Nothing but the Truth (3 page)

“But let’s get back on track,” said Takamäki in an attempt to avoid a squabble. He could talk one-on-one with Suhonen after the meeting.

“I didn’t realize we had ever gotten off,” said Kulta.

“Right,” said Takamäki dryly. “Tomi Salmela was shot in the middle of the forehead. We know Nyberg is the trigger man, but the motive is unknown. The victim has a bit of a record, too…” he said, glancing at Suhonen. The recap felt pointless, but it was important for Suhonen to be on the same page as the others.

Takamäki paused and an absent look came over his face. “The footage,” Joutsamo prompted.

“Right,” he said. “The outdoor camera on the convenience store recorded a dark Mazda 323 arriving around 4:27 P.M. Nyberg immediately gets out of the passenger side, and enters the building through an entrance next to the store. Six minutes later, he returns, gets back in the passenger seat and the car takes off. We couldn’t identify the driver from the footage. Obviously, whoever it was has to be tracked down.”

“We get the plate?” asked Suhonen.

“Too fuzzy. Kannas promised to try some image enhancement software once they get done with the crime scene.”

“Was Salmela in the apartment alone?”

“As far as we know, yes,” said Joutsamo.

“Did you find anything else there?”

“Nothing out of the ordinary. Some dope, a couple bikes and some electronics,” she said. “Just based on a quick look, anyhow. We haven’t received the report from Forensics yet.”

“No money?”

“None.”

“Do we know whether Nyberg took anything?” Suhonen asked.

Takamäki shook his head.

“Well,” Suhonen reflected for a moment. “I suppose you all know who this Nyberg’s been hanging out with for the last few years.”

“We do. That’s why the buzz over this case,” said Joutsamo, as she took a printout off the table. “Korpi, Risto Mika. Age 35, first-class career criminal. Spent fifteen years of his life in prison so far, mostly on drug and assault charges. Did his first stint for manslaughter at the ripe age of eighteen. Been out on the streets for the last three years.”

Suhonen nodded his head. “You might add that he has no remorse, is incapable of empathy and extremely dangerous. A complete shithead if you want it straight up.”

“So we should send him straight to jail,” said Kulta. “Without passing Go.”

“That’s right,” said Takamäki.

* * *

Suhonen sat drinking coffee in Takamäki’s cramped office on the third floor of Pasila police headquarters. Outside, the yellow streetlights were just now flickering to life. The birches on the distant slope still clung to their leaves. Takamäki was hastily tapping something out on the computer. Nobody else was in the room.

Kulta, Kohonen and two other on-duty officers had gone knocking on doors in the buildings near Porvoo Street to ask if anyone had happened to see the Mazda, perhaps even part of the plate number. Anything that would help them move the search along.

Joutsamo had stayed back to draw up the paperwork for the wiretap—surveillance was to start immediately. First permission from the court, then send the papers to the NBI’s wiretapping central, which would reroute any calls directly to the wire tap room of Pasila police headquarters.

A couple of phone numbers belonging to Korpi had been found in the police databases. Most likely the phones had been ditched long ago, but it was worth a try.

“Listen to this,” said Takamäki, and he began to read the text on his screen: “
Helsinki Police Department Press Release. Homicide on Porvoo Street. On Sunday, September 17, at about 4:30 P.M., a young male was killed in an apartment located at Porvoo Street 21. The crime is being investigated as a murder and the police have arrested a suspect. The suspect was observed arriving in front of the building in a dark colored car, which remained parked there during the time of the murder. Anyone with information on this matter or on the car in question should contact the Helsinki Police Department Violent Crimes Unit.
And then the contact numbers. Sound OK to you?”

“Pretty standard fare. Won’t win any literary awards.”

“Eyewitnesses are what we really need,” said Takamäki as he glanced at the clock. Half past eight. The copy would make the morning papers by a nose. The TV stations wouldn’t be interested in an ordinary shooting, at least not one based on such a lackluster press release.

The release was a purely tactical tool to fish for witnesses. If the driver of the Mazda wasn’t still at large, they wouldn’t need to release any information for several more days. Any eyewitness accounts would need to be screened for accuracy, which is why he had omitted the exact make of the car. Takamäki clicked “Send” and the report went out to media outlets automatically.

“Going, going, gone,” said the lieutenant before falling silent for a while. “So, coffee at the Teboil station, huh?”

“Right,” said Suhonen, flicking his ponytail as he turned away from the yellowed, dimly lit landscape out the window. “I bought the kid a donut too.”

Takamäki waited in vain for him to continue. For some reason this case was a sore spot for Suhonen, and of course the lieutenant wanted to know why. The man walked a fine line between the worlds of cops and criminals.

“Glazed or jelly-filled?”

Suhonen chuckled. “Pretty sure it was glazed, maybe even some sprinkles. But this comes on condition of total confidentiality. I’m serious, what I’m gonna tell you can’t get out to anybody else, not even Joutsamo. I guess that meeting at Teboil is already out there, but we gotta keep the background under wraps. Agreed?”

“Of course,” said Takamäki.

“This Tomi Salmela’s dad Eero Salmela was also there at the Teboil. Eero is an old buddy from my stomping grounds in Lahti. We’re still friends, but these days, or years, actually, we’ve been on opposite sides of the law. He hawks stolen goods so he’s privy to a lot of street talk.”

“So one of your informants then?”

Now Takamäki understood the reason for Suhonen’s long deliberation. These sorts of relationships were highly guarded secrets, and rarely divulged to anyone.

Suhonen nodded. “One of the best.”

“Is he involved in this case somehow?”

“Don’t know. I’ve tried calling a few times, but no answer.”

“That doesn’t sound too good.”

“Well, no, but not necessarily terrible either. In his line of work, it’s not always a good idea to carry a cell.”

Takamäki thought momentarily. “Wonder if the shoot
ing has something to do with the dad? Seems like Korpi’s style to bump off an informant’s kid for revenge.”

“Who knows, but I doubt anyone knows about our connection. Aren’t you the one who’s always telling us not to assume? Just make conclusions based on the facts.”

“Has he said anything to you about Korpi recently?”

Suhonen shook his head.

“I think you’d better look a bit further into what Eero’s kid was up to.”

Suhonen was about to answer when his phone rang. The caller was anonymous. “Yeah,” said Suhonen into the receiver.

Takamäki couldn’t make out what was said on the other end. Suhonen nodded, “Yeah, I called earlier…right, right. I understand…let’s meet soon. Right…but not the Corner Pub. Someplace quieter… OK, sounds good. Half hour. Later.”

A sober-faced Suhonen slipped the cell phone back into his jeans’ pocket.

“It was Eero.”

“I figured as much. Does he know?”

“If he does, he didn’t let on.”

Both were quiet for a moment.

“I don’t suppose you’ll want the police chaplain along,” said Takamäki.

CHAPTER 3

SUNDAY, 9:15 P.M.

THE PARKING LOT AT THE HELSINKI ICE ARENA

Suhonen backed his Peugeot 206, an unmarked loaner from the station’s garage, into a spot at the south end of the ice arena’s parking lot. He killed the engine and headlights, but left the keys in the ignition. An old U2 hit was playing on the radio.

The parking lot was nearly vacant: only a few cars remained, and of those, the nearest was a hundred feet from Suhonen’s Peugeot. No pedestrians were about.

Suhonen glanced at his watch. Salmela was late. The undercover cop listened to Bono singing about Bloody Sunday. This Sunday hadn’t been much different, even if on a smaller scale than the namesake of the song. In 1972, British soldiers fatally shot thirteen demonstrators in Northern Ireland. Suhonen had no memory of the incident, since he had only been four at the time, but it got him thinking of the first time he had met Salmela. Suhonen couldn’t remember exactly, but he had been younger than ten for sure.

He spotted a rusty blue Toyota van turning into the parking lot, the same kind Salmela usually drove. Suhonen had never bothered to find out who it belonged to, but it was unlikely it was Salmela’s, at least not on paper.

Salmela parked the van a few spaces away, cut the engine and hopped out, his cigarette already lit. The forty-something’s hair was short and raked back over the top of his head. His features were rugged. A brown leather coat with a graying lambskin collar hung from his shoulders.

Suhonen flicked off the radio and rolled down the window. The cool autumn air swept across his face.

“Can’t smoke in the van—wouldn’t want you guys lifting DNA off the butts,” said Salmela as he took a drag.

“We can get it off of a lot less nowadays.”

“Still, wouldn’t want to make your job any easier.”

Salmela seemed nervous, which made Suhonen wonder what was in the back of the van.

“Rough day?”

“Nothin’ I ain’t used to. Had to help a buddy move,” said Salmela with a grin. The tip of his cigarette glimmered in the darkness.

“Why don’t you have a seat in the car here.”

“Can I smoke in there?”

Suhonen knew it was against the rules. “Sure,” he said.

He’d been trying to figure out how to break the bad news to Salmela, but there was no easy way. Salmela rounded the car to the passenger side, swung in, cranked the window down halfway and ashed his cigarette on the rim of the glass.

“Nice Pug.”

“Just a rental. They must wax it pretty regular.”

“Yup. Keeps the value up.” Salmela drew his cigarette down to the filter and flicked the butt out the window. “So why the big rush? What’s up?”

Suhonen was quiet for a moment. A green tram went gliding down the track toward downtown. Suhonen kept his gaze locked on the glow from the windows of the tram. “Eero…bad news.”

The softness in Suhonen’s voice got Salmela’s attention. “Sounds pretty bad… Since when do you call me Eero? There a warrant out on me, or what?”

“I wouldn’t be this serious about something

like that.”

“What then?”

“Today there was a homicide…”

Suhonen watched the muscles in Salmela’s face ball up.

“Don’t tell me. Can’t be…”

“Tomi’s dead. I’m sorry.”

Salmela was visibly shaken. He took a deep breath and buried his head in his hands. Suhonen patted him on the back a few times, but the gesture seemed pitifully small.

“How?” Salmela asked, straightening his back. His hand scrambled at his jacket pocket for a cigarette.

“He died quickly…didn’t suffer.”

Salmela’s voice became icy. “How?”

Suhonen had initially intended to stand behind confidentiality laws, but quickly changed his mind. “He was shot in the entryway of his apartment. A bullet to the forehead.”

“Execution style or what?”

“Crossed my mind.” Suhonen wanted to ask about any enemies Tomi might have, but Salmela would surely bring that up himself.

Salmela’s hand trembled as he raised a fresh cigarette to his lips, then abruptly withdrew it. “Damn, he was a good kid, even if a little down and out last couple years. Fuck yeah…I used to be so proud when I’d take him to soccer practice. Kid could score whenever he damn well pleased.”

Suhonen didn’t know what to say, so he listened. That was probably best.

“Then I wound up in prison for a year, and the wife found someone else. That kind of meant game over for the whole dad thing… But those soccer games were really something. Sunk four goals in one game once. And he was playing on defense. When he got the ball, ain’t nobody was gonna stop him.” Salmela’s voice began to break up. “He stuck ’em in the net like Maradona at his best…”

Salmela put the cigarette between his lips. This time he lit it. “Maybe it’s best to shut up so I don’t get emotional.”

“The memories will never fade,” said Suhonen.

“You met him too once, over there at…”

“The Ruskeasuo Teboil station. A year ago. Seemed like quite the kid.”