The release was a purely tactical tool to fish for witnesses. If the driver of the Mazda wasn’t still at large, they wouldn’t need to release any information for several more days. Any eyewitness accounts would need to be screened for accuracy, which is why he had omitted the exact make of the car. Takamäki clicked “Send” and the report went out to media outlets automatically.
“Going, going, gone,” said the lieutenant before falling silent for a while. “So, coffee at the Teboil station, huh?”
“Right,” said Suhonen, flicking his ponytail as he turned away from the yellowed, dimly lit landscape out the window. “I bought the kid a donut too.”
Takamäki waited in vain for him to continue. For some reason this case was a sore spot for Suhonen, and of course the lieutenant wanted to know why. The man walked a fine line between the worlds of cops and criminals.
“Glazed or jelly-filled?”
Suhonen chuckled. “Pretty sure it was glazed, maybe even some sprinkles. But this comes on condition of total confidentiality. I’m serious, what I’m gonna tell you can’t get out to anybody else, not even Joutsamo. I guess that meeting at Teboil is already out there, but we gotta keep the background under wraps. Agreed?”
“Of course,” said Takamäki.
“This Tomi Salmela’s dad Eero Salmela was also there at the Teboil. Eero is an old buddy from my stomping grounds in Lahti. We’re still friends, but these days, or years, actually, we’ve been on opposite sides of the law. He hawks stolen goods so he’s privy to a lot of street talk.”
“So one of your informants then?”
Now Takamäki understood the reason for Suhonen’s long deliberation. These sorts of relationships were highly guarded secrets, and rarely divulged to anyone.
Suhonen nodded. “One of the best.”
“Is he involved in this case somehow?”
“Don’t know. I’ve tried calling a few times, but no answer.”
“That doesn’t sound too good.”
“Well, no, but not necessarily terrible either. In his line of work, it’s not always a good idea to carry a cell.”
Takamäki thought momentarily. “Wonder if the shooting has something to do with the dad? Seems like Korpi’s style to bump off an informant’s kid for revenge.”
“Who knows, but I doubt anyone knows about our connection. Aren’t you the one who’s always telling us not to assume? Just make conclusions based on the facts.”
“Has he said anything to you about Korpi recently?”
Suhonen shook his head.
“I think you’d better look a bit further into what Eero’s kid was up to.”
Suhonen was about to answer when his phone rang. The caller was anonymous. “Yeah,” said Suhonen into the receiver.
Takamäki couldn’t make out what was said on the other end. Suhonen nodded, “Yeah, I called earlier…right, right. I understand…let’s meet soon. Right…but not the Corner Pub. Someplace quieter… OK, sounds good. Half hour. Later.”
A sober-faced Suhonen slipped the cell phone back into his jeans’ pocket.
“It was Eero.”
“I figured as much. Does he know?”
“If he does, he didn’t let on.”
Both were quiet for a moment.
“I don’t suppose you’ll want the police chaplain along,” said Takamäki.
CHAPTER 3
SUNDAY, 9:15 P.M.
THE PARKING LOT AT THE HELSINKI ICE ARENA
Suhonen backed his Peugeot 206, an unmarked loaner from the station’s garage, into a spot at the south end of the ice arena’s parking lot. He killed the engine and headlights, but left the keys in the ignition. An old U2 hit was playing on the radio.
The parking lot was nearly vacant: only a few cars remained, and of those, the nearest was a hundred feet from Suhonen’s Peugeot. No pedestrians were about.
Suhonen glanced at his watch. Salmela was late. The undercover cop listened to Bono singing about Bloody Sunday. This Sunday hadn’t been much different, even if on a smaller scale than the namesake of the song. In 1972, British soldiers fatally shot thirteen demonstrators in Northern Ireland. Suhonen had no memory of the incident, since he had only been four at the time, but it got him thinking of the first time he had met Salmela. Suhonen couldn’t remember exactly, but he had been younger than ten for sure.
He spotted a rusty blue Toyota van turning into the parking lot, the same kind Salmela usually drove. Suhonen had never bothered to find out who it belonged to, but it was unlikely it was Salmela’s, at least not on paper.
Salmela parked the van a few spaces away, cut the engine and hopped out, his cigarette already lit. The forty-something’s hair was short and raked back over the top of his head. His features were rugged. A brown leather coat with a graying lambskin collar hung from his shoulders.
Suhonen flicked off the radio and rolled down the window. The cool autumn air swept across his face.
“Can’t smoke in the van-wouldn’t want you guys lifting DNA off the butts,” said Salmela as he took a drag.
“We can get it off of a lot less nowadays.”
“Still, wouldn’t want to make your job any easier.”
Salmela seemed nervous, which made Suhonen wonder what was in the back of the van.
“Rough day?”
“Nothin’ I ain’t used to. Had to help a buddy move,” said Salmela with a grin. The tip of his cigarette glimmered in the darkness.
“Why don’t you have a seat in the car here.”
“Can I smoke in there?”
Suhonen knew it was against the rules. “Sure,” he said.
He’d been trying to figure out how to break the bad news to Salmela, but there was no easy way. Salmela rounded the car to the passenger side, swung in, cranked the window down halfway and ashed his cigarette on the rim of the glass.
“Nice Pug.”
“Just a rental. They must wax it pretty regular.”
“Yup. Keeps the value up.” Salmela drew his cigarette down to the filter and flicked the butt out the window. “So why the big rush? What’s up?”
Suhonen was quiet for a moment. A green tram went gliding down the track toward downtown. Suhonen kept his gaze locked on the glow from the windows of the tram. “Eero…bad news.”
The softness in Suhonen’s voice got Salmela’s attention. “Sounds pretty bad… Since when do you call me Eero? There a warrant out on me, or what?”
“I wouldn’t be this serious about something
like that.”
“What then?”
“Today there was a homicide…”
Suhonen watched the muscles in Salmela’s face ball up.
“Don’t tell me. Can’t be…”
“Tomi’s dead. I’m sorry.”
Salmela was visibly shaken. He took a deep breath and buried his head in his hands. Suhonen patted him on the back a few times, but the gesture seemed pitifully small.
“How?” Salmela asked, straightening his back. His hand scrambled at his jacket pocket for a cigarette.
“He died quickly…didn’t suffer.”
Salmela’s voice became icy. “How?”
Suhonen had initially intended to stand behind confidentiality laws, but quickly changed his mind. “He was shot in the entryway of his apartment. A bullet to the forehead.”
“Execution style or what?”
“Crossed my mind.” Suhonen wanted to ask about any enemies Tomi might have, but Salmela would surely bring that up himself.
Salmela’s hand trembled as he raised a fresh cigarette to his lips, then abruptly withdrew it. “Damn, he was a good kid, even if a little down and out last couple years. Fuck yeah…I used to be so proud when I’d take him to soccer practice. Kid could score whenever he damn well pleased.”
Suhonen didn’t know what to say, so he listened. That was probably best.
“Then I wound up in prison for a year, and the wife found someone else. That kind of meant game over for the whole dad thing… But those soccer games were really something. Sunk four goals in one game once. And he was playing on defense. When he got the ball, ain’t nobody was gonna stop him.” Salmela’s voice began to break up. “He stuck ’em in the net like Maradona at his best…”