Cold Trail (23 page)

“W
here am I going to drop you?”

“H
ow about the Neste station?”

“D
one.”

“B
ut 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.”

“A
nd 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 C
hief 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.

“M
ost 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.”

“A
ll 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.

“T
his 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.

“T
he 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 N
arcotics and Intelligence
men. Takamäki had heard of the guy, too.

J
ust 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.

“W
ell, 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.”

“W
e have any information on the jobs?” asked the head of Narcotics.

“N
o. 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.

“S
o 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.

“T
hree simultaneous gigs,” Karila thought out loud. “That’s going to cause some serious chaos among the police forces throughout greater Helsinki.”

“T
hat’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.”

“S
o what does the NBI want from us?” asked the Narcotics chief, in his frank style.

“N
othing 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.

“K
ari,” Nykänen said, and everyone turned to look at Takamäki.

“T
his 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?”

“I
t 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.

Takam
äki’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.”

“A
s 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.

“O
kay,” Nykänen said. “I’m going to pass my cards around, just in case anyone doesn’t have my mobile number. Call whenever.”

As t
he 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?”

Nykä
nen glanced at his watch. “I’m in kind of a rush, actually. I’ve got to get to Vantaa.”

“J
aakko, 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.

T
hen Takamäki grabbed Nykänen, and they headed down the corridors toward the VCU’s premises.

“J
aakko,” 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.

“W
hat’s this?”

“M
anner’s car.”

“T
he one that burned?”

“Y
up,” Takamäki said.

Nykä
nen looked at Takamäki. “Who took this photo?”

Takamäki
sighed. “I did.”

“W
hen?”

“L
ast night in Tuomarila.”

Nykä
nen 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.

“W
hy 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.”

“Y
ou guys should probably make sure that Caesar isn’t home.”

“W
ho’s Caesar?”

“M
anner’s dog. I don’t know what breed, but based on the bark, I’d say it’s not too small.”

Nykä
nen wrote down the dog’s name. “Good to know. But the hit-and-run at Sello?”

“T
hat’s exactly what I was thinking during the meeting.”

“
Sello has plenty of banks and jewelry stores,” Nykänen reflected.

“A
nd armored cars drop by to pick up cash from the supermarkets and other businesses. But that’s just a guess,” Takamäki said.

“H
ow does the car arson fit into the picture, then?”

“T
hat’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.”

“B
ut why draw the police’s attention if there’s a big gig coming up?”

“A
n 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.”