Against the Wall (19 page)

“What do you mean
we
?” he menaced. If Lydman had done his job correctly, the Skulls shouldn’t know anything about him.

“Yes, we. Korpela said he checked around and found out that this extends beyond me. He mentioned your name.”

“You didn’t tell him?”

“No.”

Liar, Markkanen thought, but understood Lydman’s concern. The Skulls were good at keeping their end of the bargain, but if things went bad, you’d likely wind up on the wrong end of it.

“What did he say exactly?”

“I didn’t tape it!” Lydman snapped, then calmed down. “He cussed like the devil and said that we didn’t keep our end of the deal. He wished you and me the best in hell, blustered on about revenge, then demanded more money.”

“How much?”

“Hundred grand.”

“No!”

“Apparently that’s the standard penalty for contract violation,” Lydman said.

“Really.”

Lydman paused. “So, you gonna pay?”

“Where would I get that kind of money?” he said, glancing at the plastic bag on the floor.

It contained many times that sum. He thought of another alternative: he had seventy grand in his pocket…maybe he could scrape together another thirty, but… Shit!

Eriksson had been asking for it—he had become too arrogant. Markkanen could have tolerated his crowing and the fact that the kid had passed him up in Lindström’s organization, but the blackmail was the last straw. Somehow, the brat had figured out that Markkanen was embezzling money from Lindström, and had threatened to rat on him. In the end, the decision had been easy—Eriksson had stepped, or rather, had tried to step on the wrong toes.

Markkanen had lured Lydman into the scheme by claiming that Eriksson was a Customs nark. Markkanen was amused that in the end, Eriksson did actually have a Customs connection. Lydman had an in with the Skulls, and had arranged the hit for twenty-five grand. Lydman had also found a convenient sacrificial lamb for the murder: Juha Saarnikangas, who had been brought in to dispose of the body. If Eriksson vanished for good, they’d be in the clear. And if Saarnikangas failed, he would take the heat. The hit man wouldn’t talk, Lydman wouldn’t talk, and neither would he.

Now the hit man was worried for no good reason, unless he was just trying to rake in more money. Or was Lydman trying to stiff him? He wouldn’t dare.

“Listen,” Markkanen said. “It’s water under the bridge. Nothing’s changed, so take it easy.”

“Are you gonna pay him?”

“I can negotiate with them.”

Lydman laughed. “Good luck with that.”

Markkanen considered his options. He didn’t want to irritate or provoke Lydman. The man was trustworthy, but unpredictable in his own way. “I’ll take care of it. Don’t worry.”

“Good… I’m going to Thailand for a couple weeks.”

“What?”

“I bought a last-minute ticket…leaving tomorrow night… Maybe things will settle down.”

Stupid, Markkanen thought. Running scared. He answered in a calm voice, “Okay, that might be a good idea, but first set up a meeting between Saarnikangas and me. I still need him.”

“For what?”

“It’s better if you don’t know,” Markkanen said.

“Guess so.”

“But go talk to him in person; his phone could be tapped. Tell him to be at the Corner Pub at eight o’clock tonight.”

“The Corner Pub at eight,” Lydman repeated. “Okay, I’ll do it, but then I’m gonna be gone a couple weeks. In the meantime, clear things up with the Skulls. This is your mess.”

“Of course,” Markkanen assured him. He asked for a number for the hit man, and Lydman gave it to him, but pointed out that the line wasn’t secure. Lydman said that he and Korpela used a special code in case the phones were tapped. Markkanen was to suggest a meeting at the Ruskeasuo Teboil, but it would actually take place in the parking lot of the Tali bowling alley.

Markkanen hung up and started the car. He’d have time to think on the way to Helsinki.

Before hitting the road, he called his wife. He directed her to take Eetu, and leave town for a few days. She was confused at first, but then she agreed. She was to take all the money out of hiding, pick up the boy from school and sign in at the Turku Caribia Spa-Hotel under her maiden name. At least the boy would have something to do there. Markkanen promised to be in touch by Sunday evening at the latest.

Taking risks with the Skulls was a bad idea.

* * *

Suhonen was sitting in the police cafeteria, forking macaroni casserole into his mouth. The lunch room was half-full and Suhonen was alone at a table for four. He had eaten a salad for starters, and was glad to have something healthy under his belt.

Takamäki had ordered him to arrest Saarnikangas, but he was in no hurry. According to the tracking device, Juha’s van was still parked in Pihlajamäki, and Lydman’s Mazda hadn’t moved either. Of course, they could have walked or taken a taxi somewhere, but more than likely, both were relaxing at home. Neither was the type to ride the bus.

The casserole was good, or maybe he was just hungry.

He should really bring Saarnikangas in after lunch. Lydman could wait till after Juha’s interrogations. Suhonen figured Saarnikangas wouldn’t talk, though. The guy was a survivor who knew better than to squeal on his employers. On the other hand, Saarnikangas wouldn’t do life for no reason.

His phone rang on his belt.

He pulled it out and swallowed a mouthful of macaroni. It was the warden of the Helsinki Prison.

“Hey, Ainola here,” the man rasped. “Do you have a minute?”

“Never a spare minute around here, but go ahead.”

“Heard the latest news. You guys got a pretty tough case over there, huh?” It was more a statement than a question.

“Something like that.”

“Well, that’s what I’m calling about. Some of our guards heard from the inmates that this Eriksson could have been a Customs informant.”

“Okay,” Suhonen remarked. As a formality, he asked, “How reliable is this?”

“Just a rumor, but I thought it might be useful.”

“Thanks for the tip,” Suhonen replied and took another bite of macaroni.

Ainola paused for a moment. “There’s something else. The guy you visited earlier in the week… Eero Salmela?”

“What about him?” Suhonen mumbled.

“Are you eating?”

“Yeah—go on.”

“This might not be anything, but if you’re interested in the guy, you should know his connections. His drug-running partner Jorma Raitio ended up in the infirmary. Supposedly, he fell down the stairs, but the doctor suspected his knee was busted with a pipe.”

“Badly?”

“It’ll need a few surgeries, and even then it might not fully recover. But here’s the interesting thing. According to the same rumors, the Skulls were behind the assault, and Salmela ordered it.”

Suhonen put his fork down. “So Salmela hired out a hit?”

“Yeah. In his defense, Raitio probably threatened him first.”

What in the world had Salmela gotten mixed up in now? He was a thief, but he shouldn’t have anything to do with the Skulls. Suhonen thought about Salmela’s words back at the prison, about someone else getting his back.

“How well does he get along with the Skulls?”

“Not sure. Well enough that they carried out his hit.”

CHAPTER 19

PASILA POLICE HEADQUARTERS

THURSDAY, 1:20 P.M.

Anna Joutsamo stepped into Lieutenant Takamäki’s office, but lingered just inside the doorway.

“Yes?” Takamäki looked up from his desk.

“Suhonen’s sitting there at his desk reading emails.”

“And?”

Joutsamo crossed her arms. “Well, I thought he was supposed to bring Saarnikangas in for questioning.”

“Oh. Why don’t you say something to him?”

Joutsamo narrowed her eyes, “He takes orders from you.”

“But you’re running the case.”

“Listen, Kari. I don’t want any drama or power struggles.”

Takamäki grinned. “So you’re passing the buck to me.”

“You’re the one with the bigger paycheck.”

Takamäki got up and followed Joutsamo out. The detectives’ squad room was a few steps further down the hall. Joutsamo went in first, and Takamäki turned to Kohonen, who was sitting at her computer.

“Kirsi, what’s the status on the phone records?”

“No hits yet.”

Takamäki nodded. Sifting through the phone list was almost as unbearable as watching hours of surveillance video. Looking for a particular number in a file was relatively easy—matching numbers across various files was more complicated. Computer programs were a big help, but everything had to be double-checked by hand. Prepaid numbers muddied the investigation even further.

“What about the tap?”

“Kafka’s team is on it, but nothing so far. All the phones have gone quiet.”

Mikko Kulta was in the far corner behind his computer, looking like a fourth grader who didn’t want to be called upon by the teacher. He had probably been playing internet computer games, as Solitaire and Mine Sweeper had been deleted from police hard drives.

“How’s it going?” Takamäki asked, turning to Suhonen.

“Pretty good,” Suhonen responded, without looking up from the screen. Takamäki noticed he was going through his emails.

“And Saarnikangas?”

Suhonen glanced at his cellphone. “His van is at his apartment in Pihlajamäki. I presume he is too.”

“You gonna bring him in?”

“As soon as I have some time. I figured I’d apply to become the labor representative for the Helsinki PD.”

“Huh?” Takamäki grunted.

Suhonen turned to look at him. “Yeah. I’d be able to monitor everyone’s overtime hours.”

“I see,” Takamäki paused and added dryly: “C’mon now.”

“Hey,” Suhonen said, addressing Joutsamo too. “I’m gonna bring him in, but now that the case is public, let’s wait a couple hours and see what happens. Saarnikangas knows we’re watching him, so he’s not gonna use his phone. Yesterday he went to meet Lydman, and I’d like to see where else he’s gonna go…or if Lydman goes with him. ”

Joutsamo cut in. “As long as he’s not silenced permanently.”

“Anybody want coffee?” Suhonen asked. “I can put some on.”

Joutsamo looked at Takamäki.

“I’ll have some,” said the lieutenant. “Tea for Joutsamo.”

* * *

Kalevi Lindström answered the door quickly.

“Come in,” he said. The businessman had on gray pants and a matching sweater.

Markus Markkanen had left his car on Tehdas Street, where snow had covered the vehicles, but the cobblestone street was still slushy.

Outside, a streetcar rumbled past.
In his left hand
, Markkanen
was holding a plastic bag, which appeared to contain a book.

“How’d it go?” Lindström asked.

“Good. No problems,” he said, closing the door behind him.

“How many were there?”

Markkanen handed him the bag, and Lindström opened it eagerly.

“There’s 520 Gs. There were 35 seventy-inch units and 60 fifty-inch units,” he said calmly.

Lindström walked into the library and poured the bundles of cash onto an oak table. He took one and started counting the bills.

“There’s twenty bills in every bundle. Ten thousand each,” Markkanen added. Lindström seemed satisfied with the numbers.

He went through the bills one at a time and arranged them in piles of one hundred thousand euros. Markkanen stood quietly by the door. The counting took a good ten minutes. Only once did Lindström count a pile a second time.

“Good,” he said, then took one bundle and handed it to Markkanen. “Well done.”

Markkanen slipped the money into the breast pocket of his coat.

“That’s the good news.”

“What do you mean?” Lindström asked.

Clearly he hadn’t been watching or listening to the news.

“Eriksson’s been killed.”

“What? When?” Lindström barked.

“I don’t know the details. I heard it on the news. He was found dead somewhere in North Helsinki earlier in the week.”

“Who did this?” Lindström stammered, scraping the money into the bag, as though it were in danger.

“That’s a good question,” Markkanen said stiffly. “I don’t know. I don’t know how it happened either.”

Lindström looked Markkanen in the eyes. “Does this have anything to do with…uhh, my businesses or did Jerry have issues of his own?”

“That’s what I wanted to ask you.”

“I don’t have any problems, at least not that I’m aware of.”