“Nice that someone called,” said Kulta.
Takamäki shot a glare from beneath his brow. “Mikko, if you got something important to say, then say it. But if it’s just your everyday bullshit, then keep it to yourself. Alright?”
“Alright.”
Kulta had a habit of blurting out thoughtless remarks, but now was obviously not the time.
Takamäki went on, “The caller was a man by the name of Konsta Sten, from the second floor of the building. Within four minutes, the first officers arrived on the scene to find a corpse lying just inside the apartment door. The victim was later identified as Tomi Salmela.”
Since Salmela’s background was not necessarily known to everybody, Takamäki reeled off a list of facts that Kirsi Kohonen had mined from the database. “Salmela was eighteen years old with plenty of drug, theft and assault convictions, but nothing particularly serious. A two-bit junkie,” he summed up. “Based on his rap sheet, he’d seem a hell of a strange target for a contract hit, but clearly we don’t know enough. What we do know is that the trigger man was this Esa Nyberg. With his street enforcer background, it would seem logical he’d promote himself to a contract killer sooner or later.”
“The guy’s some kinda military freak,” said Joutsamo.
“Have we searched his place?” asked Takamäki.
“We don’t know where he lives yet,” said Joutsamo. “No permanent address on record, though we have a few leads. We’ll figure it out when we get a minute.”
“Okay,” said Takamäki as he glanced toward the door. Suhonen was stepping into the conference room.
“Hey,” he droned. “Sorry to bust in on your meeting.”
Suhonen’s specialty was the surveillance of violent criminals and organized crime rings.
“Right,” said Takamäki. “I left you a message…”
“Yeah, I heard about the case already. I was with a buddy of mine putting away my bike for the winter. No reception. Back on the grid now, though.”
“You got something?”
“Yeah, but go ahead. I’d rather listen first.”
Takamäki nodded. He was glad Suhonen had arrived. With as much time as he spent undercover, Suhonen had access to just the kind of street intelligence that was so desperately needed when the motive was still unclear.
“So. Things started to come together pretty quickly once Joutsamo recognized Nyberg on the security footage. The SWAT team took him down in Töölö at the entrance of an apartment building. He’s not talking. They found a pistol in his jacket pocket, but we don’t know yet if it’s the murder weapon.”
“So why kill Salmela?” Suhonen asked, knowing he’d get no answer.
Takamäki grinned. “That’s what I wanted to
ask you.”
“Well, I did meet him once.”
The others looked dumbfounded for a moment. “Huh?” Joutsamo finally managed.
“Sure. We had coffee together at the Ruskeasuo Teboil station about a year back.”
“And?” said Joutsamo.
“Well…he didn’t mention having a target on
his back.”
Joutsamo glanced at Takamäki, who shrugged. He trusted Suhonen to volunteer details if they were relevant to the case. If for one reason or another, Suhonen didn’t care to comment, then he had good reason. The man had so much intel that even the lieutenant didn’t know all of his sources.
“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.