Jarkko Sipila - Cold Trail

Suhonen had no idea as to whether the building had a basement. It probably did, because the uppermost floor looked like it had been added on to the original 1930s structure. The problem with basements was that they usually provided easy access from stairwell to stairwell, meaning you could use any of the building’s exits, and Suhonen had no idea if the building had doors leading to an interior courtyard.

Red marquees hung over the bookstore windows. Lights appeared to be on inside, even though it was coming up on 9 p.m. Evidently someone was working late.

Suhonen had called in the information on Repo’s potential whereabouts to Takamäki, who had decided to call in SWAT assistance. It would take a little while for them to get ready, and Suhonen had been sent to the scene to keep an eye on things. There were several lit windows on the third floor, so he couldn’t deduce anything that way.

Turunen, head of the SWAT team, called Suhonen’s cell and asked what the status was.

“There have been a few dog-walkers, but that’s about it. You want me to go in and check things out?”

“Yeah,” Turunen said. “Check if the main door is locked, and how we can get past it. But no further, okay?”

“Yup,” Suhonen replied, getting out of the car. He dug a couple pieces of gum from his jacket pocket and tossed them in his mouth.

It was getting colder, either that or it just seemed colder near the shore.

Suhonen got to the main door and glanced up and down the street. Empty. The stairwell lights were off, so no one was exiting the building, either. Suhonen tried the door and immediately noticed that it had some give. He pulled out his ATM card and shoved it into the crack. The card pressed in the tongue of the lock, and a few seconds later the door was open.

Suhonen spat his gum out into his palm and pressed it into the hinge side of the doorjamb. He let the door close carefully. It didn’t go far enough for the lock to click into place. The SWAT guys would be able to open it with a tug.

In the lobby, Suhonen paused to think. The streetlamps were shining in enough that he didn’t need to turn the hallway lights on yet. The corridor to the elevator was maybe twenty feet long, and the stairs rose to the right of the old-fashioned wire-cage elevator .On the left there was a door leading to the courtyard or the basement.

Suhonen looked at the name board-there really was an apartment on the third floor occupied by a Mäkinen. At least Saarnikangas hadn’t been totally lying. Numerous companies also appeared to be in the building.

The undercover detective decided to punch on the stairwell lights and headed toward the stairs. He opened his leather jacket and instinctively checked his Glock. No point waiting in the corridor.

He chose the stairs; they rounded the elevator in a semicircle up to the second floor. Halfway up was a window to the backyard with streetlight shining through it. Suhonen stopped on the second floor for a moment. All was quiet.

He climbed up to the third floor. Mäkinen’s apartment was immediately to the left of the stairs. Suhonen continued past the elevator door, climbed a couple of steps higher, and paused to listen.

He decided to take a closer look at the apartment. He crept up to Mäkinen’s door and carefully cracked the mail slot. He could hear muffled speech inside. Evidently there was an inner door that was almost shut. Nevertheless, Suhonen was able to make out that it was human voices, not a radio or TV. He tried to think who Repo might be with-if he was in the apartment at all, that is.

Suhonen silently closed the mail slot and retreated back to the stairwell.

His cell phone began to ring! Goddammit, Suhonen silently swore. The sound would definitely carry into the apartment. He pulled his phone out from his jacket pocket and quickly descended the stairs.

“Hello,” Suhonen answered. He punched on the stairwell lights at the second-floor landing, because someone talking on the phone in the light was probably less suspicious than someone talking in the dark.

“What’s the situation?” asked Turunen.

“Where are you?” Suhonen asked.

“A minute away.”

“Main door’s open. Come on in.”

“What kind of lock’s on the door?”

Suhonen was confused by the question. “I just said it was open.”

“No, I mean the apartment door,” Turunen said. “I know you didn’t stay outside or in the lobby to wait.”

Suhonen chuckled. “Normal residential. You’ll have no trouble getting in the door with your gear. It’s on the third floor, immediately to the left of the stairs. Door says Mäkinen. There are at least two people inside the apartment.”

“Listened through the mail slot, huh?”

“No, I levitated myself inside.”

“All right, we’re pulling up outside now.”

“I see you guys,” replied Suhonen, who by now had made it down to the main door.

The SWAT team was traveling in two vans. Three men in masks and helmets jumped out of the first one, and four from the second. One grabbed a big shield, and another a metal pipe meant for smashing locks. The others raised what looked like ski goggles from their necks to their eyes.

“Flashbangs?” Turunen asked one of the men, who nodded in response. A flashbang was a light-and-noise grenade intended to stun the target for a few seconds. Turunen put on a mask, too.

“You want one?” he asked Suhonen.

Suhonen shook his head.

“Well, here’s a radio for you at least,” Turunen said, handing him a headset.

Only about thirty seconds had passed since the cars had parked, and the police were already filing in the main door.

“How certain are we that Repo is in there?”

“Uncertain, but possible.”

“So it might be some civilian’s apartment.”

Suhonen nodded. The SWAT leader’s comment was a clear reference to the earlier pointless raid near the Kallio fire station. “I didn’t call you in, Takamäki did.”

Turunen clicked on his headset. “Change of plans: no flashbangs. Otherwise entry as planned.”

The police climbed the stairs, treading lightly. None of their gear clinked or clanked. Suhonen and Turunen brought up the rear and had just reached the second floor when the point man, “Jack Bauer” Saarinen, whispered into the headset: “Ready.”

“Okay, let’s go in,” Turunen ordered.

Suhonen heard a dull crash as the pipe crushed the lock. Then came the shouts: “Police! Don’t move! Keep your hands visible!”

Suhonen had made it almost up to the third floor when an announcement arrived in his ear, “Apartment has been cleared. Three men in custody inside.”

Three of the SWAT officers withdrew from the apartment as Suhonen entered. The entryway was small, it contained nothing but a coat rack. The room itself was furnished with a bed and a dining table. The apartment was clearly the sort that was rented out for a day or two.

Three men were lying on the floor in handcuffs, guarded by three members of the SWAT squad. Suhonen nodded at the lead SWAT man. Then he looked at the men on the floor, one at a time. The first had a greaser-style haircut, sideburns, and ʼ50s clothes. It was Jorma Raitio, the guy from Järvenpää that Nykänen had mentioned during the meeting and whose phone the NBI had been tapping.

The second man was wearing a black sweater and army pants. His face was so lean that he could well be in the military. Suhonen didn’t recognize him, but somehow he got the feeling the guy wasn’t Finnish.

The third one he knew, however. All too well. Lying there on the floor was Salmela. The men’s gazes met, but neither said anything.

Turunen tapped Suhonen on the shoulder and gestured him over to the dining table. There were some maps and other papers on it. Jewelry shop addresses were written on one of them. Neither of the police officers touched the papers. Let Forensics studythem first.