“What if the trap wasn’t meant for us?” asked Nykänen.
Takamäki set his coffee cup on the table. “Then it was meant for them. Somebody wanted to attack the Skulls, which would indicate some sort of underworld war.”
“They’ve been dealing with the Estonians, who have a long history of bombings, at least in the nineties.” Suhonen pointed out.
“You mean that Zubrov…the one you saw about a week ago with Mike Gonzales?” Nykänen asked.
“Hard to say. I really don’t have anything on Zubrov. In any case, if someone is gonna bomb the Skulls, they have to be pretty big. I haven’t heard anything about any recent gang rivalries.”
“It’s certainly not impossible,” Nykänen replied. “But it’s unlikely. I haven’t heard anything either, though Estonia’s not exactly within earshot.”
“What were Aalto and Lind supposed to do with the car?” asked Takamäki.
Nykänen hunched his shoulders. “Just put a tracking device on it. They weren’t supposed to go inside, not even in the trunk.”
“So,” Takamäki went on. “Apparently, the Opel had some kind of tamper-sensing detonator, or else someone was watching from a distance and detonated it remotely. But the techies will figure all that out. They’ll rake up every last scrap off those gravel fields.”
Suhonen stood up and asked if anybody wanted more coffee. A minute later, he returned with three full cups.
“Was Lind married?” he asked, sitting down.
“Only to his job,” said Nykänen. “He divorced ten years ago and his wife had custody of their son. Drank too much for a couple years, but pulled himself together when he was a few inches shy of getting fired. Aalto has two girls, two and four years old.”
Takamäki imagined the scene in which dad came home from the hospital and his little girls asked why his hand was missing.
“I contacted the hospital,” said Nykänen. “Aalto could lose one of his eyes too, if he makes it at all.”
Daddy, how come your other eye doesn’t move? Explosions often caused serious brain damage as well. Aalto might not even remember his daughters’ names.
Suhonen changed the subject. “What about the car. Anybody have any info on that?”
“They recovered a license plate beginning with ‘AFR,’ but it wasn’t the car’s actual plate. It was one of those old ’80s Opel Kadetts that were all over the news when that eighteen-year-old swerved off the road and killed four of his friends.”
Takamäki started to pull the pieces together. “So most likely, the Skulls were onto Salmela and the car was a trap.”
Takamäki’s phone rang suddenly. The caller was Römpötti.
“I have to take this,” Takamäki said and answered the phone.
The other two listened in.
“Hey there,” she chirped. “Thank God you’re alive. I was worried…”
“Doing just fine,” he interrupted her. “Listen, I have one question.”
She laughed. “I have more than one for you.”
“Answer mine first. You mentioned the Skulls on the news. Where’d you get that information?”
She paused. “You know I can’t answer those kinds of questions.”
“Yeah, I know. But this is no petty misdemeanor. We’re talking about murder and attempted murder,” Takamäki snapped. The seriousness of the crime would allow him to subpoena her, especially since it was potentially leaked from inside the police force. “Let me rephrase the question in a way I know you can answer.”
“Go for it.”
“Did it come from a government source or somewhere else?”
Römpötti cleared her throat. From the wind in the background, Takamäki could tell she was still outside. “I’ll answer that if you tell me whether it’s true.”
Takamäki thought for a while. She had already broadcast the allegation, so there was no harm in confirming it off the record.
“It’s true, but don’t quote us. ‘Our exclusive sources’ will work just fine,” he said, then waited.
“The lead didn’t come from the police or any other government source.”
“Are you positive? This is very important. Don’t lie to me here.”
“Trust me. I never would, and hopefully you wouldn’t either,” she replied. “That’s all I can tell you about my source. No more. If you want to override my confidentiality, you’ll have to take me to court.”
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 ca
ll 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 find 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.
Helsinki Homicide: Vengeance Page 21
