brush.”

  Jonas thought for a while, and asked “You think the police should be able to solve all crimes?”

  “In theory, that’s the idea. But the cost to society…additional taxes, loss of privacy, loss of freedom…would be prohibitive.”

  “Are you serious?” Joonas blurted out with a broad smile. “Aren’t you rejecting your own profession by saying that crime has to be accepted?”

  To hell with this philosophical talk. Philosophy was the furthest thing from a homicide detective’s mind when trying to sort out which of the drunks in an apartment had been sober enough to manage to sink a knife in another one’s chest.

  His mind wandered back to the police academy dorms and the debates they had had on the same topic. Over countless beers, they had hashed it out till the wee hours. One day, they had even asked a police academy instructor, who had one piece of advice: If the conversation gets too difficult, always remember that a cop’s toolbox includes a billy club.

  “Want some more spaghetti?”

  “Sure, but answer my question.”

  “Here’s my answer: Eat, do your homework, clean your room and then I’ll take you to hockey practice.”

  “Do I get an iPhone?”

  “No. By the way, have you been in touch with Ripa?”

  “Why?”

  “Just asking.”

  “You interested in him or his brother?”

  Takamäki chuckled, but his voice took on a serious tone. “If his brother is really in the Skulls, then I’m interested, particularly if he kills somebody or gets killed himself. Hard to say which will happen first.”

  Joonas said nothing.

  “It’s your decision, but if you ask me, I’d tell you to stay away from that Ripa and his brother.”