Jarkko Sipila - Against the Wall

“On the tape, Markkanen said you beat up an officer. What was that all about?”

“Mmm. It was just an act. To get on the inside, I had to stage a fight with an officer I know,” he tried to sum it up quickly.

“I see. What was his name?”

“Ha!” Suhonen laughed. “Am I the subject of an internal affairs investigation?”

She felt bad for prying and tried to laugh it off, “You have the right to remain silent…”

“Sergeant Tero Partio,” Suhonen said. “I don’t have anything to hide here. I’d welcome the minister of interior, the ombudsman and the attorney general, the parliament, the president… They can all put me under the scope, but these hands are clean.”

Joutsamo took a sip of cider. “Not that I suspected anything. Anyway, the case would’ve been solved even if we had arrested Saarnikangas right away.”

Suhonen wasn’t so sure, but he didn’t want to argue.

“By the way, Juha was pretty pissed at you during the interrogations.”

“No surprise,” Suhonen remarked. “I’ll go talk to him at some point. He’ll calm down once he understands that he’ll get out in a few years. He won’t get life for his involvement.”

“True.”

“What about Markkanen?”

“He was stunned and had ‘no comment.’ We got a search warrant for his apartment, but didn’t find much of anything.”

“No money either?”

Joutsamo shook her head. “No. His wife and son live there too, but no trace of them.”

Suhonen sipped his beer. “Markkanen’s prospects are pretty shitty. He killed one of the Skulls’ legends. And with his own scissors, too. Then there’s the recording from Lindström’s apartment…that’ll definitely be played at the trial. He’ll have a helluva lot of explaining to do. Not in court, but in the pen. Nobody’s gonna believe it was his own wire. They’ll think it’s a cover story invented by the cops to protect their snitch.”

“In the pen, he wouldn’t survive an hour with the general population,” Joutsamo added. “He’ll have to apply for protective custody. A life sentence in there is twice as harsh. It’s basically solitary confinement.”

“Nobody’ll have to listen to his bullshit, then,” Suhonen said.

Joutsamo paused for a moment. “There’s a contract out on you. It’s right there on tape.”

“Not the first time, nor the last. When that stuff starts to scare me, I’ll apply for a desk job. I suppose they’ll save one for an old hand like me.”

Suhonen remembered something and rummaged through his pockets. “Oh yeah, I got some money.”

He set the one-grand wad from Markkanen onto the table.

“Where’d that come from?”

“From Markkanen… For the Lindström gig.”

Joutsamo smiled, took the money off the table and stuffed it in her pocket.

Both jumped when they heard Kulta’s raspy whisper from behind, “Ooooh! Prostitution. For once, the police are in the right place at the right time. This has always been my dream.” He shot a cheeky glance at Kirsi Kohonen, who stood next to him.

The redhead jabbed Kulta in the ribs and cut in, “I apologize in advance for Detective Kulta’s obscenely large mouth, but may we join you anyway?”

“Guess we’re still waiting on his gag order,” Joutsamo smirked, and scooted over.