Against the Wall (16 page)

Joutsamo had also started a diagram for Saarnikangas. At this point, it only had one item: “Tuesday 8:30 P.M.—Meets Suhonen on Boulevard.”

“We’ll get Saarnikangas’ phone records around noon. That should shed some more light on his whereabouts.”

“Assuming he had the phone with him,” Takamäki said. They had been involved in numerous cases where criminals had changed phones to throw them off or to create an alibi for themselves.

“What about the phone records for the Pakila cell tower?”

“That’ll come around noon as well. Apparently, between Monday evening and Tuesday morning, about five thousand calls were logged.”

“A hell of a lot,” Takamäki remarked.

“That’s because all the cellphone traffic from Beltway One gets routed through that tower.”

“Hmm,” said the lieutenant before changing the subject. “Did Kohonen find anything on Eriksson’s handgun?”

“It was reported stolen from a Turku gun shop in the spring of ’01. Doesn’t help us much… It didn’t show up in any other database.”

“So that doesn’t get us anywhere,” Takamäki said. “What about his activities between Pirjo’s Tavern and the garage? Did you get a chance to find out if there were any security cameras?”

“No. But as they say, I’m working on it.”

Takamäki nodded. The team had to prioritize. Only a few years ago, the Violent Crimes Unit had almost eighty officers, but because of budget cuts, that number had been reduced to sixty. Police work had become like any other business: the goal being to optimize results with existing resources. They had no time for finer strokes. Arrests had to be made as quickly and as efficiently as possible, so they could move on to the next case, which also meant that they had to focus only on the most serious ones.

“What about phone taps?”

Joutsamo shook her head. “We were all over it last night when Suhonen was trailing Saarnikangas, but he didn’t call anyone. We recorded the line overnight, but still nothing.”

“And Suhonen?”

“He saw Saarnikangas talking with some bouncer. Up until about ten, Suhonen was shadowing the bouncer, but then I went home. I haven’t talked with him this morning.”

Takamäki thought for a moment. “So, same status... Pretty much the same info as yesterday, but we have a little better idea on the time of death.”

“The case is at a standstill,” Joutsamo said. “Saarnikangas is our only real suspect.”

Her phone rang. “It’s the front desk,” Joutsamo said, puzzled.

“VCU, Joutsamo,” she answered in a crisp voice.

“Hi, this is Kyrölä from downstairs,” a man drawled. The front desk of the Pasila Police Headquarters was on the ground floor, and Joutsamo recalled the attendant, a fifty-something man with whom she had occasionally shared a table in the cafeteria.

In his time, Vesku Kyrölä had been one of Helsinki’s toughest K-9 cops. That was before a junkie had flayed his German Shepherd “Miska” with an axe. The incident landed Kyrölä on sick leave, and then behind the front desk.

“What’s up?” Joutsamo asked.

“Glad you picked up. We just got in a report of a missing person.”

“Listen, we’re working on another case here, I don’t have time. Could you call the main number to the VCU and someone will help you?”

“Really?” Kyrölä asked.

“Yup,” Joutsamo answered curtly, shrugging at Takamäki.

Kyrölä didn’t seem bothered on the other end. “Okay. Just thought I should give you a call since the computer says any information or inquiries about this person should go to you.”

Joutsamo raised her eyebrows. “Who’s missing?”

“I would think you’d know,” Kyrölä said, more seriously now. “Jerry Eriksson.”

“Hold on,” Joutsamo perked up. “So someone is there reporting Eriksson as a missing person?”

“That’s what I said.”

“Are they with you right now, or…”

“Of course not. I’m calling you from the back room. She’s sitting at the front desk.”

“Who is she?”

“I don’t know her name. A young woman. Very pretty.”

“So she’s there?”

Kyrölä paused for a while, before continuing, “Did someone smack you on the head with a baseball bat, or why are you so slow?”

“Be right there. Tell her the VCU is handling all missing persons reports, and I’m on my way.”

Kyrölä laughed. “That’s how it always works.”

“Of course, but don’t give her the impression there’s anything out of the ordinary.”

“So there’s something out of the ordinary,” Kyrölä concluded. “Come on down. I’ll make sure she doesn’t go anywhere.”

* * *

The elevator clunked to a stop on the fourth floor, and Joutsamo gestured for the girl to proceed. From the elevator, a door on the left took them into the hallway. The walls were light gray, the floor a darker shade. The building had been used heavily since the eighties, and it showed. A major renovation had been due for some years now, but budget cuts had pushed it back.

“And another left here,” Joutsamo directed.

The detective had immediately recognized her as the girl from the photo in Eriksson’s apartment. Joutsamo had asked the young woman to follow her upstairs. Both had on jeans, but the younger one wore a tighter fit.

Fear showed in her eyes when she saw the white sign on the glass door: Violent Crimes Unit. “What’s happened?”

Joutsamo tried to smile. “Probably nothing. All reports of missing persons go through the VCU. We get dozens of these cases every year and the vast majority have a happy ending.”

The pair stopped at the door of a small interview room. Joutsamo peeked inside to make sure it was empty, then escorted the woman inside. The room was just large enough to accommodate a table, computer, and three old office chairs. A large map of Helsinki hung on the wall.

“Have a seat there,” Joutsamo directed. She took her own seat behind the computer, but didn’t turn it on.

The blond girl’s face was thin, and her eyes red from crying.

“Tell me what happened,” Joutsamo began. She wanted to hear the story as candidly as possible before even checking the woman’s ID.

“Well, I haven’t heard anything from Jerry for a couple of days. He hasn’t called or answered any of my calls. I’m afraid that something happened.”

“What could have happened?” Joutsamo asked calmly.

“I really don’t know,
but he hung out with some strange guys sometimes…
” she left the thought hanging.

“And what?”

“I really don’t know. Some of them are just weird, like, you know,” she said and swept her hair back.

“And Jerry Eriksson is your boyfriend?” Joutsamo asked.

“Yeah. He’s my boyfriend. He’s never done anything like this.”

“When did you see each other last?”

“On Monday night we went out to eat at Tenkka Bar, and Jerry got a call around nine. He left pretty soon after that to meet someone…”

“Who?” Joutsamo interrupted.

“I don’t know. He doesn’t tell me about that stuff.”

“Was it just the two of you at the restaurant?”

“Of course there were other customers, but we sat by ourselves. One of his friends had recommended it, and Jerry wanted to try the place.”

“Did he seem worried when he left?”

“Not that I could tell. More like excited, somehow. He said it would probably take a couple hours, and he’d call me afterwards, but he never did,” she said. A tear rolled down her cheek.

“There was nothing unusual about that?”

“Well, no. Every now and then he takes off somewhere, but he always calls. Later that night, we were supposed to go to another bar with some of his friends, but I got tired of waiting and went home at about midnight.”

“What friends?”

“I don’t know.”

“Do you live with Jerry?” Joutsamo asked, intentionally using the present tense. She knew the girl didn’t live in the Kannelmäki apartment.

“Not really. Jerry has an apartment in Kannelmäki next to the mall. I stay there sometimes, but he’s never given me a key.”

“How well do you know Jerry’s friends?”

“Not very well. I know who they are, but they’re not my friends.”

To Joutsamo, the young woman didn’t seem like a criminal, just genuinely distressed. And for good reason, but the detective wasn’t about to tell her that.

Joutsamo switched on the computer. “Do you have any ID so I can take down your information?” Joutsamo entered her password and searched for the missing persons form.

At least Eriksson’s activities were taking shape and the police would get his phone number from her. He probably had several phones, but even one was valuable, since the warrant for the phone records enabled them to search for any other numbers he could have used.

The blonde pulled a driver’s license out of her purse and handed it to Joutsamo. Her name was indeed Kristiina Nyholm, as she had announced downstairs.

CHAPTER 16

BOARD OF CUSTOMS, EROTTAJA

THURSDAY, 9:15 A.M.

Jouko Nyholm sat in his Erottaja office, cursing the fact that he hadn’t bought the Thailand vacation package advertised in the travel agent’s window across the street. A couple weeks in the sun would do him good. It would probably help his headache too, or at least there he could treat it first thing in the morning by hitting the bottle.

Nyholm knew his irritation was pointless. He could walk over there right now if he wanted, but he knew he wouldn’t.

Still, it was a good day: last night when he got home, his wife had already been asleep, and this morning she had left for work before he woke up.

His desk phone crackled and Snellman’s voice came over the speakerphone, “Get over here.”

Nyholm swore again and got up.

The boss was sitting behind his desk, and Nyholm took a chair opposite him. The legs on Nyholm’s chair were short so he had to look up in order to make eye contact.

“Did you find anything on this Jerry Eriksson that we can tell the police?”

Nyholm shook his head. “No. I made some calls, but nobody’s heard of him.”

“So we’re telling him we got nothing.”

“That’s right,” Nyholm answered calmly.

“Do we have anything else going on?”

Nyholm shook his head again. “Nothing out of the ordinary. Some phone taps and normal undercover ops on a few drug cases, but otherwise no.”

* * *

The digital speedometer read 54 miles per hour. It was over the limit, but not by much.

The landscape along Route Six between Kotka and Kouvola was numbingly gray. There was no traffic to speak of.

That morning Markus Markkanen had received confirmation from the Kotka harbor that the containers had been unloaded and transferred onto semi-trucks.

There had been no issues with Customs or otherwise. The majority of the ship’s cargo was headed directly for the Russian border, save for his two containers, which were en route to Kouvola, a town of about 90,000 just north of Kotka.

Markkanen had booked a warehouse in an industrial park, where the TVs would be unloaded and the containers filled with rubber gloves, as the packing list stated. The containers would then be shipped to Russia. The same gloves had already been back and forth over the border half a dozen times.

Each container could fit fifty to seventy large flat-screen TVs. Retail values for each was between eight and fifteen thousand euros. The TVs already had a buyer, though Markkanen only had a name, probably fictitious, and a phone number.

Only twenty more miles to go.

Over the past year, the news had been reporting that Russians were buying cabins and lakeshore lots in Eastern Finland. Markkanen wondered if these TVs were bound for their summer villas, or to be sold in shady retail stores. It was none of his business. His job was to ensure that the transfer at the warehouse went smoothly, and to collect the money.

The speedometer had climbed over sixty, and Markkanen eased his foot off the gas
.

* * *

Suhonen’s phone beeped. He bolted awake and snatched it off the nightstand before realizing that it wasn’t a call, but the alarm. The room was dark; the curtains blocked out the sunlight.

He flopped onto his back and scratched his side. An old stab wound itched from time to time, begging for lotion.

Suhonen stretched his arms and legs. He’d have to make it to the gym today. That and wash the dishes, do laundry, and vacuum. His two-bedroom in Kallio wasn’t exactly tidy.

After Suhonen’s “marriage candidate” had moved out, Kulta proposed that they room together. If they pooled their money, they could save enough for a flat-screen TV and a housekeeper. The stove and dishwasher were dispensable, since the pizza guy would bring the food. If you brought a girlfriend to the pad, you’d have to fill the fridge with beer. The house cleaner could be paid with deposit returns from all the empty bottles and cans.