Cold Trail hh-4 Page 13

  Enough street light made it through the branches that Takamäki didn’t have to move in total darkness. He stopped for half a minute to listen. Silence. The garage was open from three sides, and firewood had been stacked along the back wall. Takamäki crept closer, keeping low. A branch cracked under his foot, and he stopped. He smiled at himself, because there was no way anyone could have heard it. There weren’t any security guards around.

  He was now about five yards from the car. Luckily, the house had only one small window in the side facing the garage. Takamäki guessed it was a ventilation window for either a bathroom or a storage room.

  Takamäki rose back up to a hunch and started rounding the garage to get to the car. A spruce branch scratched his cheek. He brushed the back of his hand against his face and noticed a drop of blood.

  The brush reached right up to the edge of the garage. He was only a couple of yards from the car, but he’d have to get over to the left side. Touching the vehicle would be a bad idea, since it was a late enough model that it probably had some sort of alarm. Takamäki continued around behind the garage. The gravel crunched under his shoes. He glanced into the backyard. It looked open, but he couldn’t make out the details in the dark.

  Takamäki made it to the rear edge of the garage and warily glanced in. Still silent. The car was within arm’s reach, but there was so little light that Takamäki couldn’t tell whether or not there was a dent in it. He pulled out a flashlight and his cell phone. He opened up his camera app and gingerly stepped forward.

  A powerful light burst on, momentarily blinding Takamäki. He expected some sort of alarm, but none came. The light was attached to the wall of the house at a height of seven feet. If it had an alarm, it was a silent one. Takamäki guessed it was equipped with a motion sensor, but the light was so bright he couldn’t tell.

  He put his flashlight back in his pocket and took two steps closer to the car. The light made photographing the car easier.

  He could hear a dog bark inside, and based on the sound, the pooch was a big one.

  Goddammit, Takamäki thought. He quickly bent down toward the car and saw a dent and scratches near the front tire. Some of the blue paint from Jonas’s bike had even been left behind on the body.

  Takamäki snapped two pictures with his cell phone. Then he heard the door open around the corner, in the front yard.

  “Caesar, what is it?” said a man’s voice. The dog barked a couple of times.

  Takamäki made a rapid retreat behind the garage. For a moment, he considered stepping forward. In all likelihood, the guy was guilty of reckless endangerment, causing bodily harm, and fleeing from the scene of an accident. And the victim had been Takamäki’s child. He had verified the facts he had set out to verify. But maybe the real reason was that he wanted to ask the guy why he hadn’t stopped to help the victim.

  Maybe the guy needed a lecture about taking responsibility.

  Or maybe what he really needed was to get his butt kicked.

  “Is it the foxes again?” Takamäki heard him say, and the dog barked a final time.

  Takamäki cautiously backed up along the edge of the garage and behind the big spruce. Maybe this wasn’t the right moment for a conversation.

  “Caesar, quiet! I don’t have time for this. Now go to sleep,” the man growled and closed the door.

  Takamäki’s heart was pounding, and he stood still for a few minutes before backing deeper into the forest.

  He stayed in the trees until he made it back to the quiet dirt road. He decided to take the longer route to return to his car, so he wouldn’t have to walk past the house.

  Maybe he should leave these gigs to Suhonen from here on out, Takamäki thought.

  * * *

  The Hurriganes’ “Get On” was playing in the bar, but not as loud as Suhonen thought the seventies rock classic deserved to be. A tip he’d heard in a Kontula bar had brought the undercover detective to this dive in the run-down Puotila shopping center in eastern Helsinki. He had no problem hearing the conversation at the next table.

  “Hey, did you hear about that guy in the Skulls?” said a rat-faced guy with a buzzed head and an Arsenal tracksuit. He took a long swig of his beer before continuing. “He had to play Russian roulette to be able to get out of the club.”

  His audience of one had a green sweater, a thick walrus moustache, and hair that fell down into his eyes. Suhonen also noted his large hands. Suhonen guessed his age was somewhere in the vicinity of forty to fifty, about ten years older than his buddy in the Arsenal tracksuit.

  “And he had shitty luck. The dude pulled the Nagant’s trigger, and of course he died. The rest of the Skulls got out of there, and the cops chalked it up as a suicide.”

  “There wasn’t anything about it in the papers,” said Moustache Man.

  “’Course not, because the cops said it was suicide. They don’t report cause-of-death investigations to the press,” replied Arsenal Fan.

  Suhonen could have stepped in and informed them that the story was a crock of shit. He had heard it three weeks ago and had, of course, checked all the suicides among known motorcycle gang members and hang-arounds for the past six months. There hadn’t been a single one. Numerous suicides had been committed with handguns in general, but nothing indicated that the story was true. Suhonen was more inclined to believe that the gang had started spreading the tale themselves purely to reinforce their reputation.

  “Those Skulls are totally nuts. You don’t want to stick your nose too far into their business.”

  “Heard anything from Foppa lately?” asked Arsenal Fan.

  “Visited him a couple of weeks ago.”

  “What about his old lady?”

  Moustache Man grunted. “You should know…”

  “I should know what?”

  “How she’s doing. You’re over there all the time. Everyone knows that…”

  Arsenal Fan went quiet. “Does Foppa know, too? I’m kinda tripping about that.”

  “I didn’t tell him, and we didn’t really talk about her anyway.”

  “Okay, good,” the buddy replied, taking a swig of his beer.

  Suhonen was drinking a Coke and considering his next move. The mention of Foppa’s name gave him an opening. Suhonen made his decision quickly and rose with his glass. His odds were low, but sitting at the bar was starting to get old… There had been no sign of Saarnikangas. His dark mood suited his role.

  “Hey, guys,” he said without smiling, and sat down at their table. Arsenal Fan and Moustache Man looked at the intruder without saying a word.

  “You were talking about Foppa. I know him.”

  Neither one said anything until Moustache Man figured it was best to announce, “So do I.”

  “Good,” Suhonen said. “That’s what it sounded like a second ago.”

  “Were you eavesdropping?”

  “No,” Suhonen replied, his voice clearly softer. “You guys were talking loud enough for half the bar to hear. Not smart.”

  Moustache Man eyed Suhonen intently. “Where do you know Foppa from?”

  “Did time in the same block.”

  “Which one?”

  Suhonen felt the urge to smile, but it didn’t suit his role. Moustache Man had tossed out a control question.

  “East block, third floor.”

  “What were you in for?” Arsenal Fan asked, a little shyly. Suhonen figured he was wondering whether the stranger had heard the story about him taking care of the wife.

  “Occupational mishap. Two years, two months for aggravated assault. Got caught on a surveillance camera I didn’t know about.”

  Arsenal Fan and Moustache Man nodded sympathetically, but clearly a little uncertainly.

  “Who are you looking for?” Moustache Man asked.

  “How so?” Suhonen’s tone was so coy that the other two could tell he was definitely looking for someone.

  “An enforcer like you in a neighborhood pub. Drinking a Coke. You think we’re stupid?”


  “I don’t think you’re stupid. And this Coke is warm. Suikkanen,” Suhonen said. His motivation was clear: by introducing himself first, he brought himself to the same level as his drinking buddies.

  “Suikkanen.” Moustache Man savored the name. “Never heard.”

  Suhonen flashed a cold smile. “You’re not supposed to have.”

  “Yugi,” Arsenal Fan said, extending a hand.

  Moustache Man eyed his buddy coldly, and Yugi pulled his hand back. Moustache Man introduced himself: “Eki.”

  “Nice to meet you,” Suhonen said, giving another smile.

  “I’m going to ask repeat the question, if you don’t mind,” Eki continued. “Who are you looking for? Who’s in trouble?”

  Suhonen stroked his chin. “No one would be in trouble if everyone just paid their debts.”

  Arsenal Yugi and Moustache Eki were silent. Both were pleased that neither had any debts to speak of. The enforcer in the leather jacket seemed like a bad guy, one you didn’t want to spend a whole lot of time around.

  “Juha Saarnikangas.”

  “Juha?” Yugi let slip. Eki gave his friend an evil look. Now there was no point denying it, even if they wanted to.

  “They said in Kontula he might be here.”

  “How much does he owe?” Eki asked.

  Suhonen shrugged. “It’s none of my business.”

  “What is your business?”

  “Finding him.”

  “And then what?” Eki asked.

  “Now, that’s none of your business.”

  “Why would someone send a torpedo like you after some small-time junkie? That’s a pretty stacked deck.”

  “You want to join in?” Suhonen asked, looking intently at Eki. “Would it be more even then?”

  “I’m not too fond of your tone.”

  “You don’t have to be.”

  Yugi had taken a swig of his beer and now managed to get a word in. “I don’t give a shit about the guy. He stole a wallet from some twelve-year-old kid in Tallinn Square once, goddammit. I was having a drink and happened to see it. It was completely out of control, and I ran the clown down. When I brought the wallet back to the kid, who was bawling his head off, the cops were there, and I had a hell of a time explaining what happened. Luckily they believed the kid that I wasn’t the one who took it. In the end they even thanked me.”

  Suhonen nodded. “Touching story. But where can I find him?”

  Yugi continued, “He was here about three hours ago, but he shot up in the john, and the bouncer threw him out. Got banned from here for a month, for a change. I think he’s crawled back to some hole for the night. I doubt he’ll be out again.”

  “What hole?”

  “I don’t know. He’s got some bitch here somewhere nearby, but he’s always hanging around the Itäkeskus Mall parking lot in the morning, checking to see if someone left their car door unlocked and their stuff inside. That’s where I’d look for him if I had to.”

  “And would you?”

  “I won’t,” Moustache Man said quickly.

  Suhonen ignored Eki’s response. “A C-note if you tell me where to find him.”

  “I don’t have to do anything else?”

  “All I need is to know where I can find him.”

  Eki tried to curb his buddy’s enthusiasm. “Think for a second about what you’re getting mixed up in.”

  “I’m not getting mixed up in anything except helping someone give the idiot what he deserves.”

  “You’re drunk,” Eki said, standing up. “Sorry, I’m not interested in this conversation anymore.”

  Suhonen gave Moustache Man a hard look as he rose.

  “No worries. I already forgot,” Eki said, heading in the direction of the bar.

  “Good,” Suhonen growled, writing down the number for his off-the-record line on a scrap of paper he found in his pocket. The prepaid phone couldn’t be traced back to the police.

  * * *

  Joutsamo saw a knife. Not some gleaming dagger; just a rusty old all-purpose Mora. She realized she was in an empty, windowless room. A lone light bulb dangled from the ceiling. A second knife fell from somewhere, and then a third. Soon the floor was covered in knives. They reached up to her ankles, her knees. Joutsamo wanted to run, but she couldn’t move.

  She woke up in a sweat. She had kicked off her blanket and was sprawled in bed in her T-shirt and underpants. She looked at the red lights on her clock radio: 3:32 a.m.

  She lay there for a moment, breathing. The windows of her one-bedroom Töölö apartment gave onto the large interior courtyard. The curtains were drawn, but yellow light from the yard gleamed in through the gap.

  Her nightmares had returned. Joutsamo wasn’t able to predict when they came, and it made going to bed unpleasant. Violence had been stored to her mental hard drive. At times Joutsamo wondered whether she should go back to Narcotics or transfer to other duties. But something about violent crimes fascinated her. Maybe it was that evil was so unpredictable. People committed senseless acts for such trivial reasons. Joutsamo had always been interested in the motives behind a crime, especially if one was never found.

  Joutsamo rubbed the sleep from her eyes and her thoughts cleared. There was a direct cause for her nightmare-the Repo case.

  Kohonen and Joutsamo had sat for a couple of hours in the half-empty bar at the Hotel Pasila, sipped three ciders apiece, and talked about the old Repo murder case without reaching any conclusions. Something about it bothered her, and Joutsamo couldn’t put her finger on it. But now she couldn’t sleep.

  She got up and walked into her kitchenette without turning on the lights. She wet her hands under the faucet and splashed water onto her face in the dark. It refreshed her, even though she had only intended on rinsing away the clammy sweat. She grabbed the electric kettle, ran some water into it, and put it on to boil. She found a mug in the cupboard and picked out a teabag from the package next to the kettle.

  Joutsamo sat down at her two-person table. There was a laptop at the other spot and old newspapers on the chair. The three-foot-wide window had a view of the neighboring building, now dark. It had about a hundred windows, and only two of them had lights on. Everything looked so peaceful.

  Suddenly Joutsamo realized what had been bothering her about the Repo case. It was a question to which there had been no answer. Joutsamo was irritated that the problem was so elementary-she should have seen it right away at the Riihimäki police station while she was reviewing the reports.

  The wife had been lying in the kitchen with her throat slit, and Repo had been passed out in the bedroom. So who had called the police? The preliminary investigation reports didn’t contain the answer.

  WEDNESDAY MORNING

  CHAPTER 12

  WEDNESDAY, 8:05 A.M.

  HELSINKI POLICE HEADQUARTERS, PASILA

  Takamäki walked down the VCU corridor toward his office. He yawned and thought that the whole building could use a thorough renovation. Sure, police stations were supposed to be uninviting, but not this cold.

  Joutsamo recognized the rhythm of his gait and stepped out of the team room to greet him.

  “We need to talk,” she said. “Now.”

  “Good morning to you, too,” Takamäki replied, continuing past her toward his office. Joutsamo fell in behind him. “We catch our escaped convict yet?” he asked, without looking back.

  “No,” Joutsamo answered.

  Takamäki made it to his office door. “Any hot tips?”

  Joutsamo followed her boss. She was carrying a stack of papers. “Nope.”

  Takamäki hung his overcoat on a hanger next to the door. A dress shirt, tie, and sport coat for impromptu appearances hung on another. Takamäki was wearing the blue Norwegian fisherman’s sweater his wife had given him the Christmas before last. He sat down at his desk. Joutsamo was still standing in the doorway.

  “Well?” Takamäki gestured for his sergeant to sit.

  “Let’s start from the tip.
”

  “So we have something?” Takamäki said, reaching down to turn on his computer.

  “Well, sort of. A car was stolen from the Töölö swimming pool yesterday evening.”

  “A car was stolen from the pool?” he looked up at Joutsamo.

  Joutsamo grunted. “The keys from the locker and the car from outside. An intriguing method, and Kohonen went over this morning to get the surveillance camera image.” She handed the print to Takamäki. “Take a look at the clothes.”

  Takamäki examined the image shot at the pool cashier. The camera was at the ceiling, and the brim of an old-fashioned cap shaded the man’s lowered face. His clothing, on the other hand, was clearly visible in the color photo. He was wearing a gray trench coat, and a dark suit was discernible underneath. He was carrying a plastic bag. Takamäki nodded. “That’s our man. At least possibly.”

  “This guy entered the building right after the man whose keys were stolen and exited more or less immediately. The lock had been broken.”

  “What else did he take?”

  “Nothing. Just the car key. According to the victim, the car key had been on the same ring as his other keys, but they were still intact.”

  Takamäki took another look at the surveillance camera image.

  “So he wanted a car. Are there any other cameras on Topelius Street? Did he know this man, or why that specific car?”

  “Doesn’t appear to have any connection. The victim doesn’t have a criminal background, just youraverage joe.”

  The computer demanded a user ID and password from Takamäki; he complied.

  “Two conclusions that would point toward it possibly being Repo. One: he doesn’t know how to steal a car. Two: he doesn’t have friends who’d steal one for him. So he’s on his own.”

  Joutsamo nodded. “That’s what I was thinking, too.”

  “Why the Töölö pool? Is it the best place in terms of where he’s staying now, or just somewhere he’s been before? Somehow it seems an MO like that would demand a familiar milieu, at least familiar enough that he had used the lockers at some point and realized that it would be possible to pull off there.”