Cold Trail (27 page)

“W
hat the hell are you talking about?” Repo said coldly.

“L
ook, I gave the cop a clue, but because he’s so dumb he didn’t understand that I’m not betraying you. So he deserves to be betrayed,” Saarnikangas said with a smile.

“I
f you say so,” Repo replied coolly. “It is what it is. Thanks for the pad. I needed the sleep. I won’t forget you.”

“W
hatever it is you’ve decided to do, do it soon,” Saarnikangas said, eyeing Repo’s shoulder bag. “Those cops aren’t kidding around.”

Repo
didn’t get it, but began humming a hymn: “Now is the moment of truth, guide us as we seek the path to purity.”

Saarnikangas
put a hand to Repo’s lips before any of the others could turn around.

* * *

Hietalahti Shore Drive 17 wasn’t the easiest place to stake out. Suhonen had parked his Peugeot so that he could see the A entrance, which was located next to a bookstore. The main door of the yellow-stucco, seven-story structure was decorated with three large ornamental circles. The building’s southern windows had a direct view of the shipyards and the terminal for the Tallinn ferries.

Suhonen
had no idea as to whether the building had a basement. It probably did, because the uppermost floor looked like it had been added on to the original 1930s structure. The problem with basements was that they usually provided easy access from stairwell to stairwell, meaning you could use any of the building’s exits, and Suhonen had no idea if the building had doors leading to an interior courtyard.

R
ed marquees hung over the bookstore windows. Lights appeared to be on inside, even though it was coming up on 9 p.m. Evidently someone was working late.

Suhonen
had called in the information on Repo’s potential whereabouts to Takamäki, who had decided to call in SWAT assistance. It would take a little while for them to get ready, and Suhonen had been sent to the scene to keep an eye on things. There were several lit windows on the third floor, so he couldn’t deduce anything that way.

Turunen
, head of the SWAT team, called Suhonen’s cell and asked what the status was.

“T
here have been a few dog-walkers, but that’s about it. You want me to go in and check things out?”

“Y
eah,” Turunen said. “Check if the main door is locked, and how we can get past it. But no further, okay?”

“
Yup,” Suhonen replied, getting out of the car. He dug a couple pieces of gum from his jacket pocket and tossed them in his mouth.

It
was getting colder, either that or it just seemed colder near the shore.

Suhonen
got to the main door and glanced up and down the street. Empty. The stairwell lights were off, so no one was exiting the building, either
.
Suhonen tried the door and immediately noticed that it had some give. He pulled out his ATM card and shoved it into the crack. The card pressed in the tongue of the lock, and a few seconds later the door was open.

Suhonen
spat his gum out into his palm and pressed it into the hinge side of the doorjamb. He let the door close carefully. It didn’t go far enough for the lock to click into place. The SWAT guys would be able to open it with a tug.

In the lobby,
Suhonen paused to think. The streetlamps were shining in enough that he didn’t need to turn the hallway lights on yet. The corridor to the elevator was maybe twenty feet long, and the stairs rose to the right of the old-fashioned wire-cage elevator
.
On the left there was a door leading to the courtyard or the basement.

Suhonen
looked at the name board—there really was an apartment on the third floor occupied by a Mäkinen. At least Saarnikangas hadn’t been totally lying. Numerous companies also appeared to be in the building.

The
undercover detective decided to punch on the stairwell lights and headed toward the stairs. He opened his leather jacket and instinctively checked his Glock. No point waiting in the corridor.

He
chose the stairs; they rounded the elevator in a semicircle up to the second floor. Halfway up was a window to the backyard with streetlight shining through it. Suhonen stopped on the second floor for a moment. All was quiet.

He
climbed up to the third floor. Mäkinen’s apartment was immediately to the left of the stairs. Suhonen continued past the elevator door, climbed a couple of steps higher, and paused to listen.

He
decided to take a closer look at the apartment. He crept up to Mäkinen’s door and carefully cracked the mail slot. He could hear muffled speech inside. Evidently there was an inner door that was almost shut. Nevertheless, Suhonen was able to make out that it was human voices, not a radio or TV. He tried to think who Repo might be with—if he was in the apartment at all, that is.

Suhonen
silently closed the mail slot and retreated back to the stairwell.

His cell phone be
gan to ring! Goddammit, Suhonen silently swore. The sound would definitely carry into the apartment. He pulled his phone out from his jacket pocket and quickly descended the stairs.

“H
ello,” Suhonen answered. He punched on the stairwell lights at the second-floor landing, because someone talking on the phone in the light was probably less suspicious than someone talking in the dark.

“W
hat’s the situation?” asked Turunen.

“W
here are you?” Suhonen asked.

“A
minute away.”

“M
ain door’s open. Come on in.”

“W
hat kind of lock’s on the door?”

Suhonen
was confused by the question. “I just said it was open.”

“N
o, I mean the apartment door,” Turunen said. “I know you didn’t stay outside or in the lobby to wait.”

Suhonen
chuckled. “Normal residential. You’ll have no trouble getting in the door with your gear. It’s on the third floor, immediately to the left of the stairs. Door says Mäkinen. There are at least two people inside the apartment.”

“L
istened through the mail slot, huh?”

“N
o, I levitated myself inside.”

“A
ll right, we’re pulling up outside now.”

“I
see you guys,” replied Suhonen, who by now had made it down to the main door.

The SWAT team was
traveling in two vans. Three men in masks and helmets jumped out of the first one, and four from the second. One grabbed a big shield, and another a metal pipe meant for smashing locks. The others raised what looked like ski goggles from their necks to their eyes.

“F
lashbangs?” Turunen asked one of the men, who nodded in response. A flashbang was a light-and-noise grenade intended to stun the target for a few seconds. Turunen put on a mask, too.

“Y
ou want one?” he asked Suhonen.

Suhonen
shook his head.

“W
ell, here’s a radio for you at least,” Turunen said, handing him a headset.

Only about thirty seconds had passed since the cars had parked
, and the police were already filing in the main door.

“H
ow certain are we that Repo is in there?”

“U
ncertain, but possible.”

“S
o it might be some civilian’s apartment.”

Suhonen
nodded. The SWAT leader’s comment was a clear reference to the earlier
pointless raid
near the Kallio fire station. “I didn’t call you in, Takamäki did.”

Turunen
clicked on his headset. “Change of plans: no flashbangs. Otherwise entry as planned.”

T
he police climbed the stairs, treading lightly. None of their gear clinked or clanked. Suhonen and Turunen brought up the rear and had just reached the second floor when the point man, “Jack Bauer” Saarinen, whispered into the headset: “Ready.”

“O
kay, let’s go in,” Turunen ordered.

Suhonen
heard a dull crash as the pipe crushed the lock. Then came the shouts: “Police! Don’t move! Keep your hands visible!”

Suhonen
had made it almost up to the third floor when an announcement arrived in his ear, “Apartment has been cleared. Three men in custody inside.”

Three of the SWA
T officers withdrew from the apartment as Suhonen entered. The entryway was small, it contained nothing but a coat rack. The room itself was furnished with a bed and a dining table. The apartment was clearly the sort that was rented out for a day or two.

Three men were lying on the floor in handcuffs, guarded by three
members of the SWAT squad. Suhonen nodded at the lead SWAT man. Then he looked at the men on the floor, one at a time. The first had a greaser-style haircut, sideburns, and ʼ50s clothes. It was Jorma Raitio, the guy from Järvenpää that Nykänen had mentioned during the meeting and whose phone the NBI had been tapping.

The second man was wearing a black sweater and
army pants. His face was so lean that he could well be in the military. Suhonen didn’t recognize him, but somehow he got the feeling the guy wasn’t Finnish.

The third
one he knew, however. All too well. Lying there on the floor was Salmela. The men’s gazes met, but neither said anything.

Turunen
tapped Suhonen on the shoulder and gestured him over to the dining table. There were some maps and other papers on it. Jewelry shop addresses were written on one of them. Neither of the police officers touched the papers. Let Forensics studythem first.

“T
ake them all to Pasila,” Suhonen announced, and the SWAT team roughly hauled the detainees up from the floor. As Salmela was led out, their gazes met again.

Turunen
was the only one who stayed behind in the room with Suhonen.

“W
hat is this place?”

Suhonen
shook his head.

“W
ere they planning some robbery?” Turunen asked, gesturing at the papers.

“T
hat’s what it looks like. This is a job for the NBI,” Suhonen replied, bending down to look under the bed. There was an ice hockey bag there, and Suhonen carefully pulled it out. It held three pistols and two sawed-off shotguns. Suhonen would rather have found Repo crouching in fear.

The
undercover detective thought about Saarnikangas, and whether he had known who really was in the apartment.

“G
oddammit.” Suhonen exhaled heavily
,
whipping out his cell phone. He pulled up Nykänen’s number.

CHAPTER 17

WEDNESDAY, 10:10 P.M.

HELSINKI POLICE H
EADQUARTERS, PASILA

“Well, well,” Nykänen grunted. He was in the Homicide
conference room, along with Takamäki and Suhonen. Joutsamo entered and said that a call had been made to Emergency Response from Karppi’s landline that morning. The call had been logged as a wrong number, but Emergency Response had promised to pull up the recording. She didn’t have any information on Karppi’s cell phone yet.

Nykä
nen returned to the raid that Suhonen and the SWAT team had made. It was clear that the case would be transferred over to the NBI for investigation.

“
I should’ve guessed this. We’ve been tapping their phones for a couple of months, but as soon as we tell you, it doesn’t take even 24 hours and our suspects are sitting in jail.”

His tone of voice was
such that Suhonen couldn’t tell if it was a reprimand or praise.

“I
had no idea they would be in there,” Suhonen explained. It was possible that they had moved too early on the potential perpetrators.

“S
uhonen said something about some papers,” Joutsamo said.

“F
orensics is going through the fingerprints, but the places where getaway cars would be swapped were marked on the map, and the other list was of the targets themselves.”

“S
o attempted grand larceny,” Joutsamo said.

“A
ctually several attempts,” Nykänen corrected.

Takamäki looked thoughtful.
“The Supreme Court has decided that when planning of a crime has begun, it can be considered an attempt. Finding the plans indicates, of course, that something was in the works. Especially if we can connect it to the Manner recording.”

“T
here’s a felony weapons charge in there, in any case,” Joutsamo said. “Those shotguns were sawed off.”

“T
here’s just one problem here,” Nykänen reflected. “If those guys don’t talk or if we don’t find a connection from the call data or anywhere else to Manner, then he won’t get his toes wet.”