He crouched down and looked at the pictures on the LCD. Good enough.
Suhonen heard footsteps behind him and glanced around. A woman in her forties with walking poles and a blue wind suit was approaching. She aimed her key fob at the SUV to unlock the doors, then froze when she noticed Suhonen crouching next to her car.
He turned slowly and whispered, “Shhh… There’s an Olive-backed Pipit in the thicket to your left. Really rare.”
The woman stiffened, and Suhonen raised his camera. He snapped a few photos of the bushes and glanced at the screen for good measure. He gave her the thumbs up and whispered, “Anthus hodgsoni. Really rare in Finland.”
The woman said nothing, climbed into the SUV, locked the doors and sped away. Suhonen rose and swung back into his car.
He started the Peugeot and headed toward the Pakila Teboil gas station. There he’d have time for a cup of coffee before the next phase.
CHAPTER 20
PIHLAJAMÄKI, HELSINKI
THURSDAY, 3:20 P.M.
The coffee at the Pakila Teboil had been exceptionally good. Suhonen had barely managed to down a cup before the dots on his cellphone started to move again. The meeting between Saarnikangas and Lydman had lasted about fifteen minutes.
Now Suhonen had photographs that the men would have to explain during their interrogations, or in court at the latest. Of course, he would have rather heard what they said or even recorded it, but without advance warning of the meeting location, he hadn’t had time.
Audio surveillance presented its own problems. Unwanted noise sources near the device could spoil the whole operation. Suhonen recalled how a full day’s work by ten cops was once wasted when a bus driver picked the wrong spot to take his break and left the engine idling.
Now Suhonen was sitting in his car in the parking lot outside Saarnikangas’ apartment building. He had predicted correctly that Saarnikangas would return home, and had left while Juha was still at the parking lot near the park. Suhonen had kept his eye on the glowing dot, which had stayed a few minutes behind him.
Saarnikangas was a minute away from the parking lot. Suhonen flicked a switch, and the wipers cleared the slush off the windshield.
It was quiet-only a few people were about, walking their dogs. A wet snow had blanketed the cars in the parking lot, and the darkening landscape reminded him of Christmas, though it was only November. Hopefully, they’d have a white Christmas this year, Suhonen thought. Probably not, if the last few years were any guide.
The street lights came on, only a dim glow at first. They took a few minutes to warm up.
He watched as Saarnikangas’ van rounded the neighboring restaurant and crept into the parking lot. The headlights blinded him, and he couldn’t make out the driver.
The Ducato swung into an open space three places down from Suhonen, who got out and approached Saarnikangas just as he was locking his van with a key.
“Hello,” the detective said, startling Saarnikangas.
He recovered quickly. “What the hell!”
“Right on.”
“Huh?”
“You’re in a hot spot.”
Juha forced a laugh. “Hey, I was just gonna call you. Good timing.”
“Really.”
“Should we go up to my place?” Juha asked, taking a step towards the stairs at the entrance.
Suhonen grabbed Saarnikangas by the shoulder. “Should we go down to the station?”
“Don’t start… Shit!”
Suhonen looked him straight in the eyes. “Juha. You’re a peewee player, but now you’re in the rink with the pros. You know how that’ll end?”
Juha nodded. “Yeah. Lotsa pucks in my own net.”
“At least you get it.”
Saarnikangas glanced at the entrance again, then dropped his gaze to the snow-covered ground. “The recognition of truth is the beginning of wisdom.”
“Paasikivi. No art history this time?” Suhonen grinned at the famous quote from Finland’s first cold-war president. Paasikivi had outlined much of Finland’s post-war foreign policy, which was akin to standing in the middle of a seesaw, balancing the demands of the Soviets and the West.
Saarnikangas chuckled. “I took political history along with my art studies… But that Paasikivi quote isn’t too far off, nor is your more modern peewee analogy.”
Suhonen was glad that Juha was talking and allowed him to continue.
“Back in the fifties, Finland was that peewee player that had to choose between the East and West teams in a world championship game…kind of like me now…the East wanted to link Finland to the ‘peace movement.’ Finland consented, but not really.”
“What are you talking about?” Suhonen muttered.
“Listen.”
Suhonen relented, he was in no hurry.
“So…according to Paasikivi, in a crisis, it made sense for Finland to be on the Soviet side. Not based on any belief or hope of a Soviet victory, just plain strategy. So had the cold war gotten hot, Finland would’ve been on the Soviet side. Why? If the Soviet Union had won, Finland would’ve been on the winning side. In a draw, Finland would’ve continued to be a Soviet neighbor. But had the West won, Finland would have eventually been able to make up with the victors.”
“Cold war power politics,” Suhonen said.
Saarnikangas smiled, “I know how the real cold war ended, now I just need to figure out who’s East and who’s West.”
“You know, Juha, that reminds me of Spain. Once in my younger days, we were on a drinking trip in Torremolinos. After three days in a beach-front cantina, I had quite a hangover. The weather was fantastic, but I just felt like hanging out under the canopy of the terrace bar. Well, that took care of the hangover quickly. But there was a sign in Spanish on the wall of the bar, and for some reason I just had to figure out what it said. The gray-whiskered bartender translated it for me, and I still remember it.”
Saarnikangas looked at Suhonen. “Well?”
“Talking about the bulls isn’t the same as being in the ring.”
“Yea-ah,” Saarnikangas said, amused. “Better that than ‘Drink sangria in moderation.’”
Suhonen finally got annoyed, “Enough bullshit. Let’s go down to the station. You’re under arrest on suspicion of murder.”
“Don’t I even get my one phone call?”
“Nope. You’ve watched one too many American TV shows,” said Suhonen bluntly. Saarnikangas’ jokes fell flat.
“But…”
“Game over.”
“If the game’s over, can’t we have a rematch?”
Suhonen looked at the junkie. He was no killer, but he knew more than he was willing to say. Joutsamo wouldn’t care one way or the other. She would pry all she could out of the guy.
“Let’s go. No more games. I don’t have cuffs with me, but I can have a cruiser here in four minutes. Either that or nice and easy in my car.”
Suhonen fished his cellphone out of his jacket pocket.
Saarnikangas knew he wasn’t kidding around. “Okay, Suhonen. Listen to me. I didn’t shoot him. I’m not a killer. Hey, I’m the one that called you about it…”
Suhonen pushed a button on his phone and raised it to his ear. “Suhonen from VCU. I need a unit out here to take someone to Pasila… Yeah. In Pihlajamäki, the apartments by Vuolukivi… I’ve got him, but we need transport to Pasila… Right… Thanks.” Suhonen put the phone back in his pocket.
“Shit,” Saarnikangas shrieked. “I didn’t kill him!”
“You have four minutes. Enlighten me, but without the history lesson.”
“Don’t you believe me? If I did it, there’s no way in hell I would have told you about the body.”
“Never heard that before,” Suhonen sneered, glancing at his phone.
“That’s not funny,” Juha said.
“I’m a cop, not a comedian.”