Against the Wall (15 page)

He started the car. The wipers struggled to clear the snow off the windshield.

* * *

Eero Salmela was lying on the bottom bunk in his cell. The junkie on the top bunk was asleep, breathing heavily. At one end of the cell was a small window. The bright lights from the yard cast an outline of the window onto the ceiling. The bars were sharply defined.

Salmela couldn’t sleep, and he looked at his watch. The glowing hands read quarter after ten.

At dinner, Salmela had heard about Raitio’s tumble down the stairs. Apparently, his left knee was in rough shape. So far, the prison hospital had been caring for him, but surgery was inevitable. According to the rumors, his knee would never recover, and he’d limp for the rest of his life.

Shitty deal, Salmela thought. But shit was part of the job description, and always had been. Even that had its limits, of course. Once again, his thoughts returned to his own son, who was shot dead over a drug deal two years ago. That wasn’t fair. A petty dispute that cost a young man his life. Of course, Lauri had chosen his own path, but why hadn’t he at least taught the kid some street smarts. Back when he was twelve, Eero had shown his son a few slick kicks on the soccer field. In the same way, he had taught him to whittle without cutting his own fingers.

Before his sentencing, and also after, Salmela had spent many dark nights reminding himself that he hadn’t wanted to give the boy advice on how to be a criminal. But the thought always came back to haunt him: since the kid had one foot in this life already, he
should
have taught him
.

Regret was futile, though.

Salmela closed his eyes and pulled up the covers. As if government sheets could shield him from his own guilt. They didn’t help, but neither did beating himself up. Whatever was done or not
done was in the past. He had to live with the consequences. It was that simple.

This was his life. He had to look out for himself; anything else was pointless. That’s why Salmela was pleased that Raitio was lying on a hospital bed with a wrecked knee, and not himself. True, it had cost him, but he would always be able to scrape up some money in one way or another.

Besides, Raitio had been stupid to go around spreading baseless rumors. Unless he was damn sure, he had no right to make those accusations. Of course, Salmela understood very well that his past chats with Suhonen could’ve been construed as working with the cops, though Suhonen would never reveal that to anyone. Plus, this wasn’t a one-sided deal. It was a quid pro quo arrangement that benefited both sides. There was no shame in that. Anyway, nobody knew about his association with Suhonen. Or so he hoped.

It was no different with the so-called purists of the criminal class, either. They assured you that honor was the most important thing. But when times got tough, those guys are the first ones to betray you. They took your money, your stash, your woman, ratted to the pigs…who knows what else.

Anyway, Raitio didn’t have it so bad. Sure, his knee was shattered, but they were pumping him full of pain killers. He probably got to sleep on a softer cot than anyone else.

His thoughts were stuck in a loop, and one kept coming back. Salmela had tried to steer clear of the gangs, but now he was flying the colors of the Skulls: black and white.

At some point, payback time would come, and it wouldn’t be just a matter of money.

Snow collected on the window ledge, and the silhouette on the ceiling appeared to shrink slowly.

* * *

Two inches of snow covered the ground, enough to soften the bleak surroundings on Helsinki Avenue. Suhonen was sitting in his Peugeot a few hundred yards away from the Corner Pub. It was just past 2:00 A.M., and the bustle on the street was beginning to pick up. The Tenkka Bar, where Eriksson had hailed a taxi, was across the street. A sign promised karaoke every night.

He had been watching the bouncer at the Corner Pub for a few hours, then had moved his stake-out to a window table at a nearby café. He couldn’t drink coffee alone endlessly without making people wonder, so now he was back in the car.

The bouncer was in and out. At times, it seemed like people would come to meet him. A few words were exchanged, but as far as Suhonen could tell, the guy wasn’t dealing.

He had called in a request for Narcotics to photograph the man.
By ten o’clock, with the help of an “electric company” van, it was done. While the bouncer stood outside, the van approached, stopped at a red light, and an officer in the back took eight photos.
At first glance, the Narcotics cops on duty hadn’t recognized the man, but at least now they had pictures.
Suhonen wanted a name and address.

A few guys emerged from the bar, and one got excited about the snow. He scraped up a snowball and hurled it at his buddy’s back. The buddy, visibly upset, scooped up some snow and shoved it into his laughing friend’s face. Just as it looked like it would come to blows, the third guy broke it up. Soon, they all calmed down.

The bouncer stepped outside again. This time, he didn’t stand around by the door, but walked straight towards Suhonen.

Suhonen started the car and made a quick phone call.

The bouncer turned the corner by the Alepa and headed up Fleming Street toward the spot where Suhonen’s car had been parked earlier.

Suhonen accelerated westward on Helsinki Avenue toward the intersection. Luckily, his tires had studs. Turning onto Fleming, he saw an old Mazda 626 leaving its parking spot.

The Mazda climbed the hill and turned right. Suhonen followed and they made another right near the Central Fire Station. Now they were headed north.

They came to a T by the Brahe Soccer Field and the Mazda had two choices: east or west on Helsinki Avenue. Suhonen didn’t dare follow him anymore, but he waited to see which turn lane the Mazda got into.

He hung a left westward towards the Sports Center. Suhonen made another call to report the car’s direction, then turned right.

* * *

“
Okay, he’s coming this way,” Officer Tero Partio said. The forty-something Partio was sitting behind the wheel. His younger partner, Esa Nieminen, was riding shotgun. Their cruiser was parked on the western end of Helsinki Avenue near the Linnanmäki amusement park.

“Let’s do it here,” Partio said, flicking on the cherries. He was wearing the standard yellow safety vest over his blue uniform. The sturdy Partio and skinny Nieminen both got out of the car.

The Mazda came toward them. Partio held up his right hand, and the car slowed to a stop. In his other hand, he held a Breathalyzer and some straws.

The officer peered in at the driver and noticed that he matched the description.

“Good evening. Driver’s license and registration,” Partio said.

The man dug his wallet out of his back pocket and displayed his license. Partio looked at the name: Ilari Lydman. He memorized Lydman’s birth date.

Lydman rifled through his glove box, found his rumpled registration form, and warily handed it to Partio.

Partio looked at it briefly. The car had been due for inspection last summer. “You’re a bit past due for an inspection. Get it done,” he scolded.

Lydman shrugged.

Ordinarily, Partio would have taken the car off the road, but this time he had other orders. Once they had the ID, they were to let him continue.

“Now I just need you to blow in here.”

Lydman blew into the straw.

“Says zero. Drive safely.” Partio said, waving him onward.

Nieminen was already up the road waving down another car. Partio heard him asking for the driver’s license and registration. Hell, they were only supposed to stop the Mazda. At least he’d make them blow in the Breathalyzer too, so the Mazda driver wouldn’t suspect anything.

Partio took his phone and called Suhonen.

“Hey,” Partio said.

“Well?”

“The driver was Ilari Petteri Lydman.” He recited the birth date.

“Nice work. Where was he heading?”

“West toward Mannerheim Street.”

“Thanks.”

Partio turned to Nieminen, who had just finished checking the second car. “Sooo, this driver’s name was Jukka Wallander.”

“Super,” Partio remarked. “Now get back in the car.”

Nieminen peered up the street. “Hey, here comes another car. Looks like a taxi.”

“Get in the car!” Partio barked.

THURSDAY

NOVEMBER 27

CHAPTER 15

DEPARTMENT OF FORENSIC MEDICINE

THURSDAY, 9:05 A.M.

Takamäki left his vehicle next to the red-brick building of the Department of Forensic Medicine, in a spot reserved for the police, though he was driving his own Toyota station wagon. Well, it was the driver of the vehicle that mattered, he thought.

He hurried toward the entrance. Two inches of fresh, wet snow lay on the ground. The temperature was barely freezing.

The lieutenant signed in. The receptionist, in her forties, smiled and told him that Dr. Nyman would be down in a few minutes. Tuija Nyman, a coroner in the department, had called him the previous evening and promised the results of Eriksson’s autopsy by morning. The Department of Forensic Medicine was part of the University of Helsinki, but its medical examiners handled all law-enforcement related medical investigations, from DUIs to autopsies.

A few minutes later, Takamäki and Nyman sat in her crowded office with cups of coffee. Takamäki had always thought that the thin, fifty-something woman looked Greek somehow. Her hair was a shimmering black, and she had a slender, attractive face. Only her hard eyes, which had seen it all, betrayed her profession.

“How’s jogging?” Nyman asked with a smile. For Takamäki, that smile was reason enough to be there in person, Nyman could have given him the information over the phone, too.

“Jog—you’ll die healthier… Lately I’ve been doing four, five miles.”

“Could I talk you into a marathon?”

“Not even you…” Takamäki smiled.

Nyman took several papers out of a plastic file folder.

“I opened up Eriksson yesterday… The cause of death was pretty clear. A bullet in the head, and here it is in Latin. Interested?”

“Well, I could’ve figured out the Finnish version from the crime scene photos, and I’ve heard the Latin version a few times.”

Nyman smiled again. “The weapon was a .22 caliber, and the bullet was somewhat flattened. I’m guessing it’s in good enough shape to run comparisons. You’re probably interested in the time of death?”

Takamäki nodded.

“Judging from the combination of air and body temperatures, and other signs in the corpse, I would estimate that he was shot sometime between Monday evening and Tuesday morning. As you know, that’s only an estimate.”

Takamäki wrote the information on his notepad, though he already had a better estimate based on the taxi receipts.

“I extracted the DNA and sent it along with hair samples to the lab for analysis. Eriksson’s blood alcohol level was .07. We didn’t find any unusual medical conditions, but the corpse wasn’t exactly in tip-top shape. His lifestyle was beginning to show. No surprise, then, that his stomach contained the remains of pepper steak, fries, and red wine. He probably ate a few hours earlier.”

“Sounds like a death-row inmate’s last meal,” Takamäki said. Though he hadn’t learned anything particularly new, he didn’t mind. It was always nice to visit the coroner.

* * *

Joutsamo stood in front of a timeline she had drawn on the whiteboard and filled in the information with a black marker. This particular conference room had been reserved for the Eriksson case.

The time was listed above, and below that were known activities with about ten items on the timeline. At the end of the line was the medical examiner’s estimated time of death, which Takamäki had called in. The timeline for Monday went like this:

6:53 P.M.—Taxi to Kallio

Dinner. Where?

9:33 P.M.—Hailed a taxi in front of Tenkka

9:46 P.M.—Gets out at Pirjo’s Tavern

Time of murder? By Tue Morning.

The next item was from Wednesday around 3:00 A.M.—Suhonen finds body.

Takamäki and Joutsamo studied the diagram.

“Based on what the M.E. found in his stomach, their working assumption was that Eriksson was killed fairly soon after his taxi ride to Oulunkylä. That would put the time of death sometime between ten and eleven o’clock.”

“Unless he had the steak at Pirjo’s Tavern or somewhere else later on,” Takamäki speculated.

“We should find out if Eriksson went straight from Pirjo’s Tavern to the garage, or if he stopped somewhere in between. It would help if we could get a more specific time of death.” Joutsamo said.