Helsinki Homicide: Against the Wall

by Jarkko Sipila

  He crouched down and looked at the pictures on the LCD. Good enough.

  Suhonen heard footsteps behind him and glanced around. A woman in her forties with walking poles and a blue wind suit was approaching. She aimed her key fob at the SUV to unlock the doors, then froze when she noticed Suhonen crouching next to her car.

  He turned slowly and whispered, “Shhh… There’s an Olive-backed Pipit in the thicket to your left. Really rare.”

  The woman stiffened, and Suhonen raised his camera. He snapped a few photos of the bushes and glanced at the screen for good measure. He gave her the thumbs up and whispered, “Anthus hodgsoni. Really rare in Finland.”

  The woman said nothing, climbed into the SUV, locked the doors and sped away. Suhonen rose and swung back into his car.

  He started the Peugeot and headed toward the Pakila Teboil gas station. There he’d have time for a cup of coffee before the next phase.

  CHAPTER 20

  PIHLAJAMÄKI, HELSINKI

  THURSDAY, 3:20 P.M.

  The coffee at the Pakila Teboil had been exceptionally good. Suhonen had barely managed to down a cup before the dots on his cellphone started to move again. The meeting between Saarnikangas and Lydman had lasted about fifteen minutes.

  Now Suhonen had photographs that the men would have to explain during their interrogations, or in court at the latest. Of course, he would have rather heard what they said or even recorded it, but without advance warning of the meeting location, he hadn’t had time.

  Audio surveillance presented its own problems. Unwanted noise sources near the device could spoil the whole operation. Suhonen recalled how a full day’s work by ten cops was once wasted when a bus driver picked the wrong spot to take his break and left the engine idling.

  Now Suhonen was sitting in his car in the parking lot outside Saarnikangas’ apartment building. He had predicted correctly that Saarnikangas would return home, and had left while Juha was still at the parking lot near the park. Suhonen had kept his eye on the glowing dot, which had stayed a few minutes behind him.

  Saarnikangas was a minute away from the parking lot. Suhonen flicked a switch, and the wipers cleared the slush off the windshield.

  It was quiet—only a few people were about, walking their dogs. A wet snow had blanketed the cars in the parking lot, and the darkening landscape reminded him of Christmas, though it was only November. Hopefully, they’d have a white Christmas this year, Suhonen thought. Probably not, if the last few years were any guide.

  The street lights came on, only a dim glow at first. They took a few minutes to warm up.

  He watched as Saarnikangas’ van rounded the neighboring restaurant and crept into the parking lot. The headlights blinded him, and he couldn’t make out the driver.

  The Ducato swung into an open space three places down from Suhonen, who got out and approached Saarnikangas just as he was locking his van with a key.

  “Hello,” the detective said, startling Saarnikangas.

  He recovered quickly. “What the hell!”

  “Right on.”

  “Huh?”

  “You’re in a hot spot.”

  Juha forced a laugh. “Hey, I was just gonna call you. Good timing.”

  “Really.”

  “Should we go up to my place?” Juha asked, taking a step towards the stairs at the entrance.

  Suhonen grabbed Saarnikangas by the shoulder. “Should we go down to the station?”

  “Don’t start… Shit!”

  Suhonen looked him straight in the eyes. “Juha. You’re a peewee player, but now you’re in the rink with the pros. You know how that’ll end?”

  Juha nodded. “Yeah. Lotsa pucks in my own net.”

  “At least you get it.”

  Saarnikangas glanced at the entrance again, then dropped his gaze to the snow-covered ground. “The recognition of truth is the beginning of wisdom.”

  “Paasikivi. No art history this time?” Suhonen grinned at the famous quote from Finland’s first cold-war president. Paasikivi had outlined much of Finland’s post-war foreign policy, which was akin to standing in the middle of a seesaw, balancing the demands of the Soviets and the West.

  Saarnikangas chuckled. “I took political history along with my art studies… But that Paasikivi quote isn’t too far off, nor is your more modern peewee analogy.”

  Suhonen was glad that Juha was talking and allowed him to continue.

  “Back in the fifties, Finland was that peewee player that had to choose between the East and West teams in a world championship game…kind of like me now…the East wanted to link Finland to the ‘peace movement.’ Finland consented, but not really.”

  “What are you talking about?” Suhonen muttered.

  “Listen.”

  Suhonen relented, he was in no hurry.

  “So…according to Paasikivi, in a crisis, it made sense for Finland to be on the Soviet side. Not based on any belief or hope of a Soviet victory, just plain strategy. So had the cold war gotten hot, Finland would’ve been on the Soviet side. Why? If the Soviet Union had won, Finland would’ve been on the winning side. In a draw, Finland would’ve continued to be a Soviet neighbor. But had the West won, Finland would have eventually been able to make up with the victors.”

  “Cold war power politics,” Suhonen said.

  Saarnikangas smiled, “I know how the real cold war ended, now I just need to figure out who’s East and who’s West.”

  “You know, Juha, that reminds me of Spain. Once in my younger days, we were on a drinking trip in Torremolinos. After three days in a beach-front cantina, I had quite a hangover. The weather was fantastic, but I just felt like hanging out under the canopy of the terrace bar. Well, that took care of the hangover quickly. But there was a sign in Spanish on the wall of the bar, and for some reason I just had to figure out what it said. The gray-whiskered bartender translated it for me, and I still remember it.”

  Saarnikangas looked at Suhonen. “Well?”

  “Talking about the bulls isn’t the same as being in the ring.”

  “Yea-ah,” Saarnikangas said, amused. “Better that than ‘Drink sangria in moderation.’”

  Suhonen finally got annoyed, “Enough bullshit. Let’s go down to the station. You’re under arrest on suspicion of murder.”

  “Don’t I even get my one phone call?”

  “Nope. You’ve watched one too many American TV shows,” said Suhonen bluntly. Saarnikangas’ jokes fell flat.

  “But…”

  “Game over.”

  “If the game’s over, can’t we have a rematch?”

  Suhonen looked at the junkie. He was no killer, but he knew more than he was willing to say. Joutsamo wouldn’t care one way or the other. She would pry all she could out of the guy.

  “Let’s go. No more games. I don’t have cuffs with me, but I can have a cruiser here in four minutes. Either that or nice and easy in my car.”

  Suhonen fished his cellphone out of his jacket pocket.

  Saarnikangas knew he wasn’t kidding around. “Okay, Suhonen. Listen to me. I didn’t shoot him. I’m not a killer. Hey, I’m the one that called you about it…”

  Suhonen pushed a button on his phone and raised it to his ear. “Suhonen from VCU. I need a unit out here to take someone to Pasila… Yeah. In Pihlajamäki, the apartments by Vuolukivi… I’ve got him, but we need transport to Pasila… Right… Thanks.” Suhonen put the phone back in his pocket.

  “Shit,” Saarnikangas shrieked. “I didn’t kill him!”

  “You have four minutes. Enlighten me, but without the history lesson.”

  “Don’t you believe me? If I did it, there’s no way in hell I would have told you about the body.”

  “Never heard that before,” Suhonen sneered, glancing at his phone.

  “That’s not funny,” Juha said.

  “I’m a cop, not a comedian.”

  Saarnikangas paused for a second. The East or the West? Who would win? It made no difference; he was out of
time. He had to resolve the immediate crisis first, just as Paasikivi would have done.

  “Three and a half,” Suhonen said.

  “I was there a while after he was shot,” he said in a defeated tone. “But I didn’t shoot nobody…it was some guy wearing a ski mask. I was supposed to get rid of the body, but I couldn’t do it.”

  Suhonen let him talk, though he had plenty of questions.

  “I’m not cut out for that. I was confused. The killer gave me the gun and told me to get rid of it along with the body. I thought about dropping the corpse in the sea or chopping it up, but I just ran. I drove north in a panic—I had to gas up at the Parkano ABC. Then I decided to go back. Somewhere around Valkeakoski I remembered I still had the gun. I got off the highway, pulled up to some dark cabin on a lake, wiped the fingerprints off the gun, and threw it as far as I could. I went back to the garage, but I couldn’t think of what to do… How much time do I have?”

  “Ninety seconds.”

  “What else do you need?”

  “Who gave you the job?”

  “A guy named Lydman. When he called me, he didn’t say what the job was. I owed him some money, and I figured I’d have to take someone’s drugs from point A to point B.”

  Suhonen nodded. Saarnikangas seemed to be telling the truth.

  “What kind of gun?”

  “I don’t know the make…some kind of .22.”

  “Where exactly was this cabin?”

  Saarnikangas laughed. “Hey, I was all mixed up.”

  “One minute.”

  “If you’re going to Tampere, it’s where you turn off to Turku.”

  “Highway Nine?”

  “Probably. It’s on the way to the prison. After the interchange you take a right at the intersection and then head back towards the highway. The most I can tell you is that the cabin had white walls and a dark roof. You could see the highway from the dock; I saw a big semi cruise by. Hey, Suhonen. You believe me, right?”

  “Thirty seconds. I can hear the cruiser coming up the block.”

  “I don’t know anything more.”

  “Who was the killer?”

  “I don’t know. He was wearing blue overalls and a ski mask. He mumbled something about a Customs nark, but I didn’t hear anything else… Hey, the cruiser… I need to talk to you about something.”

  Suhonen nodded and took his phone out of his pocket. He pushed the red button again and talked into the dead mic, “Suhonen from the VCU again… Yeah, that transport from Vuolukivi… Right, that’s it. Well, we just happened to have a couple homicide guys in the area, so you don’t need to bother with the cruiser… Yeah, cancel it.”

  The trick worked. Saarnikangas looked like a twelve-year-old boy who just scored a game-tying goal with seconds to go in the third period. The game wasn’t over after all; it was headed for overtime.

  “Good,” Juha went on, smiling. “I think you’ll be interested. I want you to take care of something for me.”

  They talked for another ten minutes.

  Afterwards, Suhonen got back in his car and Saarnikangas headed for the stairs. In the car, Suhonen took his phone and called Joutsamo.

  “Hey,” Suhonen said.

  “Where are you?”

  Suhonen glanced at the bleak apartment buildings. “Around town.”

  “Well?”

  “Couple things. First, get the surveillance tape from the Pakila Teboil, from, say, around ten o’clock the night of the murder. We should be able to find Saarnikangas on it. Second, get the Parkano ABC’s surveillance tape from Monday night to Tuesday morning.”

  “What?”

  “Listen to what I’m telling you!”

  “Okay,” Joutsamo eased up. “The footage from Teboil and Parkano. What are we looking for in Parkano?”

  “Saarnikangas’ white van. He said he was there on the night of the murder. I don’t know the exact time.”

  “Okay.”

  A light turned on in the window of Saarnikangas’ apartment. Suhonen started the car.

  “Third, tell the Valkeakoski Fire Department to go for a swim.”

  “What are they looking for and where?”

  “The murder weapon should be at the bottom of a lake near the highway,” Suhonen said, and described the location.

  Joutsamo paused briefly before continuing. He assumed she was taking notes.

  “Suhonen,” Joutsamo said in a serious tone. “Did you arrest him?”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “Right now, he’s more use to us on the street than in jail,” he said. Suhonen couldn’t put Juha in a cell now, not after he had coughed up the truth.

  “Is that so.”

  “Yup.”

  “Where’d you get all this? Saarnikangas, or what?”

  “I heard it through the grapevine,” Suhonen crooned.

  “That’s not funny. Are you coming back in?”

  “At some point, yeah. I have to see what happens.” Saarnikangas was the key, but there were still a few more doors Suhonen wanted to try.

  “You’ll have to explain this to Takamäki then.”

  “Don’t worry. You take care of the surveillance tapes and find the gun.” Suhonen hung up the phone and took out another. He reserved a room in the Katajanokka Hotel under the name, “Suikkanen.”

  Suhonen backed out of the parking space and glanced up.

  Saarnikangas was standing in the window.

  CHAPTER 21

  CORNER PUB, KALLIO, HELSINKI

  THURSDAY, 7:55 P.M.

  It was standing room only in the Corner Pub. In years past, the bar would have reeked of smoke, but now it smelled only of snow-dampened clothing and stale booze. Most of the customers were men. A few of them were sitting alone at round tables, the extra chairs having been slid away for other patrons.

  A television that hung from the ceiling was showing the Eurosport channel: men soared off a ski jump in sixty-second intervals.

  Suhonen stepped inside and shook the snow off his jacket. He elbowed his way to the bar and ordered a beer.

  The undercover detective scanned the bar. He knew what the man looked like. Back at headquarters, he had checked his mug shot from the database. He had used a computer in Narcotics, so he wouldn’t run into Joutsamo. She would have wanted an explanation, but Suhonen wasn’t in the mood, nor did he have the time. Time would tell if this would go anywhere. If not, he’d have to go back and arrest Saarnikangas.

  He didn’t find the guy in the front of the bar, though he saw two wanted men sitting under the TV. Though Suhonen knew their faces, he couldn’t recall their names. The pair was suspected of a string of car break-ins. Maybe tonight they were downing their profits.

  Suhonen wandered off towards the rear. He noticed a few familiar faces, but not the one he was looking for. Markus Markkanen was big enough to stand out, even in this crowd. Suhonen didn’t know him, nor had he ever met him. According to the database, “Bogeyman” Markkanen was last released from prison at the beginning of the decade. He had done time for assault and battery, and aggravated assault.

  Markkanen’s name didn’t show up in the organized crime intelligence database, so he wasn’t known to belong to any of the gangs. Either he had lived a clean life the past few years, or managed to avoid getting caught.

  Suhonen sipped his beer at the bar. Saarnikangas had told him about Lydman’s orders that Juha was supposed to meet Markkanen here, and that Markkanen might be involved in Eriksson’s murder. He could even be the shooter, Saarnikangas had suggested. Based on his record, Suhonen figured it was more likely that Markkanen was the shooter than the planner.

  Saarnikangas and Markkanen had never met, but even so, Suhonen couldn’t pretend to be Juha. Instead, he’d be Suikkanen, an ex-con. Most of the Corner Pub’s clientele knew him by that name anyway.

  His beer mug was getting lighter, and he was starting to feel the adrenaline. He wasn’t sure what would happen tonight—he was only after intel. Sa
arnikangas hadn’t known what the new job was about. Suhonen wanted to find that out, as well as Markkanen’s role in the murder case.

  * * *

  Anna Joutsamo stopped by her boss’s office. It had been a long day, but that happened when the case called for it.

  “I got the pics,” she said, and showed him some letter-sized color prints. The quality wasn’t much, but Saarnikangas was recognizable at the front door of the Pakila Teboil. He had arrived at 9:49 P.M. and left at 10:03; the camera behind the register had recorded him sitting alone at one of the tables. The pictures from the Parkano ABC showed him fueling up in the wee hours of the morning.

  “Good. More nails in his coffin,” Takamäki said. “What about the weapon?”

  “The lake isn’t frozen yet, so the Fire Department will search for it tonight. Kulta’s on his way to supervise the operation.”

  “Good… By the way, did you find anything on Nyholm? Any connection?” Takamäki asked.

  “They’re father and daughter. The dad has an unblemished career at Customs, and the girl has no record. Could it just be a coincidence that the girl falls in love with a criminal?” she wondered. “Or maybe some kind of rebellion against a straight-laced dad.”

  “You don’t think the girl could have anything to do with Eriksson’s murder?”

  “You mean that the dad could’ve killed her boyfriend?”

  Takamäki looked out the window. “Or Kristiina, wasn’t that her name, had a former boyfriend—a jealous type?”

  “In my conversations with her, she never mentioned any issues or dramas like that.”

  “Just thinking out loud... We don’t know whether Saarnikangas knew Eriksson’s girlfriend.”

  “No, I didn’t mention Saarnikangas, and neither did she.”

  “A woman is always a good motive,” Takamäki said.

  Joutsamo was still standing in the door. “By the way, has Suhonen called you?”

  Takamäki shook his head. “Has he called you?”

  “No. And no sign of Saarnikangas. Should I take a couple SWAT guys and pay a visit to Pihlajamäki?”