Saarnikangas shifted, keeping his hands on the wheel. He didn’t dare look Suhonen in the eyes.
“Aalto would’ve been better off had he never designed the Enso headquarters. Otherwise he’s a first-class architect.” The headquarters of Enso, the largest Finnish paper company, sat on an imposing site on the Helsinki waterfront, about a quarter mile down the Esplanade from where they were. The modern five-story building was composed of large windows surrounded by white marble squares, and seemed utterly orphaned in its nineteenth century Art Nouveau surroundings.
“Juha!” Suhonen barked.
Saarnikangas didn’t answer.
Suhonen jerked Juha’s right hand off the wheel and twisted it, forcing him to make eye contact.
“Listen,” Suhonen said quietly, looking him directly in the eyes. “You called me. Eriksson’s disappearance is interesting, so if you know anything more about it, speak now.”
“Or never,” Saarnikangas continued. Suhonen wasn’t smiling.
The silence lay heavy. Saarnikangas muttered in a low voice, “Well, there is this one thing. Rumor has it that Eriksson was some sort of Customs nark, and that he was knocked off in some abandoned house or garage.”
“What garage? Where?”
“Not sure.”
“Talk!”
“Well, uhh, I don’t know what garage, but you know the Pakila Teboil, right?”
Suhonen nodded.
“Somewhere close by there. That’s all I know.”
“Where’d you hear that Eriksson was a Customs nark?”
Saarnikangas laughed. “I overheard someone talking on the subway.”
Suhonen wasn’t surprised by his answer.
“Okay,” Suhonen said, “When did this happen?”
“I’m not really sure. Not long ago. I heard about it today and thought, being an upstanding citizen and all, maybe the authorities would be interested in this,” Juha said, almost forgetting one important thing.
“Intel has its price, right?”
“Of course,” Suhonen chuckled.
“Five hundred, at least.”
“Let’s see if we find the body first, then I’ll get back to you. You can count on it.”
“Okay,” Saarnikangas backed down. “It’s just a rumor, not a sure thing or anything.”
“I’ll get back to you,” Suhonen said and got out of the van.
The door slammed shut, and Juha watched as the cop crossed the Boulevard and disappeared. He took a deep breath before starting the van. It had gone well. With Suhonen’s help, maybe he could wash his hands of the whole thing.
* * *
Suhonen was walking west on the Boulevard toward “Plague Park,” nicknamed after the epidemic that hit Helsinki in 1710. About a thousand people were buried under the park in mass graves. Yellow lights gleamed off the wet cobblestones. He crossed Yrjö Street, where his car was parked about a hundred fifty feet away. The linden trees had dropped their leaves, and through their canopies, he could clearly see Helsinki’s Old Church, bathed in light.
Jerry Eriksson’s name was familiar, but Suhonen couldn’t picture his face. A young newcomer, anyhow. But a Customs nark? Why would Customs be interested in a low-class swindler like him? Or maybe his info on Eriksson was out of date.
As he reached his unmarked Peugeot, Suhonen unlocked the doors with his key fob, and the blinkers flashed.
He had a murder to solve-if indeed there was one-but no corpse. Yet. The first order of business would be to find Eriksson, dead or alive.
Suhonen started the car and considered organizing a search party.
The Pakila Teboil, he mused. Maybe he’d just go have a look around. Yeah, there were a hell of a lot of houses in that area, but not so many abandoned ones. A few hours of canvassing the neighborhood wouldn’t hurt.
His cellphone rang again. It was Raija. For a second, Suhonen considered answering, then hit the red button.
WEDNESDAY NOVEMBER 26
CHAPTER 7
PASILA POLICE HEADQUARTERS
WEDNESDAY, 8:50 A.M.
A fluorescent light was flickering in the VCU’s windowless conference room at the Pasila Headquarters. Though the room could accommodate up to twenty cops, it was largely empty now: only Mikko Kulta, Anna Joutsamo and Kirsi Kohonen were present. Various documents and newspapers were spread out on the table. In the adjacent kitchenette, the coffeemaker purred. Takamäki had called Joutsamo to set up a meeting for 9:00 A.M. sharp.
“Mikko, can you do something about that?” Joutsamo said, pointing at the flickering light.
“You mean call building maintenance?”
“No, like now.”
“Of course. Did you know, by the way, that the minister of the interior has set an objective of making Finland the safest country in Europe?” Kulta announced, getting up. “The plan is based on a skilled, helpful, trustworthy, cooperative, and efficiently organized police force.”
He climbed up on the table. “So I’ll take a bold step toward accomplishing that goal by fixing this light bulb.”
Joutsamo and Kohonen watched their colleague with gaping mouths.
Kulta continued. “You know, this lightbulb business reminds me of that case in Malminkartano. We got a tip about a possible body in an apartment building and went to check it out.”
He pried the translucent cover loose. “It was a strange place. The windows were covered up with black cardboard, and all the lights were out. Just one of those dim night-lights in the corner.”
A cloud of dust descended from the fixture onto the conference table. “Well, we had our flashlights, but you can’t do a proper investigation only with them. We did find the decayed corpse of an older woman, though. The ceiling fixtures had no bulbs, so we had to go to the store to buy a couple packs. Once we screwed those bulbs in place, we could finally get things underway.”
He held the cover in his other hand and worked the bulb loose. The flickering stopped.
“Thank you,” Joutsamo said.
“What was the deal with the older woman?” Kohonen asked.
“She had some kind of light sensitivity disorder, and had been holed up in that cave for decades. Meals on Wheels had been bringing food to her… Except for them, nobody cared…” Kulta said, fastening the cover back in place.
Kohonen interrupted. “Well, at least the police cared enough to come and figure out the cause of death.”
Kulta hopped back onto the floor and set the burnt out bulb onto the table. “I can’t remember the cause of death anymore, but it’s a hell of a sad story.”
“What’s a hell of a sad story?” Detective Lieutenant Kari Takamäki asked, stepping into the room. Suhonen was right behind him.
“My paycheck,” Kulta said flatly.
“Well, today you can earn every penny,” Takamäki replied. “Let’s grab some coffee and get started.”
A few minutes later, they were back, each with a steaming cup of coffee. The lieutenant sat at the head of the table, as usual. Kulta, Kohonen, and Suhonen were on his right side, and Anna Joutsamo on his left.
Forty-five-year-old Takamäki wore a gray sport coat, blue tie, and a white shirt. He had short brown hair, which he combed to the left, an angular face, and slightly sunken cheeks. His straight nose was straddled by piercing blue eyes. VCU cops had a saying that seeing a hundred corpses made your eyes callous. Takamäki had doubled that number a long time ago.
“Okay, let’s run through the case first, so everyone’s on the same page.”
Kohonen interrupted, “Just the five of us working on this?”
“Don’t you trust my detective prowess?” Kulta joked.
“I don’t. This is a homicide, not a property crime,” Joutsamo shot back. She had already done some preliminary work on the case.
Takamäki was puzzled by the exchange, but decided to get back on course. “We’ll get help later on, I’ll brief them when they get here. Suhonen, you want to start?”
Suhonen nodded. “Yeah… One of my informants brought the case to my attention last night. He told me that a certain Jerry Eriksson was rumored to have been killed and gave me a lead on a possible location.”