Helsinki Homicide: Vengeance

by Jarkko Sipila

  Steiner took a step forward and a knife appeared in his hand. “If you can’t do it, I will.”

  “No, you won’t. Get in the car—both of you!”

  Steiner stared at Larsson, who was obviously serious. Salmela obeyed at once and headed toward the car. Larsson followed close behind and Steiner groaned. Drawing this out further would not bode well.

  Salmela settled into the back seat and Steiner slid in next to him. Larsson climbed into the driver’s seat and whipped a U-turn in the parking lot. He didn’t say a thing. In the back seat, next to Salmela, Steiner twirled a bloody knife in his hand.

  CHAPTER 24

  MONDAY, 9:00 P.M.

  SKULLS’ COMPOUND, HELSINKI

  Beneath their helmets, the S.W.A.T. officers were wearing black ski masks. The first in line next to the wall was Jack Saarinen. Though Jack wasn’t his real name, it had stuck because of his appearance, which was uncannily similar to TV’s “Jack Bauer” of 24.

  All twelve of the officers in the stack were decked out in black. The majority of them held MP5 sub-machine guns, though a couple had shotguns. Jack was also wielding a ballistic shield. The street lights cast the dark shadows of the policemen onto the concrete wall of the Skulls’ headquarters.

  The S.W.A.T team’s vehicles were parked a couple of hundred yards away and the team had crept in from there. They had snipped an entry hole in the flimsy fence. Back at police headquarters, they’d gone over the blueprints and the plan was clear—a surprise attack would give them the upper hand.

  Just behind Jack, officer Jarmo Eronen waited. He had a heavy battering ram to bash open the lock on the front door. If that didn’t work, a third policeman had a shotgun equipped with a lock-slug at the ready. Instead of a regular cartridge, it was loaded with a heavy metal slug that would destroy any ordinary lock.

  Jack thought this was a perfect location. Far away from any residences in the middle of an industrial district. Almost like training.

  The order came over his earpiece. “Let’s go,” said the calm voice of Turunen, the S.W.A.T. team’s commander. Each officer was wearing a headset with an earpiece and microphone.

  Jack lifted the heavy ballistic shield off the ground and quietly covered the remaining distance to the door.

  Eronen ducked out of line, came next to Jack and studied the door and lock. It would be too time consuming to pick and they didn’t have the code for the keypad. Eronen swung back the hulking battering ram. For the moment, the element of surprise was still theirs, but not after the racket he was about to cause.

  The ram smashed into the lock and the door bounced open.

  The entryway was dim, but not completely dark. No need for night-vision. Jack took up the lead behind his shield and the others followed in a tight line.

  A squad car pulled up to the curb with its lights flashing and two officers and a German shepherd joined the others.

  The S.W.A.T. officers had flipped on their laser sights. Through the window of the shield, Jack watched the red specks dancing in front of him.

  The entry was empty and the stack of officers proceeded up the stairs. A glimmer of light came down the stairwell, telling Jack there was no door at the top of the stairs, or at least it wasn’t closed.

  “The top of the stairs is open,” he reported over the radio. They continued halfway up before Jack stopped. Eronen dug two canisters, each slightly longer and thinner than a beer can, from the cargo pocket of his pants, pulled the pin out of the first and hurled it through the doorway to the left. Immediately afterwards, the second one flew to the right.

  “Police!” Eronen shouted.

  The officers shielded their eyes as the stun grenades exploded. The brilliant flashes of light would blind anyone on the upper floor for about five seconds, and the 180 dB blast would slam their ear drums shut.

  * * *

  Niko Andersson was sprawled on the sagging office sofa, his body hardly able to fit. After hearing the crash downstairs, he struggled to his feet and hurried into the main room, where Roge and Osku were already on their feet. None of them knew what to do. The intruders were likely already on their way up, so they couldn’t go down the stairs.

  Osku hurried to the window, pried the cardboard aside and saw the squad car at the curb with its cherries flashing. He pulled out the AK-47 assault rifle that had been stashed behind the sofa. There was no need to load—a full magazine was already inserted with a cartridge in the chamber. He pushed the safety all the way down, setting it on full-automatic.

  Niko and Roge, standing behind the bar now, were holding their handguns. Osku was positioned opposite them, near the pool table. Just as he was preparing to unleash a barrage of bullets out the window at the cruiser, a shout came from the stairwell.

  “Police!”

  Osku glanced at Niko, who raised his gun.

  In the corner of his eye, he saw an object fly about ten feet from him, bounce off the pool table and land on the sofa behind it. Another one hurtled toward Niko and Roge.

  The explosion was deafening and the image of the instant before the blast was seared into Osku’s eyes. He blinked frantically, struggling to locate the top of the stairs, then swung the assault rifle in that direction.

  Fuck, thought Osku. With his vision and hearing off line, it was the only thing going through his mind. If they were coming up the stairs, they’d be at the top right around now. He raised the weapon to his shoulder and squeezed the trigger hard.

  Fragmented thoughts swirled through Osku’s mind. This was just the situation Larsson had been talking about. Surrender to no one. Fight fire with fire. That was all that mattered. Only that.

  Osku couldn’t hear the shots, but he felt the rifle bucking against his shoulder. The rounds departed toward the doorway. In a few seconds his vision would recover. A second magazine lay on the sofa waiting its turn. He could find it by groping around with his free hand.

  Osku felt the lurching of the gun as the AK-47 spit out a volley of shells toward the doorway. He could see nothing but the ghosted image of the stairwell, and he paused briefly as the white light gave way to red. After that, he squeezed the trigger once more. The rifle fired the final bullets from the magazine.

  * * *

  The S.W.A.T. team poured up the stairs after the stun grenades. Despite having plugged his ears, Jack Saarinen’s were ringing. Just as he reached the top, a bullet ricocheted off his shield. The impact twisted his wrists, but the shield stayed put. He swung it toward the muzzle flashes and tried to retreat, but Eronen, who was charging forward just behind him, stumbled and collapsed on top of him.

  On the left, somebody unleashed another volley of shots. Jack couldn’t tell where the bullets were going, nor could he move with Eronen lying on top of him. He turned his head in the other direction, where the bar was supposed to be.

  Jack watched as a fat man behind the bar took a bullet in the forehead and half his face vanished. Where had the shot come from? Were the police shooting or was it the assault rifle? He wasn’t sure, but he didn’t think he had heard an MP5—all the shots had come from an assault rifle.

  He concluded that the hit had come from the shooter on the left. After that, the bullets zipped past well wide, but soon, the barrel swung back toward the door. The assault rifle rattled off another series of shots. The flash bangs had disoriented the man enough that he didn’t know where he was shooting.

  Jack tried to draw his pistol, but it was impossible with Eronen on top of him. The helpless officer could feel his partner shifting around.

  Downstairs, Eronen had ditched the shotgun and picked up his MP5. He spotted a man blindly firing next to the pool table and swung the barrel of the gun toward him. The red dot quickly found his face, then his forehead. Jack felt the muffled shudder of Eronen’s MP5 submachine gun.

  The man with the assault rifle collapsed to the ground. Jack knew that he was killed instantly. Eronen shuffled to his feet and Jack followed. The remaining officers piled in, stepping over the heavy sh
ield. Jack drew his pistol from his belt holster and advanced into the room.

  Little by little, Jack’s hearing was returning to normal and he detected a faint whimpering on his right, like the whine of a dog. Eronen was kneeling down, pressing his knee into a muscled gangster’s spine. He twisted the man’s arms behind his back and slapped the cuffs on his wrists.

  “Anybody else here?” Eronen shouted.

  The whimpering continued and Jack realized it was coming from the man lying on the ground in cuffs.

  The officers quickly checked the upstairs rooms, but found nobody else. These three had been the only ones in the building, and of those, two were now dead.

  Jack snapped on the safety to his weapon and shoved it back into its holster.

  The unit leader grabbed Jack by the shoulder and looked into his eyes. “You alright?”

  He was still dazed, but nodded. “Yeah.”

  The unit leader put up his thumb and grinned faintly. “The guy emptied the entire magazine blind. Shit!”

  Jack heard the report through the earpiece. “All clear. No officers down. Two assailants dead and one under arrest. The other unit is checking the lower level.”

  The S.W.A.T officer pulled the helmet off his head and peeled the knit ski mask off his face. He lowered himself into the nearest chair. Only then did he notice one of the rear-guard officers dousing the flaming sofa with a fire extinguisher. Apparently, the flash bang had ignited the fabric.

  Jack began to cough from the smoke. His face was drenched in sweat, which he wiped away with his hood.

  * * *

  Takamäki stood in the yard of the Skulls’ compound, talking on his phone. The air had turned cold and the occasional fleck of sleet fell to the ground. Soon, it would freeze and the sleet would turn to snow, he thought.

  A half-dozen squad cars and an ambulance were parked in front of the building.

  “Two suspects are dead, and one under arrest,” Takamäki said into the phone. He’d been following the raid from the command vehicle a couple hundred yards away. As soon as they had gotten the “all clear,” the van had pulled into the yard.

  “What happened?” asked Honkala.

  “The S.W.A.T. team went in and one of the Skulls opened fire with a Kalashnikov. The Skulls’ bullets killed one of their own and an officer shot the guy with the AK. The third was arrested.”

  “Who were they?”

  “The fatalities were Niko Andersson, a full-fledged member, and Oskari Rahkonen, a prospect. This Osku is the one who shot Niko with the AK. Roger Sandström is under arrest.”

  Takamäki recalled his son’s stories about Osku’s little brother Ripa. A tragic event for a kid who idolized his older brother. The incident could affect him in two ways: either it would embitter him or it would frighten him. Difficult to say which way Ripa would swing.

  Honkala paused. “So Larsson and Steiner weren’t in the building?”

  Takamäki’s mind returned to the matter at hand. “No. We have no information on their whereabouts. I’ve been notified about the raids on their apartments. They found Larsson’s girlfriend, Sara Lehto, in his flat, and Steiner’s was empty. They’re bringing her downtown and forensics is going through both apartments.”

  “Son of a…,” Honkala growled on the other end.

  Takamäki glanced around the industrial area. So far, nobody but the police had arrived. “We raised quite a ruckus here, so I suppose the media will be here soon. We should probably make some kind of a statement.”

  “Yeah. We’ll put something together. I’ll call you when they have it roughed out.”

  The S.W.A.T. team filed out and the forensics team, decked out in white coveralls, was holding a briefing in the yard.

  “We’ll also need to inform the state prosecutor so he can evaluate the S.W.A.T. team’s conduct in connection with the fatalities.”

  “We’ll take care of that too,” said Honkala. “Have you heard anything from Nykänen or Suhonen?”

  “Not for a while now. They would’ve called if they found anyone.”

  “Pity,” said Honkala. “The undertaker’s tally for the day is two thugs, a police officer and a civilian. This has got to stop.”

  Takamäki sighed. “You said it.”

  TUESDAY,

  OCTOBER 27

  CHAPTER 25

  TUESDAY, 3:20 A.M.

  SUHONEN’S APARTMENT, HELSINKI

  Suhonen awoke to his ringing phone. He groped around for it on the nightstand, coughed once, then answered.

  “Hello.”

  Suhonen heard the sobbing first. “Help me.”

  “Who is this?”

  “Salmela,” the man whispered.

  Suhonen bolted upright in bed. “What’s wrong? Where are you?”

  Salmela’s voice over the phone was quiet and halting.

  “They found me. The assholes found me…”

  “Who?”

  “Larsson and Steiner. They got me… But I got away… Hold on…” He fell silent.

  Suhonen waited. After about twenty seconds, Salmela whispered again. “It was nothing. They’re looking for me.”

  “Where are you?”

  “In the woods. Not sure exactly where. There’s a road nearby. Come pick me up.”

  Suhonen got to his feet and looked at the dark streets out the window. “I’ll come if I know where to find you.”

  “There’s some school over there. Probably that Russian school. I think…”

  Suhonen cut in. “You’re somewhere around the intersection of Beltway One and the Hämeenlinna Highway.”

  “Yeah,” Salmela whispered. “There’s some road…yeah…now I see it. I’m in the woods northeast of there. I see a kind of greenish house and a bus stop.”

  “How’d they find you?” Suhonen asked, pinching the phone between his shoulder and ear as he pulled on his jeans.

  “Over on Hämeen Street. In the courtyard of the employment office. They just appeared out of nowhere in a car. What happened to Ear-Nurminen? I don’t suppose he…”

  “Nurminen’s dead. They killed him.”

  “Goddammit!” He lowered his voice again. “I saw ’em go up the stairs. I didn’t dare go back.”

  “Good thing you didn’t. What happened after they found you?”

  “Hold on again…” said Salmela and the line fell silent.

  Suhonen pulled on his sweater. “What’s going on?”

  “Nothing. Just a car. I don’t really know for sure. They drove me here and started grilling me. I don’t really know, but at some point they left me alone and I got out the window.”

  “Go somewhere safe and hide. I’ll be there in a silver Peugeot in about fifteen.” Suhonen paused to consider his options. Were he to notify dispatch, the place would be crawling with cruisers and sirens. That could make Salmela’s situation even worse. It would be better if he picked up Salmela first and then sent in the troops to look for Larsson and Steiner.

  There was no time to explain the situation to the lieutenant on duty, Takamäki, Nykänen, nor Honkala. Every one of them would order him to wait. Waiting was not an option. The second Salmela was in his car, the tables would turn. His hiding spot was only about a ten-minute drive away. Suhonen pulled on his leather jacket in the entryway.

  “Listen,” said Salmela. “I didn’t know anything about the bomb.”

  “I believe you,” said Suhonen, twisting his feet into his shoes.

  “And that license plate. That Opel was at the Skulls’ compound a couple days ago. I saw it in the yard.”

  “Huh?”

  “Yeah, that agent said on TV that the license plate was AFR-something. Almost the same as my old Opel. I saw it in the Skulls’ garage.”

  “Lay low,” said Suhonen as he stepped out the door of his building. “I’ll be right there.”

  * * *

  The wet asphalt glowed in the pale light of the streetlamps. A thin layer of snow lay on the shoulder of the road and in random patches elsewhere.


  Suhonen parked his silver Peugeot at a bus stop on the shoulder and got out. According to the sign, route 47 stopped here. The green wooden house that Salmela had mentioned was on the left, and near that were several three-story white brick apartment buildings. The one-story buildings of the Russian-Finnish school were further back on the left. To his right was a dark thicket.

  This was the spot. Salmela was nowhere in sight, but the rows of street lights formed a bright tunnel from which it was impossible to see into the dark forest.

  Suhonen wondered if he should shout for Salmela, but if the gangsters were still out there looking for him, it probably wasn’t such a good idea. He lingered a while, but when Salmela didn’t show, Suhonen tried his phone.

  Salmela didn’t answer, but a text message came shortly.

  “Can’t talk. Hundred yards from bus stop. Red warehouse on the right.”

  Suhonen read the message and wondered why Salmela couldn’t talk. Was the situation that dire?

  Best to go check it out. He swung back into the car and headed down the narrow road. A good hundred yards up on the right was a narrow wooded road with no signs.

  He hesitated a moment, then swung the car onto the dirt road. Spruces flanked both sides of the road, which was covered in enough snow that he could tell no cars had been through lately. In the headlights up ahead, he saw the road curve gently to the right and end at a red wooden hut the size of a shipping container. There were no windows, at least not on the front. The wooden clapboards ran continuously from the foundation to the shed-style roof.

  Suhonen drove closer and waited to see if Salmela would come out. If the other side had a window, anyone inside would be able to see the glow from his headlights. But the little building seemed deserted. Suhonen wondered what kind of warehouse this was anyway. The location was strange. He knew that in the winter, snow was dumped in a nearby lot. Maybe the hut was used for that somehow.

  He stopped the car next to the hut. There was enough space in the yard for him to swing the car around.