Jarkko Sipila - Darling

Suhonen took another sip of his beer and with a nonchalant stretch walked slowly to the next table, feigning boredom.

“Any of you guys know what the action was all about in that apartment building this morning? Squad cars, cops with cameras and shit.”

All but one of the men turned and gave him a reserved glance. Suhonen was aware the men had him pegged; he just didn’t know what they thought. He re-adjusted his cap, pushing it back in an attempt to look friendly and approachable.

“Something went down over there,” said the man in a worn-out, blue sweater. The sweater had the Helsinki city insignia on it, so unless it was stolen, Suhonen figured the angular-faced man had a job.

“Figured that much, but what?”

Nobody answered right away.

“Well, I dunno,” the sweater guy went on. “Hey, I’ve never seen you before. You live around here?”

“No, in Lahti,” Suhonen replied. “But I have a work gig here this week. A buddy of mine lives near here, and I happened to walk by the apartment building when all the cops were there.”

“You should’ve asked the cops,” an older guy said and the others chuckled. They obviously had consumed more than a few beers. The guy’s mustache hung low, like the bags under his eyes. Suhonen noticed the guy with the mustache was older than he had first estimated-probably around fifty.

Suhonen chuckled with them. He had to keep up the conversation; if he quit now, it would be up to them to make the next move. He mentally named the three strangers at Niskala’s table: “Insignia Guy,” “Mustache Guy,” and “Quiet Guy,” who hadn’t uttered a word. Suhonen could only see his broad back.

“I’m not particularly keen on talking to the cops,” Suhonen said.

“What kind of guy are you?” Mustache Guy asked, perking up.

“I’m not particularly keen on explaining that, either,” Suhonen said. “But I’d wanna know if the cops were up to somethin’ around here.”

Suhonen realized his tone was changing from the smooth rock style toward heavy metal. Maybe these guys needed a heavier approach to get them to talk.

“Someone was killed there, alright,” the oval-faced guy said. He had short, spiky, sparse hair; he was the one Suhonen had recognized as Jaakko Niskala.

“Who was it?” Suhonen asked.

“Far as I know it was some broad,” the man said reluctantly.

Suhonen knew word traveled fast in these circles, and the men obviously knew more about the case than they let on.

“A broad,” Suhonen said slowly. “Did they apprehend the killer?”

Suhonen startled himself with his police jargon. He had to be more careful. But the men didn’t seem to notice.

“No idea,” Mustache Guy said. “Guess it hasn’t been in the news yet, either.”

“That’s a helluva shitty deal,” Suhonen said. He instinctively added the adjective as if to balance out the police comment.

“How do you mean?” Niskala asked with interest, almost concerned.

“Women are always a special case with the cops, especially if it’s a younger one. The cops won’t let up,” Suhonen said, watching the men’s reactions.

Niskala and Insignia Guy folded their arms and said nothing, but Mustache Guy replied, “You must have experience in shit like that.”

“I’ve met my share of cops, some of ʼem persistent as hell.” He thought of Joutsamo. She seemed to be taking Laura Vatanen’s case personally.

“Yup,” Niskala said defiantly, enhancing his posture. “I’ve got experience there, too.”

Suhonen was sure he did. But obviously not with Joutsamo, since he wasn’t in prison at the moment.

“But most of ʼem are total idiots,” Suhonen said, letting out a chortle.

“Ha! I’ll drink to that,” Mustache Guy snorted and raised his mug.

Suhonen sipped his beer, watching the guy. Every cop out there is smarter than these guys, he reflected. He didn’t like how he let his thoughts wander. He normally had time to prepare and focus before an undercover assignment. This was a lightweight job, and it should’ve been easy to keep his thoughts under control. He had to focus or he might slip. Stick to the plan and not let his character turn into a gangster.

“Name’s Suikkanen,” Suhonen introduced himself.

“Raksa,” said Mustache Guy.

“I’m Jaakko,” Niskala said, and the rounds went on. Insignia Guy introduced himself as Jorma. The quiet one, still not turning around, grunted his name, Heku. He was obviously wasted.

“How did Suikkanen end up here in Haaga?” Mustache-Raksa asked.

Suhonen had already said he was from Lahti and wondered if the guy was trying to catch a hole in his story. He promptly dismissed the thought because the men were so drunk they didn’t remember anything past a minute.

“I’m from Lahti, but I’m familiar with Helsinki thanks to the slammer.”

Suhonen didn’t like the suspicious looks the men were giving each other. Mentioning the prison was a bad move. These guys were no hardened criminals and having one show up made them restless. On the other hand, fear could be helpful.

“What did you…?” Mustache Guy asked cautiously.

“Nothin’ too big,” Suhonen said modestly, though a real criminal would’ve ignored a question posed by a stranger. “Drugs and violence. But you shouldn’t do the crime, if you can’t do the time.”

“So what are you doin’ in here?” Mustache-Raksa sounded like he was worried that someone was about to bust up their beer nest.

“I’m just havin’ a couple of beers,” Suhonen said and took a gulp, leaving an inch on the bottom. “But why don’t you tell me what you know about the police operation in that apartment. You look like guys that would be in the know,” Suhonen said and then added, “You see, I’ve gotta know what to watch out for.”

The man with the mustache looked at Insignia Guy. Niskala’s arms were still crossed on his chest. Quiet Guy was apparently too drunk to get a word out.

“So you know somethin’?” Suhonen pressed Insignia Guy.

“Well, I know a little. I’m the custodian in the building, and I unlocked the door for the cops. Someone killed the woman that lived in that joint. She used to come in here sometimes.”

“Come in here?” Suhonen asked. He knew now that this guy was the custodian, Jorma Korpivaara, who Joutsamo had mentioned at the meeting. That only left two men unidentified: Mustache-Raksa and Quiet-Heku.

“Was she some kinda bar slut?”

“Well…” Mustache Guy hesitated.

The waiter brought four more beers without being asked, and Heku pulled a twenty-euro note from his pocket. The bartender had the change ready.

Jorma took a sip and laughed softly. “She was a little sweetie. She didn’t have all the marbles in the bag, but she was a nice girl.”

Everyone but Quiet Guy laughed vaguely.

Suhonen faked a laugh, though he would’ve liked to punch their faces in. “Was she some local lady of the evening?”

“Well, not exactly, even if she was everyone’s darling. Her name was Laura, and she had a bad temper.”

“I’ll say,” Mustache Guy added. “She could go off for no apparent reason.”

“Plenty of broads fit that description,” Suhonen snorted.

“She’d put out sometimes, too,” Mustache Guy said, leaning toward Suhonen, “if you flattered her enough, you know. She was pretty easy then, heh-heh.”

“Heh-heh,” Suhonen joined in. “The whole gang or one at a time?”

“Oh, just one at a time. But she could get mad outta the blue, just like that,” Mustache Guy said, snapping his fingers. “She’d go totally nuts.”

Suhonen had reason enough to haul the whole gang to the station, but he still had to figure out if any others had been to the apartment.