To Suhonen, the emphasis of criminal investigations was misplaced. Organized crimes should be prevented, not pursued after the fact. Even if the perpetrators were never charged, at least a crime would have been stopped.
Typically, the police had to wait until a crime was committed to get started. But by then, the damage was already done. Detectives would prioritize the cases based on the severity of the crime and available evidence, then go after the most dangerous suspects. Even with the Finnish police solving 95 percent of homicide cases, there were still many dead victims and many criminals left on the streets. For Suhonen, undercover work was an essential part of police work.
Zubrov’s case gnawed at Suhonen because he didn’t know what it was about. Or was he paranoid? Who could tell him more about this character without word of his interest drifting back to Zubrov himself? Somewhere, someone knew more about the man. At least Toomas Indres had promised to dig up more. At some point, he’d have to put in a follow-up call to Estonia.
Suhonen had also considered a possible connection from Zubrov-through Gonzales-to the Skulls. The Skulls carried out their own hits, so they didn’t need a hit-man. Recently, the sphere of the Skulls had only included drugs, extortion and debt collection contracts anyway. This was primarily because the gang’s brains, Tapani Larsson, had been behind bars. Now, however, he was back on the streets.
“Wanna go to the gym?” Joutsamo asked. She had a black coat in her hand and a gym bag over her shoulder. She had noticed Suhonen’s duffel bag on the floor. “Thought I’d do some bench presses and I need a spotter.”
“Just pumping iron? No stationary bikes?”
Joutsamo shook her head and smiled. “Not even a treadmill.”
“Yeah. Alright, I’ll come. Not getting anywhere here,” he said and started to shut down his computer.
Still, that didn’t shake off his nagging uneasiness. Suhonen kept thinking that somebody had to know this Zubrov, but who? He couldn’t escape the thought that he should have tailed the man after the meeting at the Velodrome.
* * *
Suhonen was lying on his back on the leg press in a white T-shirt and black shorts, his ponytail hanging off the bench. He was at the end of a set and his face was flushed. With every press, the forty-something cop exhaled hard and as he lowered the weight, he inhaled.
Joutsamo sat at the foot of the bench press in gray sweatpants and a red top, drinking water from a plastic bottle.
It was quiet in the station’s dated gym. The smell of sweat had permeated the space, much the same as a men’s locker room.
Besides the two VCU officers, an immense, bald-headed traffic cop with whiskers was hitting the heavy bag. Suhonen knew his name was Strand and that he had a K-9 named “Esko.” Occasionally, they had worked together on raids. The men had exchanged nods.
Suhonen finished his set and lowered the weights. He got up, slid the plates off and walked over to Joutsamo.
“Well, your turn.”
She laughed. They had been hard at it for nearly an hour.
“Maybe one more set.”
Suhonen’s phone rang next to the leg press, about six feet off. “Of course,” he grumbled and snatched his phone.
Again, the caller was unidentified. No surprise. The majority of cops and criminals alike had set their phones to block caller ID.
“Yeah,” Suhonen snapped into the receiver.
“Hey. Toomas here,” said a man with an Estonian accent. “Bad time?”
Suhonen glanced at Joutsamo, who was waiting under the bar for him to spot her. “No. Go ahead.”
“About Zubrov,” he began. “We’re still digging for more, but I did hear that a woman from his circle is arriving in Helsinki tonight with a smallish batch of speed.”
Suhonen wanted to ask where he had gotten the info, but Toomas wouldn’t have told him anyway. “Smallish?”
“A few pounds. We don’t have the resources to go after it, nor would we want to risk exposing our informant for a small-time deal like this.”
“I understand.”
“Just thought I’d call you. Hopefully, this will open up some new leads for you.”
“Hopefully,” said Suhonen, his gears already turning. “Who’s the woman?”
“I’ll send you an email with a photo and some other info on this Marju.”
A shock ran through Suhonen’s body-he tried to calm himself. Marju was a relatively common name in Estonia. It couldn’t be his Marju. No way.
“OK. When is she due in?”
Joutsamo was looking inquiringly at Suhonen. The traffic cop was still beating the bag.
“This evening. The Tallink Star leaves here at eight and should be in Helsinki by ten P.M.”
“Good. I’ll talk to Takamäki about what to do.”
“What’s that noise in the background?”
Suhonen chuckled. “I’m at the gym.”
“Hmm. You guys have time for that?”
“One more question. What exactly is this woman’s connection to Zubrov?”
“We don’t know for sure. This Marju has been going to his parties and our surveillance has spotted Zubrov and her eating together. She’s not his girlfriend, but not a prostitute either. Probably somewhere in between.”
“The tip is good, though?”
“I wouldn’t have called otherwise. I’ll send someone to the harbor to check out what kind of clothes she’s wearing and call you later.”
“Good. Thanks.”
The conversation ended and Suhonen hung up.
“Who was that?” Joutsamo asked.
“Toomas. A small shipment of speed is coming over this evening. Somehow it’s connected to Zubrov.”
“You should probably call Takamäki.”
“Yeah.”
“Well, come over and spot me. I’ll do a set of ten and then let’s go.”
Suhonen wanted to march straight to his computer and check his email for the woman’s picture. He hoped this had nothing to do with his lovely Marju. What would he do if it were the same woman?
* * *
The hallways of the Narcotics department were as gloomy as the VCU’s, one floor up: gray laminate floors, dirty walls and cold fluorescent lighting.
Suhonen had spoken with his boss and his orders were clear. Drug smuggling was Narcotics’ business, not the VCU’s. Suhonen agreed with Takamäki, but that didn’t prevent them from cooperating. To the contrary, inter-departmental cooperation had always been encouraged.
Immediately upon arriving at his desk, he had checked his email for the photo of the mule, and though this woman was also beautiful, dark and fit, she was luckily another Marju. Suhonen had taken a deep breath, and tried to calm his nerves.
Narcotics Lieutenant Rauno Ristola’s office was halfway down the hall. Suhonen knew the veteran narcotics cop well, as they had worked together on a number of cases over the years.
The door was open but Suhonen knocked anyway and the rugged, bald-headed lieutenant invited him inside. His office was just as small as Takamäki’s. On the desk sat a computer and a pile of papers. His bookcases held fewer binders than Takamäki’s.
A half-empty cup of coffee was parked next to a small travel radio, which was playing hard rock. The sound quality was so shoddy that Suhonen couldn’t recognize the song.
“So this dope deal,” Ristola muttered. He was dressed in a black sweater.
Suhonen had already explained the key points over the phone. He had suggested that the mule should be followed to determine who would receive the shipment. He walked over to the window and sat on the sill.
“The ship comes in at ten,” Suhonen answered. “Three hours from now.”