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.”
“Sounds good.”
“One more thing,” said Gonzales. “You know a guy named Eero Salmela?”
An oncoming car had its high-beams on and Juha flashed his brights back. “Why?”
“A friend asked me to check on him.”
“Can I ask what friend?”
“No. Obviously you know the guy.”
“Sure… I know him. I actually just heard something a little disturbing about him.”
“What?” Gonzales asked eagerly.
Juha pictured Salmela’s face. There was something pitiable about the guy, especially after his last prison term. The blow to his head had been another to his IQ. But Juha still remembered how, when he was in the depths of his heroin addiction, Salmela had treated him like trash. And now the asshole had squealed to Suhonen about the amphetamine shipment. He deserved to eat shit for it.
“Kind of a touchy subject,” said Juha. “But according to my info, Salmela’s been in touch with the police.”
“Dammit,” Gonzales hissed. “You sure?”
“Yes.”
“Not just gossip?”
“No. It’s for sure. With a Helsinki cop named Suhonen.”
Gonzales thanked him. “You’ll be paid well for this. This is important info.”
Juha slipped the phone back into the breast pocket of his green jacket. Tough luck for Salmela, but he’d been asking for it. Just like Suhonen.
* * *
The room was dark, and the display on the cell phone lit up before it rang.
Lying on the bed beneath the covers, Suhonen slowly became aware of the ringing. As he awoke, he wasn’t sure whether he had been sleeping for a while, or had just dozed off. Then, realizing the noise was the ringer of his number-two phone, he groped for the lamp and snatched the phone off the nightstand. He glanced at the clock on the display: 1:37 A.M.
“What’s the matter?” he answered, having seen the caller already.
“Did I wake you up?” asked Eero Salmela.
Suhonen felt like cussing him out, but only managed to repeat, “What’s the matter?”
“Actually… It’s nothing, but…”
“But what?”
“I have a bad feeling about this gig.”
He sounded relatively sober. “How so? Something happen?”
Suhonen sat up in bed.
“Just nervous. I can’t sleep.”
Shit, watch a skin flick and fall asleep to that, thought Suhonen, but he bit his tongue.
“That’s normal. I’ve been nervous too.”
“I’m pretty much convinced they’re gonna see right through me tomorrow.”
“They won’t know a thing. You’ve already been there a couple of days-you’re like a piece of furniture.”
Salmela laughed. “Speaking of furniture. Did you know they brought a headstone in there?”
“A headstone?”
“A big slab of granite with a bunch of names on it.”
“Uuhh. What names?”
“Pretty sure they were dead gangsters, but I didn’t want to stare. Jyrkkä, Kahma and Korpela were on there. Tomorrow I can dust it and look closer.”
Suhonen remembered the names well. All three were Skulls who had been killed in firefights with the police.
“Those are gangsters. No need to worry about it,” said Suhonen, though he wondered why they had a headstone at the house.
“But what the hell is with the gravestone?”
“They want a memorial for their dead and it suits their sense of humor.”
“I’m not sure I wanna know what they come up with next.”
“Listen, your case is in good hands at the NBI. You’re in no danger. Tomorrow, just do the same thing you’ve been doing, and things will take care of themselves. This is routine stuff.”