“Execution style or what?”
“Crossed my mind.” Suhonen wanted to ask about any enemies Tomi might have, but Salmela would surely bring that up himself.
Salmela’s hand trembled as he raised a fresh cigarette to his lips, then abruptly withdrew it. “Damn, he was a good kid, even if a little down and out last couple years. Fuck yeah…I used to be so proud when I’d take him to soccer practice. Kid could score whenever he damn well pleased.”
Suhonen didn’t know what to say, so he listened. That was probably best.
“Then I wound up in prison for a year, and the wife found someone else. That kind of meant game over for the whole dad thing… But those soccer games were really something. Sunk four goals in one game once. And he was playing on defense. When he got the ball, ain’t nobody was gonna stop him.” Salmela’s voice began to break up. “He stuck ’em in the net like Maradona at his best…”
Salmela put the cigarette between his lips. This time he lit it. “Maybe it’s best to shut up so I don’t get emotional.”
“The memories will never fade,” said Suhonen.
“You met him too once, over there at…”
“The Ruskeasuo Teboil station. A year ago. Seemed like quite the kid.”
Salmela laughed. “I dunno about quite the kid at that time. More like quite the crackhead. He was hooked on speed and moved here to peddle some dope for some friends from Lahti. He got enough money from that to pay rent. I helped him out a few times with a C-note or two.”
“Did you keep in touch?”
“Not so much. We met up a few times, but we were running in different circles. Last time I saw him he tried to sell me a hit of coke. Just about beat the shit out of the kid… Heh, tried to gouge me too.”
The mention of cocaine got Suhonen thinking. “When was this?”
“Don’t remember exactly. Two, three weeks ago.”
Suhonen waited for Salmela to connect the dots.
“You sayin’ the coke had something to do
with it?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“But that’s what you’re thinking.”
Since Salmela had brought up motive, Suhonen decided to up the ante. “We have the shooter in custody.”
Salmela’s body stiffened and he flicked the remainder of his cigarette out the window. “Gimme his name.”
“I can’t, actually,” said Suhonen, though the moment he brought up the subject he had already decided to reveal it.
“Bullshit. Who is it?”
“Esa Nyberg.”
Salmela fell silent. “Shit… What the fuck was Tomi mixed up in for them to send that kind of firepower after him? That Nyberg is a militant psycho. Apparently talks about joining the Foreign Legion all the time. He can go ahead as far as I’m concerned… Shoulda gone long ago.”
“Back up a sec. Who do you mean by them?”
Salmela looked at Suhonen with a stupefied expression. “Them. Don’t you know?”
“Nyberg could’ve switched employers.”
“In other words you don’t. Well let me fill you in. Nyberg is Risto Korpi’s godchild. He ain’t gonna switch employers.”
* * *
Fifteen minutes later, Suhonen was striding down a long, quiet hallway at the VCU. Takamäki’s door
was open and the lieutenant was sitting in front of his computer.
Suhonen stepped inside and Takamäki looked up. “Well?”
“He took it hard.”
“Figured as much. Who wouldn’t.” Takamäki thought of his boys. The death of one’s own child would just as easily break a seasoned homicide cop.
“This Tomi hasn’t been close to his dad since he was a kid, though. The divorce split them up long ago. But I did get some intel,” said Suhonen, and he told Takamäki about the godchild relationship.
“So Korpi’s our target,” said Takamäki. “Unless Nyberg had side projects Korpi didn’t know about.”
“What about the surveillance?”
“We got the warrant and tapped the lines. According to records, the numbers have been inactive for two months. We’ll have to figure out Korpi’s current residence and means of communication.”
The power of phone taps was rapidly waning. Professional criminals knew how to avoid them by cycling through prepaid SIM cards and cell phones. The police didn’t bother to tap prepaids that were older than six months, since they automatically expired after that.
“Yeah, that’d be a nice surprise,” Suhonen remarked. “What’d Forensics find in the apartment?”
“Kannas promised…” Takamäki managed to say before a gruff voice boomed from the hallway.
“Did someone say the holy word?”
Suhonen moved aside to make room for Takamäki’s old friend, who soon filled the entire doorway.
“Tsk, tsk. Thou shalt not take your lord’s name in vain,” Kannas growled as he came into the room, a small briefcase tucked under his arm.
“Oh, really. A lord?” said Suhonen.
“Inspector Suhonen decided to show up for once, eh? And here I figured your type would just be stumbling out of the sack so you could go bar hopping and raiding whorehouses till dawn,” said Kannas with a wink.
Suhonen had a comeback at the ready, but Kannas never gave him the chance. “Just so there aren’t any misunderstandings, though, I should say I’m no god. Forensics is god. Everybody believes in it. Me, I’m just a humble servant of that god. A slave, I should say.”
“A lowly worm of the earth,” Suhonen went on. Takamäki smiled.
“Naah. No worms yet,” said Kannas in a more serious tone, “the body was still warm. Worms and other critters need a bit more time. That’s how it usually is, depending on the temperature, of course…”
“We get the picture,” Takamäki cut in. “What did you find?”
Kannas dug a stack of photographic printouts from his briefcase and handed them to Takamäki. “Here’s a little taste of blood for the paper-pushing lieutenant.”
As he reached for the printouts, Takamäki shot a hard enough look at Kannas that he thought better of his comment. “Sorry, long day. Plus it’s my day off. But a corpse beats the mother-in-law’s birthday party any time, no matter what the wife might think of it.”
“A milestone?”
“Luckily not.”
Takamäki looked over the photos. Tomi Salmela’s body lay on its back on a rag rug. The floor looked like grey linoleum. There wasn’t much blood, which was typical, since sudden death stopped the heart’s pumping immediately.
“The body’s at the coroner’s now, but based on experience and the diameter of the entry hole in his forehead I’d say it’s a nine-millimeter round. Not to mention the bullet tore off half his head when it came out the back. We dug the slug out of the far wall of the entry. Still at the lab, so nothing more on that
for now.”
Takamäki nodded. They had found a nine-millimeter pistol on Nyberg when he was arrested.
“We found the casing too,” said Kannas. “There among the shoes. Based on the location of the casing and the blood splatters, I’d guess he was shot right at the door or just inside. The door was intact, so the victim had apparently opened it himself. We got plenty of fingerprints, which we’re sifting through right now. That doesn’t cost much, but what about running some DNA? We found all kinds of cigarette butts, bloody kleenexes and a bunch of other junk that might tell us who’s been there.”
Takamäki thought for a moment. “I don’t think it’s necessary, at least not yet. Since the shooter is already in custody and apparently never entered the apartment I think we can save the NBI some time and money. But obviously we should archive the evidence in case we run into any surprises.”
Kannas approved. “My thoughts exactly.”
“Anything else of interest?”
“Not really. Just your typical drug hole: a bunch of stolen junk. We’ll see if we can find the original owners if we get around to it… Oh yeah, I
almost forgot.” Kannas’ lie was deliberately transparent. “The hiding spot was pretty unoriginal, but I suppose they figured the dogs wouldn’t find the drugs in the toilet tank. And they never do either, which is why we always look there. Found half a pound of coke.”
“Half a pound,” said Suhonen.
“We don’t have an official weight yet, so it might be a bit more or less.”
The drugs got Suhonen thinking. Half a pound of cocaine was nothing to sneeze at. Maybe this Tomi Salmela wasn’t such a small-time dealer after all. That much coke was enough of a motive to get him shot, but if that were the case, the killer certainly wouldn’t have left the drugs in the apartment.
MONDAY,
SEPTEMBER 18
CHAPTER 4
MONDAY, 7:45 A.M.
MARI LEHTONEN’S APARTMENT, ALPPILA, EAST HELSINKI
“Laura, put your coat on! It’s cold out there,” shouted Mari Lehtonen from the kitchen as her daughter tied her shoes. Twelve-year-old Laura had on jeans and a college sweatshirt. Summer had turned to autumn just the previous night. The thermometer in the kitchen window of their two-bedroom flat read forty-six degrees Fahrenheit. Gray clouds skirted swiftly over the gray apartment building opposite theirs.
“Yup,” said the blond-haired girl as she grabbed her backpack off the floor. “Bye.”
Before Mari Lehtonen could make it to the entryway to check, the girl was out the door. Her parka was still hanging from the hook next to the door.
“Figures,” she laughed. Laura was a quiet and kind girl. Perhaps this was just how her teen rebellion would manifest itself.
Mari went back to the kitchen and sat down at a smallish dining table where the morning paper was spread out. Dark hair fell across her narrow face and reached her thin shoulders. She took a gulp of coffee from a mug that read “Mom’s Joe,” followed by a smiley face. Laura had painted the mug herself and given it as a gift the previous Christmas.
Mari and Laura shared an apartment on Porvoo Street. The interior was neat and clean, with a feminine décor. When Laura was six, Mari had divorced her husband for the usual reasons: alcoholism and the threat of violence. Anton had actually never hit them, but she had always suspected that it was just a matter of time. Life was unpleasant then and Mari had taken the necessary action.
Fear of violence had made her think about what she’d do when the first blow came. She loathed the thought of resorting to a kitchen knife. Best to throw the drunk out before it was too late. The divorce hadn’t been easy, but a couple prior house calls to the police were enough to convince the judge to grant Mari sole custody. This had aggravated the situation to the point of threats and harassment. Finally, she had had enough and sought a restraining order on him, and he had relented. As far as Mari knew, Anton Teittinen had no idea where his ex-wife and daughter were now living.
Mari picked up the front page of the Helsingin Sanomat with an article about a company that was starting labor negotiations to eliminate 170 positions. She read only the headline and a couple of the first paragraphs. The article was written solely from the perspective of the firm, with employee comments made to sound like a lot of rabble-rousing. Mari knew what it was like to be fired. After earning an associate’s degree in business, she had landed a job at the Jyväskylä Savings and Loan; but during the banking crisis of the ’90s, she had been laid off and moved to Helsinki. Now she was thirty-seven and working in the finance department of a mid-sized office supply retailer. The job was alright and the pay adequate for rent and hobbies.
Perhaps Alppila was not the best neighborhood for a girl on the cusp of puberty, but at least life here was better than their previous situation. Once a vast cow pasture, Alppila was now largely an industrial district filled with working class apartments. It drew its name from the rugged bedrock prevalent in the area—a cheeky comparison to the Alps. They liked the area, as the school was nearby and there was plenty to do. Laura attended theater classes twice a week. Mari also liked the location because her office in Vallila was only a few hundred yards away. The cultural delights of Helsinki were almost as close.
Mari took a bite of a ham-on-rye sandwich with a single leaf of lettuce. She paged through the paper and made it to the Metro section before her phone rang. The number belonged to her boss, Essi Saari. “Hi,” said Mari into the receiver.
“Where are you?” asked Saari, in a voice half anxious, half angry.
“Still at home.”
“You forget?”
Shit, she thought, remembering the meeting invitation she’d received the previous afternoon. One of the higher-ups had been demanding some report and Saari had asked Mari to help. Saari wasn’t much for computers, so Mari was supposed to have run the report.
“Yeah…” said Mari as she walked back into the kitchen. “I’m sorry.”
“Well…it’s alright. We still have time. Have your coffee, but let’s get started as soon as you get here.”
“Gimme fifteen minutes,” she said, knowing full well it would take her longer with dressing and makeup.
With no time to sit, Mari raised her mug to her lips. That’s when she noticed a small article: “Young Man Gunned Down in Alppila.” Police were asking for information from potential eyewitnesses about a youth who’d been killed on Porvoo Street. Mari checked the address to be sure she hadn’t read it wrong. She hadn’t. It was the building just across from them.
Her thoughts stopped and a stream of images flickered through her memory. She shook her head faintly, tore out the article and hurried into the bathroom.
* * *
“What exactly did you see?” asked Essi Saari. The finance director was sitting at her computer in her sleek modern office, dressed in a white—and considering her weight—excessively tight pantsuit. Mari had shown her boss the newspaper clipping and mentioned to her that she had seen something.
“I saw a dark car and a man. It’s like the picture is engrained in my head. License plate and all.”
“I know you’ve got a good head for numbers, but…”
“But the police are asking for eyewitnesses.”
“Come on. It’s not like you saw the murder.”
“But they’re asking for information on the car. Shouldn’t I…”
This time it was Saari’s turn to interrupt. “Not a chance. No point getting mixed up in these kinds of things. The cops have their DNAs and phone taps. That’s how you solve murders. There’s really no point in getting involved. You’ve already had enough
problems, given your ex and all. You’d wind up testifying in court, you know.”
“But shouldn’t I at least…”
“No,” said Saari. “Should we get that report done now? Getting to be crunch time here.”
“Alright, let me see it. You just tell me what you want me to run.”
* * *
Half a dozen officers had already sampled the coffee Joutsamo had made. As usual, she’d made tea for herself. Suhonen yawned while Kulta sipped his coffee.
The meeting was supposed to have started at nine o’clock sharp, but Takamäki was late.
“So did you get drafted to play in the Elite League yet?” Joutsamo asked Suhonen, as he smothered a seemingly endless yawn.
Suhonen smirked. He regretted telling his colleagues that he had begun playing hockey again.
“Yup, by the Blues after their flop last season,” Suhonen laughed.
“You played quite a bit when you were younger, didn’t you?” asked Kulta.
“In Lahti till I was sixteen.”
“Why’d you quit?”
“Uhh,” Suhonen stretched and took a sip of coffee. “If I said I just got more interested in other things, I’d be lying. Truth is, I just wasn’t good enough,” Suhonen lied.
“So why are you back on the ice now?” said Joutsamo, genuinely interested.
Suhonen smiled. “I already bought the Harley. Can’t change the wife, since I don’t have one, and I can’t complain much about my job, but I gotta do
something about this imminent midlife crisis, right? I guess senior hockey is macho enough for me.”
Joutsamo laughed. With the killer behind bars and the case all but closed, the mood was light. Locating the driver would only be a bonus, though a big one, of course. But that didn’t put on much additional pressure. Risto Korpi, on the other hand, was a stressful target, one that they knew would take a lot of work and time to connect to the shooting. None of Korpi’s goons would squeak, so the case would come down to phone taps or some other technological means. Provided Korpi was found, his apartment could be wired. Then it was just a matter of time before his tongue slipped. Incriminating evidence might surface by accident as well. Something significant could come up in a Narcotics operation.
“Good morning and my apologies,” said Takamäki, who had swapped yesterday’s sweater for a collared shirt and blazer. He had stashed his lightweight overcoat in his office.
A murmur of good mornings went around the room.
“Have we gotten the autopsy report from the coroner yet?”
“No,” said Joutsamo. “But I doubt there’s anything of interest there. No mystery on the cause of death.”
“I’m mainly interested in the victim’s blood alcohol level and any traces of drugs,” said Takamäki. Since not everyone had been updated yet, he recapped last night’s forensics briefing from Kannas. Takamäki had stayed on until eleven o’clock, when the officers who had gone to canvas
the neighboring buildings returned. Nothing new there. No eyewitnesses.
“If there was coke in Salmela’s system, I bet the stash in the toilet was his,” said Kulta. “Though that’s probably the case anyway.”
“I saw a little blurb in the Helsingin Sanomat; what about the other rags?” asked Takamäki.
“Two columns each for Ilta-Sanomat and Iltalehti. No photos,” said Joutsamo. “They probably couldn’t make it out to the crime scene before deadline.”
Helsinki Homicide: Nothing but the Truth Page 3