Against the Wall (9 page)

Takamäki liked the fact that his host cut right to the chase. He tasted his coffee. It was fresh, clearly better than police coffee.

“Eriksson’s been connected to a serious crime,” Takamäki hedged. “I can’t go into details yet, but we have some information
indicating that he might have connections to Customs.”

“It was my understanding that he’s a criminal, not a civil servant?”

Takamäki nodded, sipping his coffee, “Yeah, from the underworld.”

“So not from the upper crust like us,” Snellman grunted. “We searched our various databases—and we have plenty—but we got no hits. Bad news, in other words.”

“Tough to say whether that’s bad news or good news.”

“Seems to me that the real question is whether or not Eriksson is one of our informants.”

“Yeah. That’s one way to put it.”

“You should’ve put it that way right from the start, so I’d know where you’re coming from,” Snellman grumbled, and picked up a stack of papers on the table. “Never mind. After we got off the phone, I took a look at our confidential intelligence reports from the last month. These include the names of some informants, but not all.”

Takamäki waited in anticipation.

Snellman continued, “Jerry Eriksson isn’t mentioned here. But that doesn’t necessarily mean that he couldn’t have a connection to Customs somehow. Our undercover guys have contacts that are never put down on paper. Probably not much different from your agency.”

Takamäki was surprised that Customs would document
any
of their informants on paper. Never in his life would Suhonen write down the name of an informant in any report. He wouldn’t even write reports.

“Understood. Can I read those reports?”

Snellman shook his broad head. “No can do. We can’t give any of these out. Even to a trusted colleague in law enforcement, it’s just too risky. But like I said, Eriksson’s name doesn’t appear here.”

“Could he have used another name?” Takamäki suggested.

“Say the name and I’ll tell you if it’s here.”

“Is there a way to dig deeper?”

“Is it that important?” Snellman seemed interested. “We can certainly send out a message to everyone asking for any information about this Jerry Eriksson. His last name is common enough that we’d probably get plenty of bad leads. One thing’s for sure, though, a couple hundred agents on the ground will wonder what this is all about.”

Takamäki sipped his coffee. This didn’t sound promising. “You’re right. That might jeopardize the investigation.”

“How important is this, really?”

“Important enough for me to come here,” he said carefully.

Snellman seemed helpful—maybe he could reveal a little more. “We’re dealing with a murder, and any connection to Customs could constitute a motive. We know that Eriksson has a history of fraud, but we don’t know what he’s been up to lately.”

Snellman put the pieces together quickly. “So Eriksson was murdered because he was an informant of ours.”

Takamäki nodded. “But that’s an unconfirmed rumor.”

“Bad news, whether it’s true or not. I mean the connection to Customs.”

Snellman stood, picked up the intercom off the table and pushed a button. Takamäki was amazed that these still existed.

A crackly voice answered, “Nyholm.”

“You should be here already,” Snellman growled.

“Right,” the voice on the other end said.

Takamäki looked at Snellman quizzically.

“Jouko Nyholm, one of our inspectors. Actually, he could be a senior inspector by now, but to me he’ll always be an inspector. Do you know him?”

Takamäki shook his head.

“Well, at any rate, he’s a competent man. Knows almost everything about our intelligence operations. I can tell him to ask some of our key agents about this Eriksson. Discreetly, of course.”

“Good.”

They waited for Nyholm for a minute, during which Takamäki got a chance to admire the cushy surroundings that Customs enjoyed. Snellman took notice, and said that it paid to be part of the Finance Ministry. Customs brought money to the state, the opposite of the impoverished Ministry of Interior, which oversaw law enforcement. In Snellman’s view, being profitable should count for something.

Nyholm knocked on the door and stepped inside.

Takamäki took note of his shabby appearance. The man stood hunched over, as if apologizing in advance.

“Nyholm, this is Detective Lieutenant Takamäki from Homicide,” Snellman said, and continued on without bothering with handshakes. “They’re working on a case that may involve us.”

Nyholm fished a pen and notepad out of the breast pocket of his blazer.

“That’s smart. It’s good that you take notes,” the boss sneered.

Nyholm still didn’t say anything, just stood waiting for instructions. Takamäki was amazed by this attitude, even if Snellman wasn’t the easiest of bosses.

“According to their intel, an individual by the name of Jerry Eriksson could be connected to the case.”

Takamäki detected a slight tick when Snellman mentioned the name.

“Jerry Eriksson?” Nyholm repeated calmly.

“You heard me,” Snellman barked, then rattled off Eriksson’s social security number. Nyholm confirmed it before Snellman continued, “Find out if any of our undercover agents have heard of this guy.”

CHAPTER 9

HELSINKI PRISON

WEDNESDAY, 1:20 P.M.

Eero Salmela knew of him, but didn’t know him. Tattooed flames wrapped around the man’s neck and his left ear was studded with four earrings, linked by a jeweled chain.

Tapani Larsson usually wore a black, skin-tight T-shirt and black Adidas sweatpants. Now, with the autumn wind howling over the perimeter wall and through the yard, his muscular build was hidden beneath a hooded sweatshirt. His clothes were plain—gang symbols were banned in prison.

Clouds raced across the sky toward the east.

About twenty inmates were circling the yard. For the past four laps, Larsson and two of his cronies had been closely following Salmela, who was walking alone. In the middle of the yard, a single bench press sat unoccupied.

Three days of rain had turned the track into mud, and Salmela’s cheap prison-issue shoes were heavy with it.

Salmela knew that Larsson had been doing time since last summer for extortion. He’d probably be in for a few years. It was wise to stay away from gang leaders like him.

Though walking around in a circle wasn’t exactly fun, it was one of the only permitted outdoor activities. Salmela had been counting his steps, but had lost track a while back. Counting the days left in your sentence was futile. Numbers had no place in prison.

“You’re Salmela, right?”

Salmela was startled by the voice behind him, and he stopped. Larsson and the two goons had caught up to him.

Salmela could see from Larsson’s body language that he meant no harm, at least for now. If they were intending to cut him down, they wouldn’t do it here in front of the guards and the surveillance cameras. He would have been more nervous if Larsson wasn’t present. Gang leaders never got their hands dirty for that sort of thing.

“Yeah.”

“Larsson,” he introduced himself. He kept his hands in the pockets of his sweatshirt.

“I know.”

“Let’s take a walk,” he ordered.

Salmela got a closer look at his ink: the base of his neck was ringed by a snake, an eagle, and a naked woman. The flames rose from there.

“How’d you like your lunch?” Larsson asked with a wry smile.

“You organizing a riot against cabbage soup?”

Larsson laughed dryly. “That was funny, actually.”

“It was?”

“Sure. But Jorma Raitio’s been saying stuff about you that’s not so funny.”

“So he’s talking about me, huh?” Salmela kept a poker face, but couldn’t help wondering what the hell his former friend and accomplice had done now.

“Don’t you know?”

“Of course I know,” he answered. They were nearing the volleyball court. The four of them walked in pairs, Salmela and Larsson in front, and the other two following.

“He says you’re a snitch.”

“Bullshit.”

“Is it?”

“Yes.”

They walked for a dozen yards, then Larsson continued, “He gave me the court papers from your case, asked me to read ’em, and do something about it.”

“You read ’em?”

“Yeah.”

“So what’re you gonna do?”

Larsson smiled. “What I’m doing right now—talking to you about it.”

“Why?”

“I guess you don’t know my background, but there was a time when I studied law. Wasn’t until later that I got lots of first-hand experience in it.”

“A law student?” Salmela asked.

“Based on your file, I can see why you got a shorter sentence. The Appellate Court’s decision was based on solid legal facts.”

“I agree.”

The men fell silent and walked for another dozen steps. Salmela wondered what this was really all about. Why had the gang taken an interest in him? In his own opinion, he was a middle-level player at the most. He didn’t have money, not even hidden on the outside.

“Why aren’t you doing anything?” Larsson asked.

“What am I supposed to do?”

“Raitio is spreading bullshit rumors about you and you’re just sitting on the fence. People here’ll take that as a sign of guilt. Eventually, someone’s gonna take Raitio up on his offer.”

“What offer?” said Salmela, then immediately regretted showing his ignorance.

Larsson didn’t notice, or didn’t care.

“An iron pipe to the knee and the head.”

Salmela’s expression was grave. “How much is he offering for that?”

“A grand.”

Now Salmela understood what this was about. The Skulls were after a counter-offer. “And what’s your price?”

“Two.”

“I don’t have that kind of money in here.”

“I don’t need it in here—we’ll take care of it on the outside.”

Salmela wasn’t exactly looking forward to doing business with the Skulls. It would lead to trouble sooner or later. On the other hand, taking out a contract for a prison beating wasn’t all that risky. The victim would say he fell down some stairs, and the perpetrators would walk away scot-free. It was a code that even the guards understood. Ratting on another inmate would be an affront that would be paid back with interest, compounded at usury rates. If Salmela didn’t order the hit, he would end up in the prison hospital himself.

“Two grand, you say?” Salmela wanted to confirm the exact amount.

Larsson nodded.

“Take care of it.”

“Good. As a bonus, we’ll put the word out that you’re okay, and under our protection.”

Larsson slowed down, indicating that the conversation was over. The three gangsters hung back about twenty yards for the rest of the walk, and Salmela continued on alone. This protection would cost him dearly, but he had no other sensible alternatives.

Walking felt like a godsend suddenly—the old prison had plenty of staircases.

* * *

Since everyone was already there, the meeting started early. Mikko Kulta had been last to arrive.

“Let’s keep it short,” Takamäki said from the head of the table. “Everyone is busy.”

Joutsamo, Kohonen, Suhonen, and Kulta had taken their seats on one side of the table. Opposite them were a couple of detectives sent from Lieutenant Ariel Kafka’s team, and Kannas, the burly chief of forensics.

“Anna,” Takamäki said, glancing at Joutsamo. “Anything new on Eriksson?”

Joutsamo shook her head. “Nothing really. I don’t think we discussed the parents this morning—both of them are in their fifties. His father, Eero, is an IT salesman, and his mother is a nurse at the university hospital. Neither of them has a record. In addition, he has a younger brother who’s a junior in Matinkylä High School.”

“Okay. Let’s not notify the parents yet,” Takamäki said, then turned towards Kulta. “What about the pad in Kannelmäki?”

“Well, judging from the apartment, Eriksson hasn’t exactly been scraping by. He lived alone and had nice furniture—or at least nicer than my place. Didn’t find much concrete info, but Forensics is currently turning the place upside down. I did a quick search and found this photo,” Kulta said, handing out copies of the Log Chute snapshot with the blond girl in front and Eriksson behind her. His arms were wrapped around the girl.

The detectives examined the photo.

“So far, we have no idea who the girl is, I’m still working on it. From the picture, we can assume that the girl might know something about Eriksson and his circle of friends. I didn’t find anything that would directly explain why he was killed. Hopefully we’ll get plenty of information from his computer: when he last used it, what websites he’s been browsing and so on.”