Helsinki homicide: Cold Trail

by Sipila, Jarkko

  Suhonen thought for a second. “I’m not a cop. Cops don’t give junkies drugs,” he said with a smile.

  “There’s a first time for everything. At least for me.” Saarnikangas grinned. Suhonen wished the guy would have kept his mouth shut. A few teeth were missing, and the ones he had were in bad shape. “What do you want?”

  “I’m looking for a friend of yours.”

  “Do I have any friends?”

  “From what I’ve heard, you know this guy.”

  “Who?”

  “Timo Repo.”

  Saarnikangas furrowed his skinny brow. “Repo? That sap who wrapped a pretty necklace around his wife’s throat? He’s still in the hole.”

  “Not any more.”

  “He skipped out?”

  Suhonen nodded. “A couple of days ago.”

  They passed the Kulosaari metro station on the right.

  “So where’s this taxi headed?”

  “You get to decide. If you promise to help me, I’ll take you wherever you want, but if you don’t I’ll take you straight to police headquarters. You’ve got a big stack of unpaid fines on the books, and society needs you in jail to make good on them.”

  “So Repo escaped,” Saarnikangas said.

  “Does that surprise you?”

  “A little. He was basically a nothing. Losers always stick together, and that goes for the joint, too. That’s why we used to talk. Okay, so he’s bitter, but I always thought he’d tough it out. If you’ve already done eight years of a life sentence, it doesn’t make any sense to cut out.”

  “Why did he take off?”

  “He had a chip on his shoulder a hell of a lot bigger than Lance Armstrong’s, but he didn’t really talk about it in recent years. You could sense a stifled rage in him. See, I’m a good judge of people. And sensing what they want.”

  Once they hit the end of the Eastern Expressway, Suhonen turned into the lane leading to Teollisuus Street. Police headquarters was more or less just down the road.

  “Well, then you probably know what I want.”

  “Repo back in the pen.”

  “Right. You are good,” Suhonen said. “So what’s it gonna be? You decided where we’re headed?”

  “One more question. What do I get?”

  “A pack of Subu,” Suhonen said. That was seven tablets.

  Saarnikangas tried to bargain: “Two.”

  “This isn’t an auction. So, police headquarters it is.”

  Suhonen drove under the Sture Street bridge, and the smell of the coffee factory reminded him that he hadn’t had his morning coffee yet.

  “Okay, Okay. One’s good,” Saarnikangas said. “But I need a phone. Mine’s...at the pawnshop.”

  Sure, thought Suhonen. Pawnshops didn’t take phones. Suhonen dug the old Nokia 6110 out of his pocket and handed it to the junkie.

  “What the hell is this? No one uses these anymore.”

  “That’s why I happen to have an extra one,” Suhonen replied. At one point he had bought a few from Salmela precisely for situations like this. “Do you have your own SIM card? Because there’s a new one in there.”

  “What good is that going to do me?” Saarnikangas said, taking the phone’s back cover off. He dug his old SIM card out of his inside pocket of his jacket and switched it into the phone. But somehow Suhonen’s SIM card still disappeared into his pocket.

  “So the deal is simple. If Repo calls you, you set up a meeting with him and you tell us. After that, you get...”

  Saarnikangas shook his head. “No way. I’ll get a rep as a snitch. I’ll find out where he is and tell you. You guys grab him in a way that I don’t get burned.”

  “That’ll work,” Suhonen said. The car was stopped at a red light at the end of Teollisuus Street. The Pasila rail yard was in front of them, and beyond it the forbidding office blocks of West Pasila.

  “Where am I going to drop you?”

  “How about the Neste station?”

  “Done.”

  “But you gotta buy me a coffee. I don’t have any cash. That Arsenal idiot grabbed me when I was collecting empties at Itäkeskus Mall. It’s a pretty tight race out there every day, you know. The fastest one gets all the dough.”

  Suhonen pulled out a twenty and handed it to Saarnikangas. “Okay, I’ll get your coffee.”

  “And a sandwich? I’m starving.”

  “I’m pretty sure that’ll get you a sandwich, too,” Suhonen chuckled, turning toward the service station.

  CHAPTER 15

  WEDNESDAY, 12:00 NOON

  HELSINKI POLICE HEADQUARTERS, PASILA

  “All right,” said stony-faced Deputy Police Chief Skoog, glancing at his watch. About twenty detectives were sitting in the biggest conference room at Helsinki police headquarters. The room had windows giving onto Pasila Street, but the blinds were lowered and the curtains were drawn. It was right next to the canteen, and the smell of almond-baked fish was wafting in.

  Takamäki and Suhonen were sitting side by side near the windows. On Takamäki’s right sat Captain Karila, the brawny head of the VCU, and on Suhonen’s left sat Lieutenant Ariel Kafka. Takamäki knew everyone: the head of Narcotics and three of his most experienced team members, a slate of Intelligence officers, and the higher-ups from Financial Crimes.

  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 this?”

  “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 tim
e 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.”