“I watched part of one and saw the pictures in the papers, of course. In that samba episode-or was it rumba-you had on that short black skirt?”
Römpötti confessed. “I didn’t actually choose it myself; they have a stylist who picks the costumes.”
“Good stylist, but it can’t be that hard to pick out clothes for a body like yours.”
“Thank you. But let’s talk about you a little…”
“You’re much more interesting.”
Römpötti cut the flattery short with a stern look then drank her coffee in a way that was just short of flirtatious. The gesture worked every time with men.
“Alright, then,” said Aronen. “We’re just talking about background info, right?”
Römpötti nodded. “We can do a proper interview on camera later.”
“Maybe,” Aronen said, smiling again.
Römpötti wondered how to proceed. Aronen’s story was an interesting one: from the peacekeeping forces to organized crime. But she didn’t want to start with that.
“So, um,” she began haltingly. “The police have deemed the Skulls a criminal organization. Is that true?” The question was dumb, but it would help her get the conversation going. Maybe.
Aronen shook his head. “Don’t listen to the police. They exaggerate everything for their own purposes. We’re not a criminal organization.”
“Quite a few members are serving prison sentences, though?”
“It’s none of the group’s business what people do on their own time. We’re not responsible for others’ actions.”
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.