Vengeance (31 page)

    
Saarnikangas tried to remember when he had talked to Karjalainen, and what phone he had used. Suhonen would doubtless find Karjalainen’s number, which would allow him to trace the calls.

    
The full smuggling scheme wasn’t entirely clear to Saarnikangas. Karjalainen, deep in debt, had told him that a woman had given him the packets on the ship in order to spread the risk. Apparently, someone in Tallinn had ratted out the woman as payback for her flings, or so he had heard.

    
His own role was minor. He had picked up Karjalainen from the harbor, taken the dope, and cut it to street purity. Then, under orders from Mike Gonzales, he had delivered it to the Skulls’ compound.

    
“I see,” said Suhonen. “A woman, huh?”

    
“I believe so.”

    
“I don’t.”

    
Saarnikangas had no intention of taking the fall for this gig. There was no point in talking to Suhonen anymore. The cop was just fishing for bits of info and connecting them until, one day, Juha would end up in jail for a stupid drug deal. Then, inevitably, he would be the fall guy, since he couldn’t talk about his employers, at least not if he valued his life.

    
Saarnikangas grew impatient. “Fuck, I don’t know. He lived by the fire station and had a common-law wife. They rolled junkies together. Wouldn’t surprise me if he pimped her to pay debts. He even offered her to me once.”

    
“You take him up on it?”

    
“No. Pretty sure that broad’s got HIV. I’ve been lucky and dodged it so far, so I don’t want to take the risk. I’m just trying to stay clean and get my life back in order… I’ve got no part in this except Karjalainen owed me some money, went to the bathroom and died. And I was stupid enough to call you in a panic.”

    
Suhonen didn’t respond.

    
“You need anything else?”

    
“Not now, but if you want to stay out of jail, don’t lie to me anymore.”

    
As Suhonen climbed out of the van, Saarnikangas cursed Salmela under his breath. They had meant to take advantage of the simpleton, but the fool had gone and talked to the cops, and most likely, Salmela had mentioned him by name.

* * *

Joonas was sitting in the kitchen eating the spaghetti his dad had just prepared.

    
“This is great,” he said between gulps of milk from a plastic mug. “What is it?”

    
“A secret recipe,” said Takamäki.

    
“So… Barelli spaghetti and Ragu sauce.”

    
Takamäki sat down at the table with his own plate. Six chairs circled the table, but two were buried under piles of mail. “Not sure about the brands, but you got the recipe right.”

    
As hungry as the boy was, Takamäki suspected he wouldn’t have noticed if the hamburger were raw and the pasta uncooked.

    
“Can I ask you about something?” said Joonas.

    
“Of course.”

    
“We went through the principles of business today in econ and learned that the primary purpose of every business is to maximize profits for its owners.”

    
Takamäki wasn’t entirely sure that he agreed, but apparently that’s how it was explained. “Yeah.”

    
“So, with that same logic, what would you say is the purpose of an ordinary citizen?”

    
Takamäki wasn’t prepared for this kind of conversation, but at this point, he couldn’t wiggle out without an answer. “What did they tell you in class?”

    
“Nothing. That’s why I’m interested.”

    
“Well, under that model, I’d say it would be to maximize your own welfare as well as that of your family and friends,” said Takamäki. “And the best way to maximize your welfare is to…”

    
“Don’t get into that yet,” said Joonas. “Let’s stick to the principles. So, let’s take a look at you, Dad. What’s the objective of a civil servant?”

    
Takamäki thought for a moment. “To maximize the welfare of society, certainly. A civil servant can’t think about himself.”

    
Joonas nodded. “Let’s keep going. So, what about a criminal?”

    
Takamäki wondered if he was walking into a trap.

    
“Criminals only think of themselves.”

    
“So,” the boy paused. “You said the goal of an ordinary citizen is to maximize his own welfare, but isn’t that the same objective as the criminal’s who only thinks of himself?”

    
Takamäki bobbed his head vaguely. “As an end, maybe, but the means…”

    
“Let’s not get into the means, let’s just stick with the principles.”

    
“These principles…”

    
Joonas cut him off. “And with the civil servant thinking of the entire society’s welfare, which is actually pretty far removed from the interests of its individual citizens. Aren’t citizens just tools of the society?”

    
Takamäki took a deep breath. “As I recall, the conversation started with economics, and how the goal of a corporation is to make a profit. That right there is a banker’s philosophy, but in my view, profit can’t be the sole objective for business owners. A healthy society benefits business owners, too. What good is a wheelbarrow full of money if you can’t buy anything with it?”

    
“What do the police want, then?” asked Joonas.

    
Takamäki paused to think. “The police want to eliminate crime, of course.”

    
“So they’d put themselves out of a job.”

    
“Honestly, I’d rather be a florist than a cop. But because this banker’s philosophy of self-interest is so deep-rooted in society, somebody has to do the dirty work. The police are society’s scrub brush.”

    
Jonas thought for a while, and asked “You think the police should be able to solve all crimes?”

    
“In theory, that’s the idea. But the cost to society…additional taxes, loss of privacy, loss of freedom…would be prohibitive.”

    
“Are you serious?” Joonas blurted out with a broad smile. “Aren’t you rejecting your own profession by saying that crime has to be accepted?”

    
To hell with this philosophical talk. Philosophy was the furthest thing from a homicide detective’s mind when trying to sort out which of the drunks in an apartment had been sober enough to manage to sink a knife in another one’s chest.

    
His mind wandered back to the police academy dorms and the debates they had had on the same topic. Over countless beers, they had hashed it out till the wee hours. One day, they had even asked a police academy instructor, who had one piece of advice: If the conversation gets too difficult, always remember that a cop’s toolbox includes a billy club.

    
“Want some more spaghetti?”

    
“Sure, but answer my question.”

    
“Here’s my answer: Eat, do your homework, clean your room and then I’ll take you to hockey practice.”

    
“Do I get an iPhone?”

    
“No. By the way, have you been in touch with Ripa?”

    
“Why?”

    
“Just asking.”

    
“You interested in him or his brother?”

    
Takamäki chuckled, but his voice took on a serious tone. “If his brother is really in the Skulls, then I’m interested, particularly if he kills somebody or gets killed himself. Hard to say which will happen first.”

    
Joonas said nothing.

    
“It’s your decision, but if you ask me, I’d tell you to stay away from that Ripa and his brother.”

* * *

Saarnikangas backed his van up to a brick-red shipping container at a construction site in western Espoo. Two men in overalls appeared and opened the shipping container first, then the back doors of the van.

    
Apart from those three, the construction site was quiet and nobody was about in the surrounding area. Hemmed in by tall trees, the place looked even darker in the steady rain.

    
A small sign on the shipping container stated that a two-story office building was under construction. The sign didn’t list the general contractor, just a name and phone number.

    
The men began loading cardboard boxes into the van. Saarnikangas opened the driver’s side door, thinking he’d walk back and watch, but the ground was muddy and he didn’t want to dirty his shoes. In any case, he would just get in the way, and besides, it wasn’t his job.

    
He didn’t know where the goods had come from, or even what they were, but he doubted they were being stolen from here. Such a large amount would be noticed immediately.

    
He suspected the shipping container was being used as a temporary warehouse to store stolen supplies and tools taken from other sites. Construction sites suited the purpose well. Transporting goods was part of the business, so people loading a van didn’t attract attention, even on a Sunday night.

    
The van shuddered as the boxes hit the floor. The transfer took fifteen minutes.

    
One of the men came to the passenger side door with a single box. A sticker on top read, “Handle with care,” in English.

    
“Careful with this one,” he said, and placed it on the seat with his massive hands.

    
Juha was tempted to look inside the box, but it was bound with so much tape that it would be impossible peek in.

    
The doors slammed shut and the men disappeared. After sputtering for a while, the Fiat Ducato roared to life.

    
Juha swung onto the road and dug a cheap cell phone out of his pocket. It had been given it to him expressly for this job.

    
The man answered immediately.

    
“Hey,” said Juha. “Where should I take these?”

    
“Go to Kivihaan Road first,” said Mike Gonzales, and gave him the exact address of an apartment building. “There’s a remodeling job there. A guy will come out and get the stuff he needs.”

    
“Should I ring the doorbell, or how does he know to come out?”

    
“Ring the doorbell,” said Gonzales. He rattled off two more addresses in Maunula and Oulunkylä. After that, he said, the van should be empty.

    
“There’s some kind of special package here?” Juha said as he pulled onto the ramp to Beltway Three.

    
“Give it to the guy in Maunula. He’ll take care of it from there.”