“Yup, otherwise it’ll be too ambiguous. That should also allow us to find out more about Eriksson’s circle of friends and recent activities.”
“But if the media has a name, they’ll dig up his record.”
“Does that matter?”
“Probably not, since we didn’t get any leads from the fraud cases anyway.”
“Maybe the media guys will dig up something else,” Takamäki said. “I’ll send out a press release at three. Before then, make sure a police chaplain or somebody from our team goes to visit his family, as well as the girl who filed the report…what was her name again?”
“Kristiina Nyholm.”
Takamäki reflected for a moment.
“What is it?” Joutsamo asked.
“It’s a long shot, but find out if this Kristiina is related to Jouko Nyholm from Customs.”
“What makes you think that?”
Takamäki looked Joutsamo in the eyes. “Just the last name…that’s all.”
* * *
Markkanen had been driving for about a half an hour, when his phone alerted him to an incoming text. The message was from Lydman, and concise: “3.”
Markkanen cursed.
He had heard the news on the radio. There was no reason to panic, but Lydman seemed ruffled. The message meant that Markkanen should call Lydman on his #3 phone, which had a new prepaid SIM card and a brand new number. Any calls made with it would be secure, since the cops couldn’t tap it in real-time.
A sign reading “The Baron” in cursive directed him to a gas station, actually more of a tourist trap. Markkanen didn’t need any of their coffee, gas, food, books, magazines, playgrounds, or tourist trash, nor any of their other services. He pulled the Beamer into a snowy parking space and stepped out to get his phones from the trunk. He had some half-dozen cellphones, and the same number of SIM cards. He had written a number on the back of them for times like this when he needed a secure line himself. Lindström also had a few more secure phones in his apartment.
Switching phones was the criminal’s way of combating the Finnish police, who easily obtained warrants for phone taps. Beyond listening for illicit activity, the police also used cellphones to link criminals with each other by monitoring who they called. The cops listened in on criminals, and continually extended their knowledge of crime networks by finding new links.
Markkanen, too, was using a brand-new SIM card with a completely new phone number. This way, both of them eliminated the chance that the police could listen in.
Markkanen installed one of the new SIM cards into an old Nokia 3310. The battery was dead, so he got back in the car and plugged it into the cigarette lighter. He found the number to Lydman’s #3 phone in his notes and dialed. It rang three times before Lydman answered.
“Fuck,” said an icy voice.
“What’s up?”
“You been listening to the radio or surfing the Web?”
“I heard it on the radio,” Markkanen said coolly.
“Fuck.”
“You’re like a broken hip-hop record. What’s your problem?”
“They found Eriksson!”
Markkanen watched a family get out of their car. The kids were jumping around, elated to be outside.
“So what? We’re ready for it. Nothing to worry about. If someone goes down for this, it’ll be your buddy. There’s nothing for us to worry about. You know, we’ve set the stage. The note about the debt and what not. So, take it easy…”
“I ain’t worried about Juha, but that Korpela is another story.”
“The Skull?”
"Yeah him. He threatened me with the scissors. He thinks he’s gonna get life and we’re to blame.”
Tony Korpela was a lunatic who had done time for a brutal scissor murder. But Lydman had used one word that Markkanen didn’t like.
“What do you mean we?” he menaced. If Lydman had done his job correctly, the Skulls shouldn’t know anything about him.
“Yes, we. Korpela said he checked around and found out that this extends beyond me. He mentioned your name.”
“You didn’t tell him?”
“No.”
Liar, Markkanen thought, but understood Lydman’s concern. The Skulls were good at keeping their end of the bargain, but if things went bad, you’d likely wind up on the wrong end of it.
“What did he say exactly?”
“I didn’t tape it!” Lydman snapped, then calmed down. “He cussed like the devil and said that we didn’t keep our end of the deal. He wished you and me the best in hell, blustered on about revenge, then demanded more money.”
“How much?”
“Hundred grand.”
“No!”
“Apparently that’s the standard penalty for contract violation,” Lydman said.
“Really.”
Lydman paused. “So, you gonna pay?”
“Where would I get that kind of money?” he said, glancing at the plastic bag on the floor.
It contained many times that sum. He thought of another alternative: he had seventy grand in his pocket…maybe he could scrape together another thirty, but… Shit!
Eriksson had been asking for it-he had become too arrogant. Markkanen could have tolerated his crowing and the fact that the kid had passed him up in Lindström’s organization, but the blackmail was the last straw. Somehow, the brat had figured out that Markkanen was embezzling money from Lindström, and had threatened to rat on him. In the end, the decision had been easy-Eriksson had stepped, or rather, had tried to step on the wrong toes.
Markkanen had lured Lydman into the scheme by claiming that Eriksson was a Customs nark. Markkanen was amused that in the end, Eriksson did actually have a Customs connection. Lydman had an in with the Skulls, and had arranged the hit for twenty-five grand. Lydman had also found a convenient sacrificial lamb for the murder: Juha Saarnikangas, who had been brought in to dispose of the body. If Eriksson vanished for good, they’d be in the clear. And if Saarnikangas failed, he would take the heat. The hit man wouldn’t talk, Lydman wouldn’t talk, and neither would he.
Now the hit man was worried for no good reason, unless he was just trying to rake in more money. Or was Lydman trying to stiff him? He wouldn’t dare.
“Listen,” Markkanen said. “It’s water under the bridge. Nothing’s changed, so take it easy.”
“Are you gonna pay him?”
“I can negotiate with them.”
Lydman laughed. “Good luck with that.”
Markkanen considered his options. He didn’t want to irritate or provoke Lydman. The man was trustworthy, but unpredictable in his own way. “I’ll take care of it. Don’t worry.”
“Good… I’m going to Thailand for a couple weeks.”
“What?”
“I bought a last-minute ticket…leaving tomorrow night… Maybe things will settle down.”
Stupid, Markkanen thought. Running scared. He answered in a calm voice, “Okay, that might be a good idea, but first set up a meeting between Saarnikangas and me. I still need him.”
“For what?”
“It’s better if you don’t know,” Markkanen said.
“Guess so.”
“But go talk to him in person; his phone could be tapped. Tell him to be at the Corner Pub at eight o’clock tonight.”
“The Corner Pub at eight,” Lydman repeated. “Okay, I’ll do it, but then I’m gonna be gone a couple weeks. In the meantime, clear things up with the Skulls. This is your mess.”
“Of course,” Markkanen assured him. He asked for a number for the hit man, and Lydman gave it to him, but pointed out that the line wasn’t secure. Lydman said that he and Korpela used a special code in case the phones were tapped. Markkanen was to suggest a meeting at the Ruskeasuo Teboil, but it would actually take place in the parking lot of the Tali bowling alley.
Markkanen hung up and started the car. He’d have time to think on the way to Helsinki.
Before hitting the road, he called his wife. He directed her to take Eetu, and leave town for a few days. She was confused at first, but then she agreed. She was to take all the money out of hiding, pick up the boy from school and sign in at the Turku Caribia Spa-Hotel under her maiden name. At least the boy would have something to do there. Markkanen promised to be in touch by Sunday evening at the latest.