Darling (25 page)

“What do you want?” the older guy wanted to know.

Okay, Suhonen thought. The third guy was the leader. It was interesting to note that Rantalainen, who sat in a prison cell, might have a middle man. Or
was Rantalainen getting swindled here?

Without asking, Suhonen grabbed a chair from the next table and sat down.

“Name’s Suikkanen and I met this buddy of yours in the Alamo Bar in Haaga a couple of days ago. The place was crawling with cops then.”

“Fuck,” Niskala spat out. “I ended up in jail myself.”

“You should choose your company better,” Suhonen said, casting Niskala a reprimanding but understanding look.

Makarov and the third guy gave a faint laugh. No doubt, Niskala had mentioned his overnight visit
at the Pasila police station to boost his status.

“So, what did you want?” the third guy asked irritably. “We were in the middle of something.”

“I mainly wanted to talk to Sergei,” Suhonen said tersely. “It’s about Rautis.”

“Who?” Makarov asked. Everyone was looking at him.

“Rautis,” Suhonen said. “He owes you money.”

Makarov grunted.

“Wanna talk here or outside?” Suhonen asked.

Makarov glanced at the third guy who tried to nod nonchalantly, but Suhonen saw it.

“Here’s fine,” Makarov said.

Suikkanen glanced at all three. He was sure something was up, and he needed to change his plan about the debt payment.

“It’s simple. Rautis owed you money and rolled the register of the Herttoniemi Siwa this evening.”

“Huh,” Niskala blurted out.

“Yeah,” Suikkanen said. “That was the dumbest thing he could do, but desperate needs call for desperate measures. Rautis and I go way back. He shoved me the loot and told me to take care of his debts. Says you threatened him.”

“A grand per finger, if he doesn’t pay up,” Makarov said with a smirk.

“I’ve got the money and I’m suggesting a deal where you get five hundred a finger and he keeps you out of the cops’ reach.”

Makarov leaned forward and asked, “Is Rautis trying to blackmail me?”

“No, this is my idea,” Suhonen said with a smile. “I talked with him about an hour ago. He was still on the loose then, but he’s probably in a holding cell in Pasila by now, or tomorrow at the latest.”

“Yeah…” Makarov said,
intentionally not finishing the sentence. Since the third guy was the decision maker in the group, Suhonen watched his reaction. So far the guy seemed more irritated by than interested in the conversation.

“Wipe the debt and I guarantee Rautis won’t mention the debtor.”

Niskala shook his head in disbelief, but kept his mouth shut.

“What!” Makarov couldn’t help spouting. “He wants money for not squealing on me? Fu
ck! I’ll chop off both his hands with a meat cleaver when I see him.”

“Yeah…” Suikkanen mimicked Makarov. I have a feeling Rautis isn’t the type to keep a secret, and the coppers will no doubt squeeze the debtor’s name out of him. At the very latest when he’s
suffering through withdrawals and they promise him drugs for talking.”

Suikkanen looked at the third guy and said, “And at that point, a legion of
narcotics cops will be after Makarov here.”

Suhonen waited for the third guy’s response.

“Sergei, let the debt be.”

“All of it?” Sergei protested.

“All of it.”

“Then I’ll have to pay it myself.”

“Pretty soon there’s a mass…” Niskala began.

Suhonen wanted to hear more, but he guessed what the third guy would say next.

“There you go, Suikkanen. That concludes your business. And make sure the Siwa guy holds up his end of the deal.”

“Will do,” Suikkanen replied coolly, his eye still on the third guy. “I’m not sure if you have all the gang here that you’ll need for the current gig.”

Suhonen hoped he could talk himself into the group.

The third guy squinted and said, “And you think I need someone who
restructures debts for a guy that lifts cash registers?”

“But he does it with style,” Suhonen said with a smile.

“Get the fuck out,” the third guy said.

Suhonen was already up and walking. He heard Niskala saying that Suikkanen had connections to motorcycle gangs.

The dark-haired singer was pumping out the Rolling Stones’ “Satisfaction,” as Suhonen left the bar. He walked around the corner and called Toukola at Narcotics. Suhonen suggested that the surveillance team come to Kannelmӓki and focus on the third guy sitting with Niskala and Makarov. Something was up and Suhonen’s instinct said it was drug related. Toukola said he’d send a group and would show up himself. Suhonen would watch the restaurant from his car until then.

SUNDAY
,

DECEMBER 11, 2011

CHAPTER
24

SUNDAY
, 9:50 A.M.

THE WOODS BY
THE HELSINKI AIRPORT

The roar of the airplanes was noticeable, and the smell of kerosene mixed with the musty early-winter scent of the woods. The temperature hovered just under freezing, turning the snow into slush in sunny areas. The unit that had worked the overnight shift had left Joutsamo another grandma gig—an elderly lady had died earlier that morning.

Suhonen had
avoided the case and driven to the north side of the Helsinki-Vantaa airport. A narrow, winding asphalt road circled the airport outside its safety perimeter. The area was sparsely populated because no one wanted to live with airport noise, or maybe the city of Vantaa had banned any building there. The Kiila neighborhood was a few miles away, with an industrial zone next to it, but the area immediately surrounding the airport was vacant. The perimeter road wound through fields and patches of woods.

Toukola’s
Narcotics squad had arrived at the bar in Kannelmӓki, and Suhonen had left the case to them; they’d notify him of any progress. Sometimes tips didn’t lead anywhere, but if Makarov, Niskala, or the third guy was caught with drugs, the police would know where to start. Suhonen, Joutsamo, and Takamäki had gone over the Siwa robbery and Suhonen had informed the others about the events at the bar in the strip mall.

Though Salmela’s tip at the hospital was vague, he had been very specific about the location
near the airport. Otherwise it would’ve been impossible to check out the lead. Suhonen figured it was just the usual prison rumors, but he had to do something. Maiju Rahkola was missing—that part of the story checked out. Still, he thought he might be wasting his time.

A dirt road toward the airport forked off the paved road. Suhonen parked there and pulled on his rubber boots. He walked up the gentle hill, carrying a small army-style shovel. The cold air seeped into
his boots, and Suhonen wished he had worn his wool socks.

He recalled Salmela’s directions: “Myllypato Lane…a stretch of dirt road…into the woods…a large, sharp rock, and twenty yards from it straight toward the
runway a patch of blueberries and a fallen tree.” Then he was supposed to dig down two feet.

The woods became a sparse cluster of
pines and the sun shone through the trees. Most of the snow had melted, and the branches were dripping. Insects would make this place very annoying in the summer. Suhonen bent down to pick a blueberry. It was dry but the center was sweet. He didn’t want more.

The next aircraft in line revved its engines at the end of runway three. Though only a few hundred yards away,
he couldn’t see the plane through the woods.

Suhonen smirked. He had searched and found lots of dead bodies during his police career—in homes, offices, and ga
rages. He’d searched in the woods plenty of times, but this was the first time he was looking for something buried other than drugs.

Suhonen spotted the rock about a hundred feet in front of him on the right.

Maiju Rahkola had disappeared in Turku a little over a year ago. According to police records, the case was still open, and the young woman was still missing. The computer photo showed a seventeen-year-old blonde girl with a serious expression and an absent look in her eyes. The enlargement was grainy. It was a typical photo of a missing girl published by the police. Suhonen thought about contacting the Turku PD, but decided to check Salmela’s lead first.

He examined the ground for possible tracks or objects, but didn’t see anything out of place this deep in the woods. Closer to the road the ground was littered with junk and trash.

Suhonen came to the rock and circled a couple of feet around it. He saw the fallen tree branch and the blueberry patch next to it. This was the spot. At least the details checked out, and he knew the person who created the story had been here. Suhonen realized he was nervous.

He headed to the left and continued toward the runway. Then he turned around and approached the spot from the airport’s direction.

He could’ve used underground imaging technology so he wouldn’t need to dig. The police had used that in a few cases—once they searched for someone under a concrete bridge. The machine sent out a pulse that reflected back from the ground. But today Suhonen had only a shovel.

He remembered a case from Satakunta where an elderly woman had fallen into the river, and the police got a report of her body hanging on a tree branch
just over the water. The bank was steep, and the junior officer climbed down first. By the time the sergeant scampered down, the body had vanished. The fifty-year-old sergeant was perplexed, and the junior officer confessed he had shoved the body back into the river. When the furious sergeant asked why, the younger man said he couldn’t handle seeing dead bodies. The river then carried the body into the next precinct.

Suhonen stopped six feet from the spot to examine it.
Blueberries peeked through a thin layer of slushy snow that covered the patch. He didn’t notice anything strange—no signs of digging or dirt piles. The place looked like a forest where hardly anyone ever came.

For a minute he wondered if he should call in the
Forensics guys, but he decided against it—he didn’t want to alert the boys for nothing, or he’d never stop hearing about the wasted treasure hunt. Putting on a pair of rubber gloves, he stepped closer. He squatted down and lifted a blueberry sprig. It was well rooted and the ground around it was firm.

Suhonen carefully pushed the shovel into the ground; it went in easily until it h
it tree roots. He dumped a shovelful of dirt to the side and examined the pile, but didn’t see anything. The second dig was more forceful, followed by a third.

After thirty minutes Suhonen had dug about a foot and a half into the hard dirt mixed with pebbles
and roots. He had run into tree roots at about six inches and had to continue digging to the side. The roots were thick enough that no one could have dug through it in the last couple of years.

The digging made him sweat, and he took off his leather jacket. He thought back to his time in the
army digging trenches in Salpausselkӓ. That was easier and quicker; all they had to do was swing the shovel. Now, after each shovelful, he had to examine the hole that was getting deep enough to make his back feel the strain of squatting. He didn’t want to step in the hole. He wondered how deep he should dig. A little more, he decided. The imaging technology sure would’ve come in handy.

Suhonen pushed the shovel down carefully and felt something hard. He thought it was a root, but it gave way. He set the shovel down and leaned into the hole, carefully wiping the dirt away. He saw a piece of fabric that had originally been blue. Suhonen realized it was jeans.

He wanted to curse, but continued cautiously with his hand. The fabric had a hole in it and Suhonen pushed his finger through. As he felt something hard and then something soft, a stench of decomposing flesh hit him.

“Shit,” he
said out loud. The lead was legitimate.

Suhonen stood up. He heard the roar of the airplanes again. He took a couple of steps back and breathed deeply. The smell of kerosene covered up the thin rotten stench.

He had found Maiju Rahkola.

CHAPTER
25

SUNDAY
, 12:30 P.M.

HELSINKI POLICE HEADQUARTERS, PASILA

Lind sat in the drab interrogation room with Jorma
Korpivaara, who hadn’t shaven or combed his hair. The attorney noticed the tired and apathetic look in his eyes. Korpivaara evaded her gaze.

“Why?” Lind asked. They had sat there for about ten minutes during which
Korpivaara hadn’t said more than a few words.

He only shrugged.