Vengeance (26 page)

    
Römpötti latched onto his statement. “On their own time? Is there a difference then between your own time and the gang’s time?”

    
“Well, you could say that. Maybe you could come visit our offices some time. You’d see there’s quite a lot of work involved in maintaining it.”

    
“What do you do on your own time?”

    
“Whatever I feel like. Right now I’m building a motorcycle.”

    
“Aha. That’s interesting. Will you show me sometime?”

    
“We’ll see,” he said, withdrawing somewhat.

    
Römpötti could see it was too early to talk about the man himself. Better to stay on generic topics.

    
“How does the club fund its activities?” she asked.

    
“Everybody pays modest membership dues. Just like country clubs.”

    
“How do members make their money? Illegally, according to the police.”

    
Aronen ran his hands over his bristly hair. The questions were stupid, but the woman definitely had style. Nice tits and a thin shirt that was almost transparent. “Yeah, yeah. The cops say whatever’s convenient at the time. The club is not responsible for the actions of its members. Quite a few cops have been convicted in the past few years and that doesn’t make the police department a criminal organization.”

    
“I suppose not,” she said. “You’re an interesting character.”

    
“Am I?”

    
“Yes. How did you end up joining the Skulls?”

    
He looked her directly in the eyes.

    
“You ask too many questions.”

    
“That’s my job.”

    
“Now it’s my turn to ask the questions.”

    
“So ask,” she said.

    
“You want to get a room upstairs?”

    
Römpötti was at a loss for words.

    
“If you really want to know what kind of men we are…”

    
“Excuse me?” she coughed.

    
“Come on. I can read your eyes.”

    
Römpötti smiled, but her expression betrayed disgust. “Listen, Sami. It’s not a terrible suggestion, but…”

    
He cut in. “If you do it, I’ll go on camera. Although afterwards, you probably won’t have any more questions. But I’d give it to you tomorrow too…the interview.”

    
Over the years, Römpötti had received numerous similar proposals from politicians, policemen and other officials, but this was the first one from a career criminal. She wouldn’t trade sex for an interview, though she knew several of her colleagues who had. To her knowledge, however, none had done so with a criminal.

    
“Uhh… Listen, Sami. Don’t get upset, but I’ll have to think about it.”

    
Aronen was silent while he sipped his orange juice. “Well, you thought about it?”

    
Somehow, she had to get him to do a proper interview. She couldn’t give him a flat no. “Not now.”

    
“Why?”

    
“I have to think about it more. And maybe we should get to know each other better before jumping into the sack.”

    
“Okay with me. But I’m done here.”

    
“Well, how about if I call you.”

    
Aronen stood up and took his jacket. “Okay. Think about it and call me. Thanks for breakfast.”

    
He headed off in the same direction he had come from.

    
Huh, Römpötti thought. She glanced at the bulky brooch on her lapel. She had feared it would attract his attention, but apparently her breasts had done a better job at that. The purpose of that extra open button had been to keep his eyes off the hidden camera.

    
Hopefully the camera and microphone had been working. The lens was hidden in the pearl and the microphone just next to it. A wireless receiver was hidden in her purse on the floor.

    
Not much there, but at least it was something. She’d have to consider whether she could use any of the material, since Aronen had only wanted to talk about background. Of course, he knew he was talking to a reporter.

    
The proposal at the end couldn’t be aired, though it was a good illustration of the gangster mindset. Römpötti was glad there wasn’t a second camera to capture her expression when he dropped the proposal. That would have definitely ended up on the big screen at the newsroom’s Christmas party.

    
A waitress came to the table and interrupted her thoughts. “Excuse me. Your gentleman friend must not have been a guest at the hotel and he left without paying.”

    
Römpötti dug her wallet out of her purse. “I’ll pay for the both of us.”

    
As the waitress turned away, Römpötti set her purse on the table, opened it and stopped the recorder.

* * *

“How many in the Helsinki PD know about Salmela?” asked agent Aalto dryly.

    
Aalto, Nykänen, Suhonen and Takamäki were sitting in the same NBI conference room as yesterday.

    
“Salmela has been the subject of many investigations over the years, so presumably quite a few know him,” Takamäki replied. “But nobody except for the two of us knows about his connection to this case. We’ve spoken with the VCU’s Captain Karila, as well as Assistant Chief Skoog about the operation, but we haven’t mentioned Salmela by name.”

    
“Good,” said Aalto. “For security reasons, from here on out we’ll refer to him by the code name Salmiakki.”

    
Suhonen laughed. Salmela becomes Salmiakki? What do they pay these agents for? Certainly not for coming up with good code names.

    
“Do you have a problem with the code name?” Aalto demanded.

    
“Not at all. It’s genius.”

    
“Good,” said Aalto.

    
Suhonen had briefed them on the main points of his visit with Salmela. Incensed over the betrayal, Salmela—now Salmiakki—was seriously considering cooperating with the police. Everyone considered his custodial job to be a brilliant stroke of luck that would speed up the operation.

    
“Let’s go over Salmiakki’s motives more closely,” said Aalto, glancing at his papers. “Does he have a desire to clear his conscience?”

    
“I doubt it,” Suhonen replied. I’d guess he just wants to get out of the gang, and now he wants revenge, too.”

    
“Does he have much of an ego?”

    
Suhonen wondered about the question then realized why Aalto was going through the list.

    
“I don’t think he’ll need to be picked up for meetings in a limo,” Suhonen said.

    
“Finland is too small for limos,” Aalto said. The Royal Canadian Mounted Police once had an informant from a biker gang whose vanity demanded constant attention. Among other things, the Mounties had to chauffeur him back and forth to meetings in a limousine.

    
Suhonen had heard about the incident while abroad at a seminar on criminal gangs. Apparently, Aalto had attended the same one.

    
“Salme… Uhh, Salmiakki is a long-time criminal, primarily running stolen goods. He’s divorced, done time, and his son was shot to death in a drug deal gone bad. I believe his story; he wants out of the game, but can’t because of his debt. As a result, he has to depend on someone stronger, and since the Skulls betrayed him, the cops can step in.”

    
“Not exactly levelheaded, then,” Aalto remarked.

    
“Not exactly,” said Suhonen. “But he’s not dumb, either. And don’t bother appealing to his sense of justice. For him, the opportunity to break out of his current circumstances will be enough.”

    
Nykänen interjected. “But he understands that more than likely, he’ll wind up in prison?”

    
“Yeah. We went through that yesterday. Salmela…”

    
“Salmiakki,” Aalto corrected him.

    
“Salmiakki knows he’ll take the rap for the twenty ounces—for his own security. It wouldn’t look good if we busted everybody else and he got off scot-free. I promised him we’d make things comfortable for him in prison.”

    
Aalto frowned. “We can’t promise him anything.”

    
“We talked about it,” Suhonen reworded. “But it’s kind of awkward if he’s expecting results and all he gets is talk.”

    
“We’ll try to help him afterwards, of course,” said Nykänen.

    
The word “try” was a big problem for Suhonen. If an informant put his life on the line for society, it wasn’t enough for the police to just “try.” The system should have clear rules.

    
Aalto went down his list. “At any rate, it’s clear that we’ll be overseeing the case. The fact that Suhonen is so close to the subject is a clear conflict of interest.”

    
Takamäki nodded. “We’ve talked about that.”

    
“That way we can be sure the situation will be handled professionally, and that the informant has a genuine desire to talk to the police. He won’t be doing this just to please Suhonen anymore, but only for the sake of revealing important matters to the authorities. That works for his own benefit, too.”

    
This case might even work out, thought Suhonen. If he didn’t believe that, he would never have given up his own informant. True, Salmela’s head injury had already driven him to the sidelines, so he wasn’t privy to much valuable intel anymore. He spent most of his time at the corner table of the Corner Pub. But Suhonen’s primary concern was Salmela’s welfare. The operation would provide a chance, however slim, for Salmela to get out—not through the front door, but through the back.

    
Aalto went on, “I’ll be one of his handlers myself. Another one, a specialist, will come from my own group. Both of us will attend all meetings with Salmiakki. We’ll pay all of his expenses in cash and his real name will go in the NBI’s safe. Does this Salmiakki happen to have a dog?”

    
“No,” said Suhonen, pouring himself a cup of coffee from the thermos.

    
“Pity. Walking the dog is always a convenient way to meet. We’ll think of something else. For security reasons, it’s imperative that NBI agents are the only ones to meet with Salmiakki. Is that clear, Suhonen?” Aalto stressed.

    
Suhonen nodded.

    
“I have the informant’s address and phone number here. Do you have any idea where Salmiakki is now?”

    
“I’d bet on three spots. He’s either at home, at the Skulls’ compound or on the way there,” said Suhonen.