Cold Trail hh-4

by Jarkko Sipila

  Takamäki’s conclusion was clear: this time they wouldn’t be discussing the seemingly endless launch of Skoog’s intelligence-driven leadership model. Something bigger was in the works. Skoog’s style rubbed folks different ways, but under his leadership the productivity of the Helsinki Police Department had risen noticeably.

  Next to gruff Deputy Chief Skoog sat Jaakko Nykänen, who had recently risen to head of intelligence at the National Bureau of Investigation. Takamäki knew him well; he was one of Takamäki’s former detectives. The detective with the Burt Reynolds moustache had taken a bullet in the neck during a Homicide shoot-out but had survived. He had been left with a hoarse voice as a memento of the incident. Nykänen had later signed up for lieutenant courses and ended up at the National Bureau of Investigation after a stint at Espoo Narcotics. Thanks to his recent appointment, he had been promoted to captain and had risen past Takamäki in the chain of command.

  “Most of you probably know Nykänen from the NBI,” Skoog drily noted, “so I’ll turn the floor over to him. There is one thing I’d like to say, however. This meeting has been called because occasional overlaps have occurred, and we’re trying to avoid such messes. In addition, we’re starting a new model of cross-unit cooperation,” Skoog said, before nodding in Nykänen’s direction. “The floor is yours.”

  “All right,” Nykänen began in his raspy voice. “This morning I talked to Espoo’s Narcotics, Financial Crime, and Violent Crime detectives about this, and this afternoon I’m headed east to Vantaa. The issue is this.”

  Takamäki waited for PowerPoint slides emblazoned with the NBI logo or a handout, but Nykänen didn’t have either.

  “This is fresh stuff, but it’s heavy. So let’s see if we can get cooperation to work on a broader basis. For more than two months now, we’ve had a tap in this one narcotics case that leads all the way to the Netherlands. It’s a normal hash case, and it’s not the reason for this meeting.”

  Everyone listened silently. The Financial Crimes men had pen and paper in front of them.

  “The target we’ve been tapping is one Jorma Raitio from Järvenpää. The name is probably familiar to at least some of you.”

  There was nodding, mostly among the Narcotics and Intelligence men. Takamäki had heard of the guy, too.

  Just to be sure, Nykänen continued explaining Raitio’s background. “Raitio is more muscle than the brains of the organization. Has had several years’ worth of convictions for violent crimes and narcotics offenses. He’s the link to this hash case, which is why we were tapping him. Four days ago, he received the call that’s the reason for this meeting. A man, who at that point was still unknown to us called him and asked him to pick up a case of beer from the corner store.”

  The cops chuckled.

  “Well, of course we applied for a warrant to tap this unknown number too, and in couple of days it turned out that there were three beer runs in the works. We don’t know exactly what jobs are being planned here, but evidently three different groups are involved. We suspect that the caller is the coordinator of three simultaneous jobs in the greater Helsinki area. Raitio’s the only name we are sure of, though.”

  “We have any information on the jobs?” asked the head of Narcotics.

  “No. We’re betting robberies. Might be jewelry stores, banks, or maybe an armored car, but I’m pretty sure the grocery stores are safe.”

  This sparked off another round of laughter.

  “So our intent is to paralyze the entire group in the near future,” Nykänen said. “We’re seeking enough evidence to take them all down. We want convictions. At the same time, we want to prevent any criminal activity from occurring.”

  Takamäki thought Nykänen’s language was needlessly militaristic, but that was the price of the War on Crime. Skoog looked pleased.

  “Three simultaneous gigs,” Karila thought out loud. “That’s going to cause some serious chaos among the police forces throughout greater Helsinki.”

  “That’s right,” Nykänen said. “We wouldn’t normally bother you with such lightweight intel, but there’s something else. The man suspected of being the main coordinator is an Espoo resident by the name of Tomi Manner.”

  Takamäki’s eyes almost popped out of his head. He was glad that no coffee had been served, because he definitely would have spilled it in his lap. Manner? The guy who ran over his son? Goddammit.

  Nykänen continued, “Manner owns a small private security company, and of course we’ve researched his customers. The problem is that Manner used to be a mid-level manager at a national security company, which has several banks and jewelry stores as clients. Manner doesn’t have a criminal record, just a few traffic infractions.”

  “So what does the NBI want from us?” asked the Narcotics chief, in his frank style.

  “Nothing more than cooperation, actually. Let us know if you have any ongoing cases involving Manner. If you hear about any beer runs, let us know. The intention, of course, is to coordinate the case through the NBI, so we can prevent the robberies. Does the name Manner say anything to anyone?”

  Takamäki thought for a second and decided not to mention the hit-and-run, but the car theft reported to the Espoo police was a matter of public record. He raised a finger.

  “Kari,” Nykänen said, and everyone turned to look at Takamäki.

  “This morning there was a car theft reported to the Espoo Police, and this Manner is the victim. According to the report, his Toyota was stolen from his house last night.”

  Skoog cleared his throat. “Takamäki, what does this have to do with Helsinki VCU work?”

  “It doesn’t. Nykänen asked whether the name Manner said anything to anyone, and that’s basically what it said to me.”

  Skoog’s gaze was piercing. He’d had problems with Takamäki before, too.

  Takamäki’s boss decided it was time for him to intervene. “Takamäki’s team has been tracking escaped murderer Timo Repo, so of course they’ve been monitoring car thefts.”

  “As we saw in the papers,” laughed the Narcotics chief, and everyone joined in.

  Now it was Takamäki’s turn to give his boss a cold stare. He didn’t need anyone defending him.

  “Okay,” Nykänen said. “I’m going to pass my cards around, just in case anyone doesn’t have my mobile number. Call whenever.”

  As the rest of the group filed out, Takamäki walked up to Nykänen. “You have time to come over to the old unit for a cup of coffee?”

  Nykänen glanced at his watch. “I’m in kind of a rush, actually. I’ve got to get to Vantaa.”

  “Jaakko, coffee, now,” Takamäki ordered, as if Nykänen were still working in his unit. “I just have one thing I need to tell Skoog first.”

  Takamäki explained the Iltalehti incident to the Deputy Chief, who promised to take it upstairs for further action. Nykänen overheard the conversation, and he struggled to keep a straight face. Not that Nykänen approved of what the reporter had done. It was more the gravity with which Skoog approached the matter that made him smile. Skoog was receptive to Takamäki’s idea of confiscating the reporter’s phone as a warning.

  Skoog inquired about the Repo manhunt, and Takamäki said they were doing everything they could. Takamäki didn’t bring up Joutsamo’s suspicions regarding the man’s potential innocence. This was neither the time nor the place.

  Then Takamäki grabbed Nykänen, and they headed down the corridors toward the VCU’s premises.

  “Jaakko,” Takamäki said, stopping in the hall between closed doors. “I know you’re in a rush, so I won’t force coffee on you.”

  Nykänen looked relieved, because he was supposed to be at Vantaa PD in forty-five minutes, giving the same presentation for the third time that day.

  Takamäki took out his cell phone and fiddled with it for a second. He pulled up one of the photos he had taken the previous night. Takamäki handed the device to Nykänen, who saw the dented front corner of a Toyota.

  “What’s thi
s?”

  “Manner’s car.”

  “The one that burned?”

  “Yup,” Takamäki said.

  Nykänen looked at Takamäki. “Who took this photo?”

  Takamäki sighed. “I did.”

  “When?”

  “Last night in Tuomarila.”

  Nykänen looked at Takamäki, eyes wide. “Okay, I’m not in a hurry anymore. Goddammit! Suddenly I feel like I could use a cup of coffee after all.”

  * * *

  Ten minutes later, Nykänen and Takamäki were sitting in Takamäki’s office, hot cups of cop coffee in front of them.

  “Why don’t you start at the beginning?” Nykänen said.

  Takamäki told him about Jonas’s hit-and-run, the Sello surveillance camera images, the indifferent attitude of the Espoo police, his nocturnal verification trip into the wilds of Tuomarila, and his intention of dropping by Manner’s and lecturing him about the morality of hit-and-runs.

  “I’ll be damned.” Nykänen sighed heavily. “We’ve been racking our brains trying to think of how we could get a tap in that house and you just waltz in there in the middle of the night like some horny teenager.”

  “You guys should probably make sure that Caesar isn’t home.”

  “Who’s Caesar?”

  “Manner’s dog. I don’t know what breed, but based on the bark, I’d say it’s not too small.”

  Nykänen wrote down the dog’s name. “Good to know. But the hit-and-run at Sello?”

  “That’s exactly what I was thinking during the meeting.”

  “Sello has plenty of banks and jewelry stores,” Nykänen reflected.

  “And armored cars drop by to pick up cash from the supermarkets and other businesses. But that’s just a guess,” Takamäki said.

  “How does the car arson fit into the picture, then?”

  “That’s a bit of a mystery. Manner had told the Espoo Police a story about a business trip that he didn’t return from until last night. We don’t know if it’s true or not. But it is possible that one of his colleagues had scoped out the escape route in Manner’s Toyota and he didn’t hear about the hit-and-run until his return. It’d be a good way to cover up his tracks.”

  “But why draw the police’s attention if there’s a big gig coming up?”

  “An alibi for the car and for Manner?” Takamäki suggested. “If they’ve been staking out other targets in that car, then they can say that it’s been missing for a couple of days. Because if three big jobs went down at the same time, it wouldn’t take us long to start looking for connections from the targets’ surveillance cameras.”

  “And had he reported it stolen earlier, he would’ve run the risk the whole time of the car being pulled over by the cops. Now they were able to scout out the fastest escape routes,” Nykänen mused. “With jobs like that, the most important thing is to get the haul out of the getaway car as fast as possible.”

  “Who was driving it? Now that’s an interesting question,” Takamäki said, taking a sip of his coffee. He pulled out the Sello surveillance camera images from his drawer and showed them to Nykänen.

  “Yeah, well, I can’t make anything out from that, but it’s probably Manner or one of his lieutenants.”

  “There’s one more problem.”

  “What?” Nykänen shot back.

  “A guy named Lauri Solberg over in Espoo is investigating this hit-and-run of Jonas’s, and evidently this car theft of Manner’s, too.”

  Nykänen looked thoughtful. “Solberg? Never came across him during my narc days.”

  “I think he’s pretty new, but he knows I have these Sello photos.”

  “How’d come you’re the one who ended up with those anyway, not the investigator from Espoo?” Nykänen asked.

  “I went and picked them up from the Sello surveillance room. Espoo hadn’t thought of that.”

  “Of course not.” Nykänen was smiling, but he also rubbed his forehead. “Under no circumstances do we want this Solberg to start digging into Manner’s car’s movements around Sello, because Sello is now the first, and, for the time being, only potential target we know about. If Solberg lets Manner know that we’re aware of his car’s movements there, they’ll drop the target immediately.”

  “Right,” Takamäki said.

  “We’ll set up stakeout teams at Sello right away, and it’d probably be best for me to get in touch with either Solberg or his boss, and have them drop their investigation of that hit-and-run pronto. If necessary, we could have all cases involving Manner transferred to the NBI for investigation.”

  “Right,” Takamäki repeated.

  “Sorry. I wouldn’t like it either if there wasn’t even an attempt to find out who was driving a car that hit my kid, but I’m sure you understand.”

  Takamäki laughed. “Of course I understand, but hopefully I don’t have to explain it to my wife. Because she’d ask what the police’s priorities are: property that’s covered by insurance, or physical injuries sustained by a human being? In any case, I’ll leave it in your hands.”

  * * *

  The sleet had started coming down again. It was colder now, and the flakes formed a layer of slush on the asphalt. Repo was walking along Malmi Curve toward the Kirkonkylä Road bridge that spanned the train tracks. He glanced backwards again, but the only person there was the woman pushing a dark blue baby carriage who had been there ten seconds before.

  Apartment buildings rose to his right, and the train tracks ran to his left. Repo had wondered what to do. He couldn’t stay in Karppi’s house. The old man’s death was an accident, but of course no one would believe him. No one had listened to him the first time, either.

  He had left Karppi’s house and left the car on the street there. Maybe that was a mistake, but he wouldn’t go back now.

  Repo knew that he was innocent of his wife’s murder. Understanding that had taken him a couple of years. There’s no way he would have been able to slit Arja’s throat.

  On the other hand, he was sure that he wouldn’t have been capable of killing Karppi either, but it had still happened. Repo cursed the old man. Why did he have to go sticking his nose into Repo’s business? Everything had been set, but now it was all a huge mess again.

  Repo switched the bag over to his other shoulder and glanced backwards once more. Pain and exhaustion. Of course he had gotten used to it, but before he could go on, he had to get some sleep to clear his head. There was a headline about an escaped murderer on the front page of today’s Iltalehti. Maybe his photo was in there too, so Repo didn’t dare to buy the paper.

  A few hours’ sleep in some quiet spot and then the final preparations. After that he’d be ready. Where? Train, hotel, bus… Repo tried to come up with a quiet place, but couldn’t think of anything suitable. Repo arrived at the intersection and noticed an ad for the Eurokangas fabric shop on the light post.

  Eurokangas? That had been Juha’s nickname in the joint. He didn’t know anyone else who could help him. Maybe Saarnikangas-that was the guy’s real name-had a place where he could get a little sleep. Convicts were supposed to be loyal to their friends; that’s what Repo had understood.

  He had taken Karppi’s cell phone and money, which of course made him a robber-murderer, but that didn’t matter now. Repo pulled out a small notebook from the breast pocket of his black suit and flipped to “Eurokangas.”

  * * *

  Takamäki was having lunch in the canteen at police HQ. Beef soup was in his bowl, milk filled his glass. Suhonen was sitting at the same table. Takamäki had tried to ask him about his relationship with Raija, but no dice. The undercover detective evidently didn’t feel like talking about it-he had just grunted something that the lieutenant hadn’t been able to make out.

  It was coming up on one o’clock already, and there was plenty of room in the canteen. A few patrol officers in uniform walked in and over to the counter.

  Takamäki’s phone rang, and he saw that the caller was Joutsamo. “I’m eating, bu
t tell me,” he answered.

  “Some of us have time for lunch, huh?” Joutsamo said.

  “Well?”

  “I dropped by Karppi’s place on the way back from Riihimäki. Thought I’d just ask him a few questions.”

  “And?” Takamäki stopped eating. He glanced at Suhonen, who began listening. “Did Karppi say anything?”

  “No. And he never will.”

  “Dead?” Takamäki said.

  “Killed, I’d say. I went in, and he was lying there in the living room. There was a major fracture at the back of his skull.”

  “Dead, back of his head bashed in,” Takamäki repeated for Suhonen’s benefit. “Classic blunt object?”

  “Or corner of a table. I didn’t stay to investigate, so I wouldn’t contaminate the scene any more than Ialready had.”

  “But Karppi hadn’t slipped?”

  “It’s possible, of course, but in that case I’d be interested in knowing who covered the body with a sheet.”

  “Okay, Okay,” Takamäki said. That was cause to suspect homicide, and the covering of the body indicated that the perpetrator knew the victim. “When?”

  “Looked fresh. I felt his diaphragm, which already exhibited signs of rigor mortis. I’d guess an hour, two at most.”

  “Any signs of Repo?”

  “Can’t say. I checked the body and got out of there. I called in a patrol unit and thought I’d check out the vicinity. Of course I also called into the Emergency Ops Center, so the search is already on, but could you get Forensics over here? Vallesman Road,” Joutsamo said, followed by the precise address.

  Takamäki promised to call Kannas. The manhunt for escaped convict Timo Repo would turn into a high-profile case the moment the media caught whiff of Repo’s being implicated in Karppi’s death.

  Suhonen heard the whole story, since Takamäki called Kannas next and explained what had happened.

  “Pretty bad,” Suhonen said, once the call ended. He had finished his lunch. Takamäki’s soup had cooled in the bowl.

  “Yeah. Changes things.”

  “Did Repo want to get back at Karppi for something? He was his dad’s neighbor. Could there have been some schism between them?” Suhonen reflected. “Money? Some old grudge?”