Authors: Jarkko Sipila
Nykänen quoted her as closely as he could remember. She had stated that the information was based on a source close to the investigation. The crux of the broadcast remained in his memory,
“Police suspect that the Skulls motorcycle gang was somehow involved in the explosion.”
Takamäki shook his head and dialed Römpötti’s number. The line was busy.
“What if the trap wasn’t meant for us?” asked Nykänen.
Takamäki set his coffee cup on the table. “Then it was meant for them. Somebody wanted to attack the Skulls, which would indicate some sort of underworld war.”
“They’ve been dealing with the Estonians, who have a long history of bombings, at least in the nineties.” Suhonen pointed out.
“You mean that Zubrov…the one you saw about a week ago with Mike Gonzales?” Nykänen asked.
“Hard to say. I really don’t have anything on Zubrov. In any case, if someone is gonna bomb the Skulls, they have to be pretty big. I haven’t heard anything about any recent gang rivalries.”
“It’s certainly not impossible,” Nykänen replied. “But it’s unlikely. I haven’t heard anything either, though Estonia’s not exactly within earshot.”
“What were Aalto and Lind supposed to do with the car?” asked Takamäki.
Nykänen hunched his shoulders. “Just put a tracking device on it. They weren’t supposed to go inside, not even in the trunk.”
“So,” Takamäki went on. “Apparently, the Opel had some kind of tamper-sensing detonator, or else someone was watching from a distance and detonated it remotely. But the techies will figure all that out. They’ll rake up every last scrap off those gravel fields.”
Suhonen stood up and asked if anybody wanted more coffee. A minute later, he returned with three full cups.
“Was Lind married?” he asked, sitting down.
“Only to his job,” said Nykänen. “He divorced ten years ago and his wife had custody of their son. Drank too much for a couple years, but pulled himself together when he was a few inches shy of getting fired. Aalto has two girls, two and four years old.”
Takamäki imagined the scene in which dad came home from the hospital and his little girls asked why his hand was missing.
“I contacted the hospital,” said Nykänen. “Aalto could lose one of his eyes too, if he makes it at all.”
Daddy, how come your other eye doesn’t move? Explosions often caused serious brain damage as well. Aalto might not even remember his daughters’ names.
Suhonen changed the subject. “What about the car. Anybody have any info on that?”
“They recovered a license plate beginning with ‘AFR,’ but it wasn’t the car’s actual plate. It was one of those old ’80s Opel Kadetts that were all over the news when that eighteen-year-old swerved off the road and killed four of his friends.”
Takamäki started to pull the pieces together. “So most likely, the Skulls were onto Salmela and the car was a trap.”
Takamäki’s phone rang suddenly. The caller was Römpötti.
“I have to take this,” Takamäki said and answered the phone.
The other two listened in.
“Hey there,” she chirped. “Thank God you’re alive. I was worried…”
“Doing just fine,” he interrupted her. “Listen, I have one question.”
She laughed. “I have more than one for you.”
“Answer mine first. You mentioned the Skulls on the news. Where’d you get that information?”
She paused. “You know I can’t answer those kinds of questions.”
“Yeah, I know. But this is no petty misdemeanor. We’re talking about murder and attempted murder,” Takamäki snapped. The seriousness of the crime would allow him to subpoena her, especially since it was potentially leaked from inside the police force. “Let me rephrase the question in a way I know you can answer.”
“Go for it.”
“Did it come from a government source or somewhere else?”
Römpötti cleared her throat. From the wind in the background, Takamäki could tell she was still outside. “I’ll answer that if you tell me whether it’s true.”
Takamäki thought for a while. She had already broadcast the allegation, so there was no harm in confirming it off the record.
“It’s true, but don’t quote us. ‘Our exclusive sources’ will work just fine,” he said, then waited.
“The lead didn’t come from the police or any other government source.”
“Are you positive? This is very important. Don’t lie to me here.”
“Trust me. I never would, and hopefully you wouldn’t either,” she replied. “That’s all I can tell you about my source. No more. If you want to override my confidentiality, you’ll have to take me to court.”
Takamäki laughed. “Sanna, that’s not how we do it. I believe you and that’s enough.”
The call ended and Takamäki turned to the others. “Maybe you overheard, but the lead didn’t come from the police or any other official. It came from somewhere else.”
“That confirms it was a trap,” said Nykänen.
Suhonen’s eyes met Takamäki’s, then Nykänen’s. “The Skulls weren’t after the police. Larsson wanted me.”
“What do you mean?” said Nykänen.
“Larsson was furious at me for locking him up. He must’ve somehow connected Salmela to me. There’s no way he could’ve known about the NBI’s involvement without a major mole in your organization. So, one plus one equals two.”
“Plus one is three,” said Nykänen. “How many people know both you and Salmela and have also worked with the Skulls lately?”
Suhonen had one candidate, but he didn’t say anything. Juha Saarnikangas knew both of them and was involved with the drug shipment, too. The man was playing hardball; if he had turned to the dark side, Suhonen could easily start a rumor about him being a nark.
“Where’s Salmela now?” asked Takamäki.
None of them knew.
“We should probably look for him,” said Takamäki.
“But we’re off the case,” Nykänen said.
Takamäki and Suhonen looked at Nykänen.
“I’ll speak with Honkala,” Takamäki decided.
* * *
The press conference at Pasila Police Headquarters began at 6:30 P.M. So many reporters and photographers were attending that the Helsinki police press secretary had decided to move it to the station’s lobby. About fifty chairs had been brought down from upstairs, but still, many reporters were standing.
Though the NBI was leading the case, Pasila Police Headquarters was still serving as the command center.
The elevator chimed and Honkala ducked out in his gray suit and a matching blue tie. His shirt was a gleaming white and he had hastily straightened his hair in the elevator.
Camera flashes exploded from all sides as Honkala strode to the table. Though there were chairs, he remained standing. At least three TV networks and two radio stations were broadcasting live. On the table were about twenty microphones and recorders, and on top of that, numerous soundmen were moving about with long microphone booms for the live broadcasts. The photographers bristled every time the soundmen stepped in front of the cameras.
“The purpose of this press conference is obviously clear to everyone. Today, at 2:20 P.M. a car bomb exploded in the parking lot of the Käpylä ball fields. One person was killed, another critically wounded. Both individuals were agents for the National Bureau of Investigation. The incident is being investigated as a murder and attempted murder. At this time, we will not disclose the names of the victims, nor any details about their assignments,” Honkala began.
“The forensics investigation is still ongoing, and we don’t yet have any information about the type of explosive or the detonation mechanism. The police have several leads on the motive for the explosion, but for reasons pertaining to the investigation, I can’t discuss them at this time. For the same reason, I can’t say why the agents were interested in the car.”
Without a second’s pause, Honkala looked straight into the TV camera in the center, “The police are asking for any leads or observations from the public as well as any information on a 1980s beige Opel Kadett. The license plate found does not belong to the car,” Honkala said, but nevertheless, he recited the number twice.
The captain gave a hotline number to call with information. He announced that he wouldn’t be taking any questions, and that the next briefing was scheduled for noon of the following day at NBI headquarters. Then he marched, unfazed, through the crowd of shouting reporters into the elevator, where an officer stood holding the door.
* * *
“Let’s go,” Salmela said to Ear-Nurminen as the televised press conference came to a close. The picture cut to an anchorwoman’s follow-up, but the Corner Pub’s bartender turned the music back up, drowning out the sound of the TV.
“No work, booze, an axe and the kin. A snowdrift, the cops and the final sin,”
crooned Eppu Normaali from the jukebox.
“What’s the hurry?” asked Ear-Nurminen. A single glance at Salmela was all it took to see that the man was serious. Nurminen finished off his beer as Salmela buttoned up his coat.
“Let’s grab a six-pack at the store on the way,” said Salmela. That was fine with Ear-Nurminen, who had offered him a couch for the night. At first he had wondered, but hadn’t asked any questions. Salmela would have done the same if, for some reason, Nurminen had wanted to spend the night on his Salvation Army sofa.
Salmela was pondering the AFR-license plate as they stepped out into the cold air. Damn license plate. That made the situation even more complicated.
* * *
“Fuck!” Larsson hissed. The lanky man on TV had just ruined what should have been a victorious moment at the Skulls’ compound.
He, Steiner, Aronen, Roge and Osku had been watching the press conference on a fifty-inch big-screen in the main room. After the conference, reporter Sanna Römpötti had speculated on the cause of the explosion and the Skulls’ involvement, but that wasn’t the reason for Larsson’s anger.
“What the hell?” he swore again. “Those were NBI agents? How is that possible? This was supposed to be a Helsinki PD operation.”