* * *
Takamäki stood in the yard of the Skulls’ compound, talking on his phone. The air had turned cold and the occasional fleck of sleet fell to the ground. Soon, it would freeze and the sleet would turn to snow, he thought.
A half-dozen squad cars and an ambulance were parked in front of the building.
“Two suspects are dead, and one under arrest,” Takamäki said into the phone. He’d been following the raid from the command vehicle a couple hundred yards away. As soon as they had gotten the “all clear,” the van had pulled into the yard.
“What happened?” asked Honkala.
“The S.W.A.T. team went in and one of the Skulls opened fire with a Kalashnikov. The Skulls’ bullets killed one of their own and an officer shot the guy with the AK. The third was arrested.”
“Who were they?”
“The fatalities were Niko Andersson, a full-fledged member, and Oskari Rahkonen, a prospect. This Osku is the one who shot Niko with the AK. Roger Sandström is under arrest.”
Takamäki recalled his son’s stories about Osku’s little brother Ripa. A tragic event for a kid who idolized his older brother. The incident could affect him in two ways: either it would embitter him or it would frighten him. Difficult to say which way Ripa would swing.
Honkala paused. “So Larsson and Steiner weren’t in the building?”
Takamäki’s mind returned to the matter at hand. “No. We have no information on their whereabouts. I’ve been notified about the raids on their apartments. They found Larsson’s girlfriend, Sara Lehto, in his flat, and Steiner’s was empty. They’re bringing her downtown and forensics is going through both apartments.”
“Son of a…,” Honkala growled on the other end.
Takamäki glanced around the industrial area. So far, nobody but the police had arrived. “We raised quite a ruckus here, so I suppose the media will be here soon. We should probably make some kind of a statement.”
“Yeah. We’ll put something together. I’ll call you when they have it roughed out.”
The S.W.A.T. team filed out and the forensics team, decked out in white coveralls, was holding a briefing in the yard.
“We’ll also need to inform the state prosecutor so he can evaluate the S.W.A.T. team’s conduct in connection with the fatalities.”
“We’ll take care of that too,” said Honkala. “Have you heard anything from Nykänen or Suhonen?”
“Not for a while now. They would’ve called if they found anyone.”
“Pity,” said Honkala. “The undertaker’s tally for the day is two thugs, a police officer and a civilian. This has got to stop.”
Takamäki sighed. “You said it.”
TUESDAY, OCTOBER 27
CHAPTER 25
TUESDAY, 3:20 A.M.
SUHONEN’S APARTMENT, HELSINKI
Suhonen awoke to his ringing phone. He groped around for it on the nightstand, coughed once, then answered.
“Hello.”
Suhonen heard the sobbing first. “Help me.”
“Who is this?”
“Salmela,” the man whispered.
Suhonen bolted upright in bed. “What’s wrong? Where are you?”
Salmela’s voice over the phone was quiet and halting.
“They found me. The assholes found me…”
“Who?”
“Larsson and Steiner. They got me… But I got away… Hold on…” He fell silent.
Suhonen waited. After about twenty seconds, Salmela whispered again. “It was nothing. They’re looking for me.”
“Where are you?”
“In the woods. Not sure exactly where. There’s a road nearby. Come pick me up.”
Suhonen got to his feet and looked at the dark streets out the window. “I’ll come if I know where to find you.”
“There’s some school over there. Probably that Russian school. I think…”
Suhonen cut in. “You’re somewhere around the intersection of Beltway One and the Hämeenlinna Highway.”
“Yeah,” Salmela whispered. “There’s some road…yeah…now I see it. I’m in the woods northeast of there. I see a kind of greenish house and a bus stop.”
“How’d they find you?” Suhonen asked, pinching the phone between his shoulder and ear as he pulled on his jeans.
“Over on Hämeen Street. In the courtyard of the employment office. They just appeared out of nowhere in a car. What happened to Ear-Nurminen? I don’t suppose he…”
“Nurminen’s dead. They killed him.”
“Goddammit!” He lowered his voice again. “I saw ’em go up the stairs. I didn’t dare go back.”
“Good thing you didn’t. What happened after they found you?”
“Hold on again…” said Salmela and the line fell silent.
Suhonen pulled on his sweater. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing. Just a car. I don’t really know for sure. They drove me here and started grilling me. I don’t really know, but at some point they left me alone and I got out the window.”
“Go somewhere safe and hide. I’ll be there in a silver Peugeot in about fifteen.” Suhonen paused to consider his options. Were he to notify dispatch, the place would be crawling with cruisers and sirens. That could make Salmela’s situation even worse. It would be better if he picked up Salmela first and then sent in the troops to look for Larsson and Steiner.
There was no time to explain the situation to the lieutenant on duty, Takamäki, Nykänen, nor Honkala. Every one of them would order him to wait. Waiting was not an option. The second Salmela was in his car, the tables would turn. His hiding spot was only about a ten-minute drive away. Suhonen pulled on his leather jacket in the entryway.
“Listen,” said Salmela. “I didn’t know anything about the bomb.”
“I believe you,” said Suhonen, twisting his feet into his shoes.
“And that license plate. That Opel was at the Skulls’ compound a couple days ago. I saw it in the yard.”
“Huh?”
“Yeah, that agent said on TV that the license plate was AFR-something. Almost the same as my old Opel. I saw it in the Skulls’ garage.”
“Lay low,” said Suhonen as he stepped out the door of his building. “I’ll be right there.”
* * *
The wet asphalt glowed in the pale light of the streetlamps. A thin layer of snow lay on the shoulder of the road and in random patches elsewhere.
Suhonen parked his silver Peugeot at a bus stop on the shoulder and got out. According to the sign, route 47 stopped here. The green wooden house that Salmela had mentioned was on the left, and near that were several three-story white brick apartment buildings. The one-story buildings of the Russian-Finnish school were further back on the left. To his right was a dark thicket.
This was the spot. Salmela was nowhere in sight, but the rows of street lights formed a bright tunnel from which it was impossible to see into the dark forest.
Suhonen wondered if he should shout for Salmela, but if the gangsters were still out there looking for him, it probably wasn’t such a good idea. He lingered a while, but when Salmela didn’t show, Suhonen tried his phone.
Salmela didn’t answer, but a text message came shortly.
“Can’t talk. Hundred yards from bus stop. Red warehouse on the right.”
Suhonen read the message and wondered why Salmela couldn’t talk. Was the situation that dire?
Best to go check it out. He swung back into the car and headed down the narrow road. A good hundred yards up on the right was a narrow wooded road with no signs.
He hesitated a moment, then swung the car onto the dirt road. Spruces flanked both sides of the road, which was covered in enough snow that he could tell no cars had been through lately. In the headlights up ahead, he saw the road curve gently to the right and end at a red wooden hut the size of a shipping container. There were no windows, at least not on the front. The wooden clapboards ran continuously from the foundation to the shed-style roof.