Helsinki Homicide: Vengeance

by Jarkko Sipila

  Suhonen stepped out and listened. The woods were quiet.

  “Salmela,” he whispered. Nobody answered, not even the trees. Suhonen had no intention of shouting.

  He waited there for a minute to let his eyes adjust to the dark. The zipper on his leather jacket was open for easy access to his Glock, which wasn’t drawn yet. Suhonen felt that a drawn weapon was a sign of fear. He wasn’t afraid of the dark, nor the unknown. Had he been, he may as well have applied for a desk job.

  He could see into the woods now, at least somewhat, and he circled the hut. As he reached the gable end, he noticed the red paint flaking off the walls. Aside from that, the building was in surprisingly good condition. He peeked around the corner. The back side had a door, and a small lone window on the far end, close to the eaves.

  Suhonen rounded the corner quietly. Only a few yards separated the building from the forest.

  He continued on to the door. There were two alternatives: either go straight inside or shout for Salmela. Suhonen thought briefly, drew his pistol, and without warning, jerked the door open.

  Salmela was kneeling on the floor. A piece of silver duct tape covered his mouth, but his eyes were directed to Suhonen’s right. Suhonen turned to look, dropped down and raised his weapon. In the corner, Rolf Steiner stood grinning, a pistol in his hand.

  Suhonen fired and the shot was deafening. The bullet hit Steiner in his right thigh and he fell to the floor.

  “Shi-it,” Steiner moaned, clutching his bleeding thigh.

  Suhonen kicked the man’s fallen gun into the corner and his eyes darted around the room. It was some sort of tool shed, or at least it had been, for all that was left was a vise, a couple of stools, some electrical equipment and ropes. Other than Steiner and Salmela, nobody else was there.

  Suhonen looked at the gangster. Blood was spilling onto the floor beneath his leg and the man was cursing in pain. With his gun off in the corner, Steiner seemed harmless, but “seemed” wasn’t good enough for Suhonen. He quickly checked the man’s pockets and tossed a bloody knife into the same corner, next to the gun.

  Suhonen knelt down in front of Salmela and jerked the tape off of his mouth. His hands were apparently tied behind his back.

  “You alright?” asked Suhonen.

  “Watch out,” Salmela managed to say, but Suhonen knew it was already too late. He felt the pressure of cold metal against the back of his head. Apparently, his ears were still ringing so loudly he hadn’t heard the door open.

  “Hello,” said Tapani Larsson coldly. “Drop the gun and put your hands behind your back.”

  Suhonen weighed his options. Larsson was directly behind him, but Suhonen was kneeling, and wouldn’t be able to turn quickly enough to surprise the gangster. Larsson would surely pull the trigger, and even if Suhonen managed to dodge the bullet, Salmela was in the line of fire.

  “Larsson, just shoot him and come help me,” Steiner groaned from the corner.

  “Just wait,” Larsson commanded. “Hands behind your back, Suikkanen.”

  “Suikkanen” referred to Suhonen’s alias, the same one he had used a couple of years ago when he arrested Larsson for extortion.

  Suhonen lowered his weapon to the floor and started to stand up. But the barrel of Larsson’s gun did not yield, and he was forced to kneel again.

  “I’m sure you know how to work these,” said Larsson as he handed Suhonen a pair of cuffs with his free hand. The barrel of the gun never left his head.

  If he was going to try something, he should do it now, thought Suhonen. But he had no chance. No matter what, Larsson would be able to pull the trigger.

  Suhonen put his hands behind his back and cuffed himself. Larsson hastily tightened them. At no point did he give Suhonen an opportunity to surprise him.

  “Get up,” he commanded, and Suhonen stood up.

  Without delay, Larsson shoved him into the wall, and the cop tumbled to the floor. Unable to use his hands to break his fall, his shoulder struck the cement floor hard.

  “Help me,” Steiner wailed.

  Larsson went to his brother’s side. His jeans were soaked with blood, which was now pooling on the floor. Larsson checked the man’s pulse—it was racing.

  “You’ll be alright,” he attempted to comfort Steiner.

  “You said he’d give a warning first, not just shoot. Fuck… This is the last time I agree to anything like this. Next time you can be the fucking decoy… Fuck… He pulled the trigger instantly… I should’ve shot his face off… once he came inside.” Steiner spoke haltingly.

  That’s what the cops had always done before, Larsson thought. They always gave a warning. Their plan had been for Suhonen to arrest Steiner, and then for Larsson to surprise the cop. Even though the plan hadn’t worked out, for Larsson, the result was just as good.

  True, Steiner’s leg looked bad. The bullet had apparently ruptured a large vein in his thigh, and he could bleed to death. Larsson considered his options, but they all led to the same conclusion. Steiner needed urgent medical care. He had to protect his brother—it was his duty to get the man to a hospital.

  But on the other hand, now he finally had the chance to punish Suhonen. Every night in the pen, he had dwelt on revenge. But it would have to wait. A bullet in the back of the head would be fine for the rat, but too painless for the pig. Salmela should be kept alive for now, since executing him in front of Suhonen would intensify the agony.

  A choice, that’s what this was about. Fuck, Larsson thought. Suhonen had to die and he would, but not so easily. He wanted to see the pig cry and beg for mercy. That’s what revenge was about. Domination and power. For the victim to be totally at your mercy and devoid of any hope. Larsson wanted to see him a desperate, blubbering mess—trying to cut a deal. But all in vain, for Larsson wouldn’t agree to any deal. He would only watch as each glimmer of hope faded away. This wasn’t about Suhonen dying, it was about how he would die. A quick death would be far too easy for this long-haired, leather-jacketed pile of shit. The man had to be crushed, but that would take time. Time that, because of Steiner’s leg wound, he didn’t have.

  Larsson got up, walked to the corner, and grabbed two stools, which were slathered with white paint. He twisted a leg off of each one and set both stools in the middle of the room. He took a hank of rope off the workbench and threaded it through a hook in the rafters so that the end of the rope dangled at the level of the workbench. How fitting that there were two of these hooks, he thought. The hooks were meant for lifting heavy equipment in the shed, and could easily carry a man’s weight.

  Larsson yanked Salmela to his feet and forced him into a kneeling position on the wobbly stool. Salmela struggled to keep his balance. His feet and hands were bound with zip ties. Larsson strapped them together with a second tie, so that his hands and feet were bound together behind his back.

  Next, Larsson tied a noose around Salmela’s neck, pulled the rope taut and tied the other end to the bench, which was bolted to the floor.

  Salmela swayed back and forth in an awkward-looking position. If he lost his balance, the rope would strangle him.

  “Goddammit,” Steiner moaned in the corner. “My eyes are getting blurry.”

  Larsson turned to Suhonen with the gun in his hand. “Get up. Don’t try anything or I’ll kick the stool out from under your rat-friend here.”

  Apparently, Larsson didn’t intend to kill them immediately, thought Suhonen, as he braced himself against the wall and shuffled to his feet. His shoulder throbbed and Suhonen wondered if something had broken in there. That, however, was the least of his problems.

  Larsson commanded Suhonen to kneel on the other stool, which creaked ominously as the three remaining legs strained under his weight. He quickly wrapped a zip-tie around each of Suhonen’s ankles and strapped them together with a third. The fourth he used to link the zip-ties to the handcuffs so that Suhonen’s feet and hands were bound behind his back in the same position as Salmela’s.

  Suhonen, too,
got a noose around the neck, which Larsson pulled tight, then tied to the workbench.

  “Rolf,” said Larsson as he turned to his friend. “I’ll get the car. Hold on a sec.”

  Larsson left and a couple minutes later, Suhonen heard the car pull up. Larsson came back into the shed, went to the corner and grabbed Steiner’s gun and knife. Then he helped his moaning brother to his feet.

  “Let’s go. I’ll help you,” said Larsson.

  At the door, he turned to Suhonen and Salmela. “Try to stay alive until I come back. I won’t be long—then we’ll have some fun.”

  Larsson closed the door and after a few seconds, Suhonen heard the car start.

  The contorted position was extremely awkward. It forced the neck forward, which tightened the noose. The missing legs on the stools were on the front-right, so the men had to keep their weight on the left side.

  Suhonen didn’t dare move on the wobbly stool.

  They couldn’t hear the sound of the car anymore, and Suhonen shouted, “Help! Help us!”

  “No use,” Salmela said. “The nearest house is a hundred-fifty yards away on the other side of the highway. Nobody’s gonna hear us.”

  Salmela was right. Besides that, the door was closed and the woods would muffle any sound.

  Larsson had left Suhonen’s phone in his pocket, but there was no way he could get to it. In the pocket of his leather jacket was a key ring with a key for police cuffs. Even if it worked on these cuffs, that too would be impossible to get.

  “I’m sorry,” said Salmela. “I really did get away for a while, but maybe they just wanted me to call you.”

  “Maybe.”

  “That text was from Larsson.”

  “It doesn’t matter now. This doesn’t look good.” Defying his balance, Suhonen turned his gaze as far toward Salmela as he dared.

  Salmela’s voice was calm. “Why drag this out? One little slip and it’s all over. I’m ready.”

  CHAPTER 26

  TUESDAY, 4:45 A.M.

  TÖÖLÖ, HELSINKI

  The blue Audi A4 turned right off of Mannerheim Street onto Eino Leino Street, sped through an intersection, and swung left.

  Many of the cars in Töölö were still covered with snow, but the pavement was wet. An old woman in a brown fur coat was stepping into the crosswalk, but quickly shuffled back to avoid being hit.

  “Stay awake,” said Larsson, poking Steiner in the shoulder as the man nodded off. “Don’t fall sleep.”

  “Dammit,” Steiner wheezed. “I’m so tired.”

  “We’ll be there in a minute. Fight!”

  The front seat was drenched in blood. Larsson wasn’t sure how much blood Steiner had lost, nor how much he could lose before dying.

  Larsson had wondered if he should drive to the Töölö hospital or the one in Meilahti, and had opted for Töölö, since the drop-off would be easier. The emergency room there was open twenty-four hours a day. The quality of the care couldn’t be that different, he thought. After passing Sibelius Street, the 1960s red brick building appeared on the right-hand side.

  Larsson’s loaded Beretta lay on the center console. Steiner’s gun and stiletto were in the footwell of the back seat.

  The entrance to the ER was deserted. A traffic sign nailed to a grimy telephone pole forbade parking, but stopping was permitted. The second floor of the building formed a fifteen-foot deep canopy over the entrance.

  Larsson swung the Audi under the canopy and up to the front door. It was almost five in the morning and there were no ambulances or doctors on smoke breaks. That suited Larsson just fine.

  He pulled up to the glass doors and stopped the car. On the way there, he had considered just shoving Steiner out and taking off. But the man was barely conscious now, and he’d likely crack his head on the sidewalk if Larsson pushed him out.

  Larsson left the engine running and got out of the car. He rounded the front end to the passenger side and hauled Steiner out. The man mumbled something, but Larsson couldn’t make out the words. Well, at least he was alive. Nothing else mattered. Larsson laid him down in front of the door and glanced into the lobby. The lights were on, but the hallway was empty. Quickly, he returned to the car and got back inside. He pushed in the clutch and threw it into first.

  He glanced through the glass doors again. Still nobody. Wouldn’t security be interested in a car and a half-dead man lying on the ground? Wasn’t somebody monitoring the security cameras? Couldn’t anyone be relied on anymore?

  Apparently not, thought Larsson, and doubt began to sink in. Nobody had noticed—not doctors, not nurses, not the security guards. Steiner could die at the door of the hospital.

  He spotted a doorbell next to the glass doors. There was no choice but to ring it, he thought, and he stepped out of the car.

  * * *

  The explosion in Käpylä had made for an extraordinary day. Officers Tero Partio and Esa Nieminen were working overtime on top of their double shift, and it was beginning to wear on them. Some of the patrol officers on the night shift had been tied up in the previous evening’s raids, and earlier in the evening, their lieutenant had radioed for volunteers to pick up an extra shift. That was fine with Partio and Nieminen and, of course, the lieutenant. So far, they had been on duty for seventeen hours straight.

  At first, the explosion had made for interesting work, but slowly, it had become a mind-numbing chore. Partio and Nieminen had secured a corner near the Velodrome. It had been uneventful—one man had stopped at the corner to let his dog urinate. Not a single reporter or cameraman to provide a little variety.

  Later in the afternoon, their lieutenant had convinced the army to lend some conscripts for guard duty, so Partio and Nieminen had been able to return to their normal duties.

  Tero Partio could feel the weight of his eyelids, but he tried to concentrate on driving. He passed a large mural on Runeberg Street and turned onto Töölö Street. In the back seat sat a mugging victim, whose hand was in need of stitches. A mugger had tried to take the forty-year-old man’s wallet at the ATM, but the victim hadn’t given it up. For that, his palm was slashed with a knife.

  “Last call of the night,” said Officer Nieminen.

  “Yeah. I suppose we’ve done enough serving and protecting for one day,” Partio remarked. This was a routine call. The medics had stitched the victim’s wound, but had had to respond to another call. As they were nearing the end of their shift, the officers had agreed to bring the victim to the emergency room.

  The cruiser approached the ER and Partio spotted a car at the entrance and a man fumbling around. What the hell, he thought. Not this again. It looked like a drunk driver had brought his buddy to the hospital with a self-inflicted knife wound. If the driver blew over .005 on the breathalyzer, it would mean at least another hour on duty.

  The situation looked suspicious, and Partio let off the gas. He saw a bald, tattooed man circling from the passenger side of the car to the driver’s seat. Where were the nurses, he thought. Something was wrong.

  “This doesn’t look right,” said Partio. “Heads up.”

  Nieminen was half-sleeping and bolted upright.

  The squad car’s engine roared as Partio stepped on the gas, and the car swerved into the emergency room drop-off. The Audi, idling in front of the door, was five yards off, perpendicular to the police car. Partio slammed on the brakes and heard a bump from the back seat. That didn’t concern him. He yanked up the emergency brake and swung out of the car.

  The bald tattooed man was opening the door of the Audi as Partio raised his gun and shouted, “Stop! Police!”

  The baldy hesitated a moment, but apparently judged the situation hopeless.

  “Put your hands up!”

  “Fucking pig. You’ll regret this,” he said, then turned and put his hands on the roof of the car.

  Nieminen had already gotten out and was kneeling next to the man on the ground. “Bad leg wound here. Looks like he’s been shot.”

  Partio kept his
gun trained on the driver of the Audi. He was about to tell his partner to alert the hospital staff about the wounded man, but just then, a stout male nurse in a white coat came out of the entrance.

  The glass doors opened outward. “What’s going on here?” the man asked, looking at Partio’s drawn gun.

  “This man has been shot,” said Nieminen. “At least for now he’s more your client than ours.”

  Partio felt there was something familiar about the men, but he couldn’t put his finger on what. They both looked like criminals, in any case. “Check him before they take him in.”

  As the nurse went to get a gurney and some help, Nieminen patted the man down for weapons.

  “Nothing,” said the younger officer.

  Larsson was standing with his hands on the roof of the car. Nieminen walked over and scanned the interior of the Audi. “Partio, there’s a gun in there... And another one in the back seat with a knife.”

  Partio kept his gun sight locked on Larsson. ”Okay, that makes three weapons then.”

  Larsson said nothing. The nurses wheeled a gurney to where Steiner lay and muttered something about a possible gunshot wound.

  “Sorry,” said Partio to Larsson. “You guys look familiar. Why don’t you tell us your friend’s name so they can patch him up.”

  Larsson didn’t respond. With Nieminen’s help, the nurses counted to three and hoisted Steiner onto the gurney. A dark red blot remained on the concrete.

  “If you don’t tell us his name, they can’t treat him,” Partio bluffed. He had to get the bald man to talk.

  “Rolf Steiner,” Larsson mumbled.

  “What’s that? I didn’t hear.”

  “Rolf Steiner!” Larsson bellowed loud enough for both Partio and the nurses to hear.

  Now Partio remembered. That was the Skulls’ resident maniac and this other must be Tapani Larsson, the gang’s second-in-command. I’ll be damned, he thought. He’d been hearing about these guys over the radio all evening, but fatigue had numbed his brain.