Authors: Jarkko Sipila
“We need to recruit more. First as prospects and then bring in the best ones. More of these Roges and Oskus.”
Niko nodded. “I’ll second that.”
“How’s our financial situation?” Larsson turned to Aronen.
“As far as I can tell, we’re okay. Membership dues and interest are coming in as usual. Collections are steady and we’re getting our share from other businesses like Gonzales’. Then there are these random dope deals,” he said, gesturing toward Niko.
Larsson nodded his head. “Okay, I got a few ideas, but we’ll get back to that. Aronen, can you get me twenty grand in cash? I need it tomorrow.”
“Okay.”
“A couple more things,” Larsson continued, glancing about. “This place is fucking dirty. Somebody really has to start cleaning. Niko, will you take care of it?”
Niko looked confused for a second before realizing that Larsson wasn’t asking him to actually clean. “Yeah, I’ll make it happen.”
“But don’t put Roge or Osku on it. They should have some status,” Larsson smiled. “Right now, housecleaning isn’t for our newcomers.”
“Okay.”
“And those junkers in the yard have to go.” The old inspection stalls were being used by a car repair shop whose owner paid rent for the space and protection.
“Okay,” said Niko. “I’ll have a talk with him. The shop is a good way to recruit, by the way. One of the mechanics is already a prospect.”
“Yeah, good to have them around, but I don’t want those junkers out there. Have them get into some kind of custom detailing or something. Something showy. It fits our style,” he said. “And one more thing. I want a headstone made up for the bar room, chiseled with the names of every member who’s died on our behalf. It should be big enough to leave plenty of empty space.”
“I’ll take care of it,” Niko said dutifully.
Larsson was satisfied. “And if Steiner shows up, tell him to come see me.”
“Tell?” Aronen wanted to be sure.
Larsson’s eyes narrowed. “Yes. Tell!’” he roared.
Annoyed, he opened the laptop, signaling that the meeting was over. When the men didn’t immediately leave, he thundered again, “Get the fuck out!”
CHAPTER 10
FRIDAY, 3:00 P.M.
PASILA POLICE HEADQUARTERS, HELSINKI
Lieutenant Takamäki was sitting at his desk. Friday afternoon had lost its flair after Captain Karila had talked him into covering the weekend shift. Lieutenant Ariel Kafka had been hit with the flu and at least one lieutenant-level officer was required to be on duty.
The stale stench of death lingered in Takamäki’s nostrils. Though he wasn’t really sure whether the smell was real or imagined, he knew it would last for at least a day.
Nothing unusual had surfaced in the old woman’s death. Seventy-eight years old, she had slipped in the shower and hit her head on the tile floor. Takamäki remembered investigating at least a dozen such deaths throughout his career.
The case was typical—the daughter had become worried when mom hadn’t answered the phone, went to the home and found her dead.
Every year, about 1,500 of these kinds of cases occurred in Finland. If a person died anywhere other than the hospital, the police were required to investigate.
Takamäki was filling out the cause-of-death form. They had verified the woman’s identity with her passport, which was found in the apartment. Her address, the spot where she was found, and the circumstances surrounding the death were routine. Takamäki determined that this was not a murder, suicide, disease or poisoning. The woman had simply died as the result of an accident. The medical examiner would determine the exact cause of death and provide the death certificate. There was no need to notify the family, since they had called the police in the first place.
Takamäki was re-reading his two-page report when Suhonen walked in. As he set down the papers, he reminded himself to read them later to ensure nothing in the text could cause undue pain for the family. Usually, the papers just ended up in the police archives, but relatives had the right to obtain a copy.
“Well?” Suhonen asked. “How did the case go?”
Takamäki shrugged. “Nothing a lieutenant can’t handle.”
Suhonen rubbed his nose. “A rare reek of death in here.”
Takamäki ignored the barb. Detective lieutenants spent most of their time behind their desks.
“Did you have something you wanted to talk about?”
The undercover officer closed the door, indicating that he did. “I have an idea.”
Takamäki could have retaliated for the barb, but settled for: “Let’s hear it.”
Suhonen sat on the window sill and asked if Takamäki had thought about Joutsamo’s idea. “Should we bust some Skulls?”
Takamäki’s expression conveyed the futility of the suggestion.
“Have you spoken with Narcotics?” he asked.
“Not yet…not even sure I want to.”
“How come?”
“That would implicate Salmela.” In the earlier meeting, after Joutsamo had left the room, Suhonen had told his lieutenant about Salmela’s role in the drug deal.
“Pretty dangerous territory,” Takamäki remarked. “Harboring a suspect…”
Suhonen interjected. “No. You don’t understand.”
“I’m not sure I want to.”
Suhonen smirked. “Here’s the idea. Four pounds of speed isn’t enough to interest Narcotics. For us, though, it’s an opportunity.”
“Really?” Takamäki hesitated. “Opportunity for what?”
“To get inside the Skulls.”
That wasn’t enough to convince Takamäki, but at least he wanted to hear more.
“For starters, we have a crime that falls squarely in our court. We could build a case against Niko Andersson for felony extortion of Salmela,” Suhonen explained. He had carefully chosen the legal terms in advance to better convince Takamäki. The lieutenant was listening.
“But we’re not going to get Salmela to testify because that would implicate him for the drugs.”
“Yes, but…” said Takamäki.
“But there’s our opportunity.”
“Opportunity for what?” the lieutenant repeated, still skeptical.
“If we could get Salmela onto the lower rungs of the gang, he could provide intel to bust the whole gang for something bigger. In the best case, we’d put them all behind bars.”
An opportunity indeed, Takamäki thought. At least it seemed to make sense. Obtaining intel from gangs was a perpetual challenge, and Takamäki wouldn’t be the least bit bothered if the whole herd were locked up, even if only for a few years. There was one big “but” in Suhonen’s scenario.
“Has Salmela agreed to this?”
“Haven’t asked yet.”
Takamäki rephrased his question. “Do you think he’ll agree?”
“I doubt he has a choice. He’s deep in debt and I think we can talk him into it.”
Takamäki read between the lines. “How much would it cost us?”
“Probably close to twenty grand. If we could settle his debts and get him into a witness protection program somewhere in Europe, on a beach in Spain for example, then he might very well agree.”
“Even if everything went according to your plan and we asked the prosecutor for a suspended sentence, it’s still possible he’d get two plus years for the twenty ounces.”
“He’ll have to take that risk. If he gets an opportunity to get off the hamster wheel, there’s a good chance he will.”
Takamäki nodded approvingly. “You’re right about one thing—it’s an opportunity. But like Joutsamo said, we can’t take this case on top of all the others. I’ll call Captain Karila. Let’s see what he says—right after you tell me how Salmela can infiltrate the Skulls.”
“He already has—he worked with them on the drug shipment.”
“Can’t we just smoke them for the amphetamines?”
Suhonen shook his head. “Small potatoes. No point in blowing this kind of opportunity for that. Of course, the drugs would be part of a larger case.”
Takamäki took out his phone and dialed. Suhonen stayed to listen in. Takamäki didn’t mention Salmela by name, nor the full details of the drug case. Initially, the captain seemed against it, but Takamäki was able to persuade him with the idea of an informant within the Skulls. Resources and money would pose a problem, however, so Karila directed him to speak with Skoog, the assistant chief of the Helsinki Police Department. Skoog would need to approve any project of this scale anyway, and he could also provide the VCU with a few temporary investigators to tend to routine cases.
Takamäki phoned Skoog immediately. They didn’t go into details over the phone. Skoog wanted to meet the following day to discuss the case in person and Saturday worked well for him.
* * *
It was almost nine in the evening and the Corner Pub was packed—as usual for a Friday night. Salmela was sitting at the corner table with his friends Ear-Nurminen and Macho-Mertala when the bartender brought three pints of beer to the table. Even indoors, Salmela wore his leather jacket with the lambswool collar.
“It’s on the house,” said the whiskered barkeep. “Actually, it’s on a certain gentleman.”
“Who?” Salmela asked, immediately suspicious. This was the first time that Salmela, or anyone else for that matter, had received table service at the Corner Pub.
“Don’t really know. He’s on the phone…wants to talk to you, Salmela. He’s on hold…there on the wall behind the bar.”
Salmela was puzzled. He had a cell phone. If somebody wanted to talk to him, why didn’t they call his cell? And how did they know he was at the Corner Pub?
“Now,” the bartender said, turning back to the bar.