“On what basis?” Takamäki asked, though he knew the question was useless.
“I thought Lydman might be a key player. By the way, I filed the same request for Saarnikangas. Is Lydman going somewhere?”
“Yeah. The 3:20 flight to Bangkok.”
He heard a muffled rustling on the other end. Takamäki guessed that Suhonen was looking at the clock on his phone.
“So he’s waiting to board his flight right now,” Takamäki offered.
Suhonen figured the lieutenant wanted his input on whether Lydman should be let on the plane or not. He was torn: Lydman’s significance to the case had lessened now that they had Markkanen in their sights. On the other hand, Lydman was about to fly halfway around the world, and wouldn’t be missed if he was sitting in jail instead. They could keep him a while before word got out.
“I think we should bring him in.”
“Do we have grounds for that?”
“Well, he’s been seen with Saarnikangas a couple times in the past few days, so at least Joutsamo can question him about that.”
“Should we bring Saarnikangas in at the same time?”
Suhonen thought for a second. “That’s an option, of course, but maybe not yet. Let’s see what happens tomorrow, at least.”
“How’d it go last night? Anything new?”
“Not really. Just trying to make heads or tails of it all,” Suhonen replied with a smirk.
“Listen, Suhonen. Up till now this has been your case, but we need to talk about how to move forward.”
“Yeah,” Suhonen said. “Of course, of course.”
“Especially now that we’re arresting Lydman. At this point, he’ll be charged with murder, right?”
“Yeah, looks like accessory to murder to me,” Suhonen said. “That’ll give us some ammo for the interrogations.”
“Okay, I’ll ask the Border Guard to take him into custody, and we’ll bring him to Pasila in the morning. We’ll have a meeting first thing at nine, then.”
“Alright.”
“Well,” Takamäki smirked. “Try to get a few winks over there in the middle of that Kallio ruckus.”
“I’ll try.” Suhonen hung up and buried his head in the lush Hotel Katajanokka pillows.
FRIDAY NOVEMBER 28
CHAPTER 23
LINDSTRÖM’S APARTMENT,
TEHDAS STREET, HELSINKI
FRIDAY, 8:40 A.M.
Kalevi Lindström heard the doorbell ring. He set his coffee down on the table and strolled to the door in his robe. He still had to do his morning workout. The trainer wasn’t due till nine, but maybe she was early.
He looked out the peephole, recognized the man standing outside and opened the door warily.
“Morning,” said the sixty-something man. His gray suit matched his hair. Von Marzen lived upstairs.
The man’s expression was dour. “I have something to tell you, neighbor.”
He spoke decent Finnish, but with a German accent. Lindström knew he had moved to Finland in the eighties and didn’t start studying Finnish until then.
“What is it?”
“Somebody broke into our garage.”
“What’d they take?”
“Didn’t take a thing. But they did something on your side.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Nothing on my side, but your car…ehhh… schwein…” he groped for the words, “had pig head on the hood.”
“What? A pig’s head?” Lindström looked incredulous. He wanted to ask why, but Von Marzen wouldn’t know.
“Right. A pig’s head. But not to worry. I called police about the break-in and told them about the schwein.”
Lindström ran his hands over his face. Eriksson dead, and now this. Clearly a warning. It couldn’t be anything else. What was happening? He ought to call Markkanen. Maybe he could shed some light on the situation. Who the hell was behind this?
* * *
Suhonen was perplexed. What was going on here?
At headquarters, he had checked the plate numbers for Markkanen’s BMW and the Mercedes in the garage. They were owned by different companies, but the ultimate owner turned out to be the same person. Suhonen’s colleagues in the Financial Crimes Unit said the guy was some shady lawyer. The similarities didn’t end there, though. Two junkies, well-known to the police, sat on the boards of both firms.
Why in the world was Markkanen’s Beamer registered under the same owner as the pig’s head Mercedes?
The connection got him thinking, and he considered the various possibilities.
With one phone call, he identified the driver of the Mercedes. The building super said that Kalevi Lindström owned the garage, and that he also lived in the building.
Lindström’s name didn’t turn up in any police records. Nothing on the Web either, nor in any business journal archives. Apparently, they weren’t dealing with a major industrialist.
A former criminal with a violent streak and an apparently wealthy sixty-year-old man were at odds, but somehow in cahoots as well. Their backgrounds revealed common denominators, such as the shared car ownership. And how was Eriksson mixed up in this?
Suhonen was aching for coffee and decided to brew a pot.
It would have to wait. The GPS system in his phone alerted him that the green dot had begun to move. Green was for Markkanen.
* * *
“A pig’s head?” Markus Markkanen looked baffled. “Why?”
“I’m wondering the same thing,” Lindström responded.
The men were sitting in Lindström’s sumptuous library. Lindström had cancelled with his trainer and summoned Markkanen for a meeting.
“It’s definitely a threat. Somebody thinks you’re worthless. I remember this one shithead back in the nineties. We used to put dried pigs’ ears through his mail slot,” Markkanen went on. “They were fine for pet food, but the message was clear: you’re worthless.”
“But, why?” Lindström wondered.
Markkanen could smell the old man’s fear-Lindström wasn’t used to playing hardball. That was good.
“Somebody wants something from you.”
“But what?”
Markkanen looked out the window, brooding.
“It’s gotta have something to do with Eriksson. He must’ve been involved in something or pissed off someone. And what’s worse for you…or us, is that they’ve connected the dots from Eriksson upward to you.”
“How?”
Idiot, Markkanen thought. You should have thought of that when you hired that kid to do my job. Of course, he had the in with Customs, but loyalty should be respected. I shouldn’t have been humiliated like that.
Markkanen watched two little boys cross the street, and it made him think of his own family. He had called his wife in Turku the night before. Everything was going well at the spa and the boy was happy to have an extra vacation. He had even made a new friend.
He turned away from the window and looked Lindström in the eyes.
“I don’t know. This is strange.”
Lindström stood up. “What should we do, then?”
“I’ll ask around some more and see who’s behind this, but after that we have two choices.”
“And those would be…”
“Either we take action or pay up.”
“Violence or money?” Lindström summarized.
Markkanen nodded. “Well, there’s always a third alternative, but it doesn’t apply here.”
“What?”
“Sex… But I doubt the enemy is interested in either of us like that.”
Lindström smirked. “That’d probably be the easiest alternative.”
Markkanen looked at his boss, not sure if he was joking.
Lindström settled back into his armchair. “I got a message from the Russians. In three days’ time, a shipment of washing machines will be arriving in Kotka.”
“Washing machines?”