Against the Wall (30 page)

Lindström nodded. “We’ll get to that soon enough. I have some more questions for our Judas here. Who’s this Suikkanen?”

Markkanen paused to think about how to respond, then remembered that Suikkanen was listening in. He’d have to choose his words carefully or his backup might take off.

“He’s a gangster from Lahti.”

“What does he want from me?”

“Your money, probably…” The constant snapping of Korpela’s scissors was getting on his nerves. “How should I know?” he shrieked abruptly.

“Why do you want him dead? And where’d you get the kind of money to pay for the Skulls?”

Markkanen closed his eyes. There it was. Cognac wouldn’t help anymore, unless he could turn the tables and provoke Suikkanen to attack out of rage.

“
You’re
the one who wants him dead. Those were
your
orders,” Markkanen raised his voice. “And
your
money.”

“A gangster from Lahti, huh?” Lindström relished ignoring the lies.

“Yeah.”

Lindström stared at his captive, looking pitifully weak in his chair. “What would you say if I told you he’s a cop?”

Markkanen’s mouth dropped open, but he collected himself quickly. “Naah, that can’t be true.”

“How so?”

“I saw him beat up an officer a couple days ago. Or was it yesterday.”

“The Skulls are positive he’s a cop. They have a photo of him coming out of police headquarters.”

Markkanen closed his eyes again. He remembered the microphone. The nightmare situation had just turned catastrophic.

“You murdered Eriksson, and nearly ruined my business with the Russians. Korpela is in danger of doing life…”

Markkanen didn’t say a word. If Suikkanen was indeed a cop, the guy was probably keeled over laughing right now.

“You have any suggestions on how to deal with this?” Lindström asked. “I’m prepared to forget about Eriksson and the money you stole, provided we can hand Suikkanen to the Skulls; their VP wants him dead. So where is he?”

At first, Lindström thought Markkanen was gasping for air, but he soon caught on. The man was silently mouthing the same sentence over and over: Open…the…cuffs. Open…the…cuffs.

Lindström was dumbfounded. Why would he do a thing like that, he thought to himself. Was somebody listening in? But they had swept the place for bugs.

Lindström’s guard was up, though. He took a pen and paper from the desk and scrawled: Why?

“I ain’t saying nothin,” Markkanen said aloud, then continued mouthing the words: Open…the…cuffs.

Lindström scribbled an order to Korpela, telling him to open the cuffs. The hit man was confused, but carried out his orders.

Markkanen massaged his wrists, then quickly took the paper and pen from the old man’s hand. He wrote: Play along. Suikkanen will be here soon.

Markkanen gave the old man an inquiring look, to be sure he had understood. Lindström nodded expectantly. Korpela watched from the sidelines, still baffled. Suddenly Markkanen started to scream bloody murder.

“Fuuck nooo! Don’t kill me! Cognac! Cognac!”

Lindström and Korpela looked at him, both openly shocked now. Markkanen didn’t care, and kept screaming in anguish. He pulled down his pants, tore off the transmitter, snatched the scissors out of Korpela’s hand and snipped the microphone cord.

“What the hell?” Korpela bleated. “You’re wired?”

“Who was listening to us?” Lindström stammered.

“Fucking Suikkanen! I didn’t know he was a pig.”

Korpela’s eyes burned with anger, and he pulled a pistol out of his waistband.

“And we talked about…” Lindström said. Then, realizing the gravity of the situation, he spat out a stream of curses.

“Fuuck,” Korpela bleated. “I don’t even know who to shoot anymore. Damn! Maybe I’ll shoot you all. Everybody!”

Korpela pointed the gun at Markkanen, but swung it back to Lindström as he took a couple of steps toward the table.

Markkanen seized the opportunity and drove the scissors into Korpela’s neck. The gun went off with a sharp bang. He pulled the scissors out and for a few seconds, blood sputtered out of the wound. Lindström and Korpela had fallen to the floor simultaneously.

Suddenly, a loud crash came from the hallway.

Markkanen’s hands were sticky with blood. As he wiped his forehead, he realized his face was also spattered with blood. His ears were ringing from the gunshot.

“POLICE! FREEZE!” he heard from the door.

Markkanen tossed the scissors on the floor and raised his hands.

A short gurgle escaped from Korpela’s throat, then silence. Lindström lay on the floor, a neat hole in his forehead.

A SWAT officer in a helmet and heavy flak jacket appeared at the door and pointed an MP5 submachine gun at Markkanen.

“DON’T MOVE!”

“They tried to kill me,” Markkanen pleaded. “They tried to kill me. It was self defense! Self defense.”

* * *

Suhonen and Takamäki were standing on Tehdas Street. Snow was whirling down from the sky. The stick bag still hung from Suhonen’s shoulder.

Flashing lights reflected off the windows of the surrounding buildings. The paramedics were dawdling in the street, waiting for permission to leave. No customers for them today.

The SWAT team packed up their gear and drove off. Forensics
unrolled a length of blue-and-white police tape across the entrance. Takamäki opened the door to a large white Mercedes van.

“Hi there… Takamäki,” he introduced himself.

The man inside scowled. “Uhh, yep. Mölsä from Technical.” He was a small, mousy character with slippers on his feet. The inside of the van was bristling with high-tech devices.

“You get it on tape?”

“Nope, nothing on tape,” the man said, “it’s on the hard drive. It took a while to scan for the bandwidth, but we got everything from the point when the scissors started snipping.”

“Good,” Takamäki said.

“But next time, give us some advance warning about this sort of thing, so we can prepare. The van could’ve easily been in for servicing, and we wouldn’t have made it here at all.”

Takamäki didn’t respond. He just nodded as he slid the door shut.

Suhonen was gazing up at the apartment window. The snowflakes felt cold on his face. “You should’ve let me go in. We might have two less corpses on our hands.”

“Safety issue,” Takamäki said.

“But didn’t we just let two people get killed?”

“Had there been an innocent bystander or a hostage involved, it would’ve been different. Their deaths aren’t your fault, nor will the world miss them.”

“Well, yeah. Maybe so,” Suhonen said. “It won’t miss Eriksson, either, but still we put in a lot of work to solve his murder.”

Takamäki nodded, suppressing a grin. A crowd had already begun to gather behind the police tape.

“I’m gonna take off before the TV cameras get here,” Suhonen said.

One of the ambulances was double-parked next to his car. Suhonen flashed his badge at the driver. “Can you move so I can get outta here?”

He turned back to Takamäki. “Wanna go out for a couple beers tonight?”

Takamäki shook his head. “Can’t. The wife told me to get groceries. Stuck at home tonight.”

“Alright. I’ll ask Joutsamo,” said Suhonen, and slid behind the wheel.

CHAPTER 28

THE HOTEL PASILA BAR, HELSINKI

FRIDAY, 10:15 P.M.

Suhonen ordered a Strongbow cider from the bartender and walked back to the table. Joutsamo took the glass, smiling. Hotel Pasila was only about two hundred yards from headquarters, and its bar had become a regular police hangout. Large windows cast light from the streets onto the circular booths along the walls. In the middle of the bar were a few tall tables ringed by bar stools, some still unoccupied.

“Thanks.”

Suhonen shrugged. A street car rattled past the hotel.

For over an hour, they had talked about everything but the case. Both were intentionally avoiding it, but finally Joutsamo gave in.

“On the tape, Markkanen said you beat up an officer. What was that all about?”

“Mmm. It was just an act. To get on the inside, I had to stage a fight with an officer I know,” he tried to sum it up quickly.

“I see. What was his name?”

“Ha!” Suhonen laughed. “Am I the subject of an internal affairs investigation?”

She felt bad for prying and tried to laugh it off, “You have the right to remain silent…”

“Sergeant Tero Partio,” Suhonen said. “I don’t have anything to hide here. I’d welcome the minister of interior, the ombudsman and the attorney general, the parliament, the president… They can all put me under the scope, but these hands are clean.”

Joutsamo took a sip of cider. “
Not that I suspected anything.
Anyway, the case would’ve been solved even if we had arrested Saarnikangas right away.”

Suhonen wasn’t so sure, but he didn’t want to argue.

“By the way, Juha was pretty pissed at you during the interrogations.”

“No surprise,” Suhonen remarked. “I’ll go talk to him at some point. He’ll calm down once he understands that he’ll get out in a few years. He won’t get life for his involvement.”

“True.”

“What about Markkanen?”

“He was stunned and had ‘no comment.’ We got a search warrant for his apartment, but didn’t find much of anything.”

“No money either?”

Joutsamo shook her head. “No. His wife and son live there too, but no trace of them.”

Suhonen sipped his beer. “Markkanen’s prospects are pretty shitty. He killed one of the Skulls’ legends. And with his own scissors, too. Then there’s the recording from Lindström’s apartment…that’ll definitely be played at the trial. He’ll have a helluva lot of explaining to do. Not in court, but in the pen. Nobody’s gonna believe it was his own wire. They’ll think it’s a cover story invented by the cops to protect their snitch.”

“In the pen, he wouldn’t survive an hour with the general population,” Joutsamo added. “He’ll have to apply for protective custody. A life sentence in there is twice as harsh.
It’s basically solitary confinement
.”

“Nobody’ll have to listen to his bullshit, then,” Suhonen said.

Joutsamo paused for a moment. “There’s a contract out on you. It’s right there on tape.”

“Not the first time, nor the last. When that stuff starts to scare me, I’ll apply for a desk job. I suppose they’ll save one for an old hand like me.”

Suhonen remembered something and rummaged through his pockets. “Oh yeah, I got some money.”

He set the one-grand wad from Markkanen onto the table.

“Where’d that come from?”

“From Markkanen... For the Lindström gig.”

Joutsamo smiled, took the money off the table and stuffed it in her pocket.

Both jumped when they heard Kulta’s raspy whisper from behind, “Ooooh! Prostitution. For once, the police are in the right place at the right time. This has always been my dream.” He shot a cheeky glance at Kirsi Kohonen, who stood next to him.

The redhead jabbed Kulta in the ribs and cut in, “I apologize in advance for Detective Kulta’s obscenely large mouth, but may we join you anyway?”

“Guess we’re still waiting on his gag order,” Joutsamo smirked, and scooted over.