Helsinki Homicide: Nothing but the Truth

by Jarkko Sipila

  Suhonen put the coin on the bar and took a sip. Not bad. Metallica’s “Nothing Else Matters” was playing softly in the background.

  Teittinen had draped his dark, hooded jacket over the neighboring chair. He looked larger than Suhonen had expected, and was wearing jeans and a gray, paint-stained sweatshirt. His hair fell over his forehead in the same way it had in the mug shots. His skin was strikingly bad.

  Suhonen took his coffee and strode over to Teittinen’s table. “Looks like you got room,” said Suhonen as he pulled up a wooden chair. The table was riddled with cigarette burns.

  Teittinen sized up Suhonen. “Room over there too,” he growled, but Suhonen had already sat down.

  Suhonen remained silent and Teittinen started to get edgy. “What the hell?”

  Suhonen just took a sip of coffee.

  “What, you wanna piece of me? Here I am minding my own business and you come butting in. Look around, asshole. Plenty of seats to be had.”

  “I’m not looking for a fight.”

  “Well you’re damn sure gonna get one if you don’t start explaining.”

  Suhonen calmly drank his coffee. “Listen, Teittinen,” he began, then paused briefly. Mentioning the man’s name seemed to have the desired effect, as he flinched. Suhonen went on, “You’ve been harassing a friend of mine.”

  “How you know my name?”

  “I know your shoe size, too.”

  That was no lie. He had gotten it from one of the case files, in which Teittinen had kicked a victim in

  a fight.

  “Size ten.”

  “What the fuck? What is this?”

  “Listen to me when I’m talking to you. I just said you’ve been harassing a friend of mine.”

  Teittinen had apparently come to the conclusion that he shouldn’t mess with Suhonen. This was the kind of guy who could be packing, and he seemed to be in good enough shape. Teittinen didn’t even have a knife. “What friend?”

  “Mari Lehtonen.”

  “What, you banging that bitch?”

  “No, just a friend.”

  “And who are you?”

  “I already told you—I’m her friend. Use your ears, idiot.” Suhonen clearly had the upper hand, and was taking full advantage of it.

  “Yeah, right. So what did I supposedly do?”

  “You know.”

  Teittinen wrinkled up his brows. “I called her once and bitched her out for talking to the fucking cops about that shooting, and then taking it to court.”

  “So?”

  “What do you mean, so? You don’t talk to the cops…everyone knows that.”

  “What were you doing at her apartment earlier this afternoon?”

  Teittinen looked genuinely confused. “Phh. Been drinking here all day.”

  “Bullshit.”

  “What are you a cop? This some kinda interrogation?”

  “Fuck it,” Suhonen grumbled. “You want to go outside or in here? Fists or knives?”

  Teittinen sized him up once more and changed his tack. “Marko!” he shouted at the bartender. “Ain’t I been here since noon?”

  Marko appraised the situation at the corner table and shouted back, “Yup, been here all day.”

  Suhonen was confused. He didn’t put much in the bartender’s claim, but Teittinen’s look of genuine surprise was perplexing.

  “There you have it,” said Teittinen in a triumphant voice. “Shit, tough guy, check your facts before you come hassling an innocent man.”

  Suhonen wondered who had glued the lock. “Whatever the case, you stay away from Lehtonen,” he said.

  “Fine. I’ve had more of her stinky ass than I care to remember.”

  Suhonen stood up and left, leaving the coffee cup on the table.

  “Asshole,” Teittinen stammered just loud enough for Suhonen to hear.

  * * *

  The corridors of the VCU were quiet tonight.

  “Care for some coffee?” asked Takamäki.

  Suhonen shook his head.

  “Well, I’ll skip it too, then.”

  The detectives were sitting in Takamäki’s office. Outside the window, all was dark, save for the yellow glow of the street lights. The temperature had dipped to ten degrees Fahrenheit, and a light snow was drifting down from the skies.

  “If it wasn’t Teittinen, who was it?” said Takamäki.

  “Well, he confessed to the drunken phone call, so why would he deny the glue job? It was just a little bullying.”

  Takamäki went on, “Think it was one of Korpi’s guys?”

  “That was my first thought.”

  “But why now that the trial is over? You’d think the point of any harassment would be to scare the witness out of appearing in court.”

  “It’s possible that Lehtonen has another enemy,” said Suhonen. “Or maybe her daughter’s friends were just playing a prank.”

  Takamäki thought for a moment. “What do you think we should do?”

  “Well, a little glue in a lock is a pretty innocent thing. And since we have no idea who did it, it’s all guesswork anyway. No point in starting anything.”

  “Agreed. Korpi wouldn’t be using a glue bottle for his payback.”

  “So we should just lay low?”

  “Yeah. But let’s keep tabs on it,” said Takamäki.

  “You want me to fill Joutsamo in?”

  “No need. I’ll tell her tomorrow when she gets in. Let her have at least a half-day off.”

  * * *

  Laura Lehtonen was walking alone along Western Brahe Street toward home. Her face stung in the frigid air and she pulled her wool hat further down over her ears. The red of her scarf and parka was carefully matched with that of her hat. The snow creaked beneath her boots.

  It was just past seven o’clock and her theater feedback session had just ended. The director had praised Laura’s performance, hence her buoyant mood. The director had also mentioned a spring project, one much more demanding than the current one. Laura would play one of the main characters.

  Skaters flocked on the ice rink. Laura hoped to go skating someday soon with her best friend, Mira.

  Her thoughts turned to school. Her homework was done, but she still had to study for tomorrow’s English test. Mom had said she could stay in theater as long as she kept her grades up. Her thoughts returned to theater. On Saturday, her mother was taking her to see the new musical at the Helsinki City Theater, for which they had bought tickets back in August.

  The glue thing had been weird, as was Mom’s court appearance. But they had talked it over enough that neither incident bothered her anymore. The director’s positive feedback on her performance made her feel like skipping.

  She didn’t notice the dark-colored car until it was nearly upon her. It slowed just abreast of her and kept pace. She glanced over, unable to tell whether anyone but the driver was inside.

  Laura felt panicked and she quickened her gait. The car did the same. “Laura,” said a man’s voice. “Stop. It’s the police.”

  Laura thought for a moment before stopping. The car stopped too and the driver’s window rolled down. A hand emerged with an envelope.

  “I was bringing this to your mother,” said the voice. “Could you please take it to her?”

  Laura stepped closer to the car and took the envelope. On the front, the words MARI LEHTONEN were scrawled in marker.

  The window slid up and the car zoomed off.

  Laura was confused, but she continued on her way home. Still ten minutes to go.

  Their 1930s seven-story building was situated at what used to be the end of the number 3 streetcar line, just opposite Porvoo Street 21, the site of the murder.

  Laura dashed up the stairs. The new lock was still stiff, but she got it open. “Hi,” she hollered from the door.

  “Have you eaten?” asked mom from the kitchen.

  “What do we have?”

  “Pork sausage soup.”

  It wasn’t really her favorite. She
hung her parka on the entry hook and went into the kitchen with the envelope.

  “Some policeman gave me this. It’s for you,” she said, handing over the envelope.

  Mari stopped stirring the soup and took it.

  “What policeman?”

  “I dunno. I was walking home past the ice rink and this car pulled up.”

  “What car? A police car?”

  “No, it was smaller. I didn’t see what kind.” Her mother’s grilling was making her wonder.

  “How do you know it was a policeman?”

  “That’s what he said. It wasn’t?”

  “I don’t know. But how many times have I told you not to talk to strangers?”

  “Well, he just handed it over and took off. What is it?”

  Mari was still holding the envelope. She took out a kitchen knife, neatly cut open the flap, removed the letter and began to read.

  “What is it?” said Laura. “Why are you shaking?”

  Mari didn’t respond. The letter was terse: THAT’S HOW EASY IT WOULD BE.

  The paper slipped out of Mari’s hand. She felt like screaming, but no sound came. She sunk to the floor and leaned back against the kitchen cabinets, her whole body seeming to tremble. She wrapped her arms around her folded knees.

  “What’s wrong, Mom?”

  “Sweetie…uhh…my phone, please.”

  Laura dashed back into the entryway.

  CHAPTER 19

  THURSDAY, 8:25 P.M.

  PASILA POLICE HEADQUARTERS

  Takamäki glanced around the VCU conference room where Suhonen, Kulta, Kohonen, Kannas and a couple of men from Lieutenant Kafka’s division had gathered. Kafka’s men were currently on duty, and had come to listen to the briefing in case they were called to help.

  “Okay, let’s get started,” said Takamäki. The briefing was primarily intended for Kafka’s men. “I’ll run through the key points of the case first so we’re all on the same page, then we can talk about how to proceed.”

  The others nodded.

  “A single parent by the name of Mari Lehtonen recently testified against Risto Korpi. I’m sure everyone is familiar with Korpi’s gang?”

  “Yeah,” answered Kulta, and the others nodded.

  “Good,” said Takamäki. “Well, this Lehtonen testified that she saw Korpi waiting in the car while Esa Nyberg shot Tomi Salmela back in September. The trial was yesterday, and everything went smoothly. Since the verdict, we’ve had two incidents. Today, either late morning or early afternoon, somebody filled her door lock with super glue, and about an hour and a half ago, a man claiming to be a police officer gave Lehtonen’s daughter Laura a letter as she was walking home along Western Brahe Street. The letter said, ‘that’s how easy it would be.’ Clearly referring to kidnapping the girl. Right now, Joutsamo is at their apartment and we have a patrol posted at the entrance of the building. Last I heard, the situation was secure.”

  “How are they doing?” asked Kulta.

  “According to Joutsamo, they’ve calmed down. Just watching TV, but Mari is definitely scared, which is rubbing off on her daughter.”

  “So Joutsamo’s spending the night?”

  “Yes, same with the patrol. Kannas, what’d you find out about the paper and the marker?”

  Forensics had done a quick analysis of the threat letter. “Standard 20-pound stationery. Same stuff you see everywhere. We found some fingerprints, but they all belonged to the mom. The envelope was also standard store-bought stock, and no fingerprints. As far as the marker, it was more felt-tip pen than marker. One-millimeter line width, which is about consistent with a Text Mark 700.”

  “With a what?” asked Kulta.

  Kannas pointed to the flip chart in the corner, which held three different-colored felt-tip pens on the tray. “Those. Garden variety markers.”

  “So not much to go on, then,” said Takamäki.

  “Right… But the envelope was apparently sealed with moisture-sensitive adhesive, not the peel-and-stick type. If that’s the case and somebody licked it, we can get the DNA. Same thing with the envelope itself if it has any hairs or sweat drops. We sent the envelope and letter to the NBI’s lab for further testing with a rush on it.”

  “Good,” said Takamäki. “Sounds like we could get somewhere on that.” Still, they’d need a matching DNA sample on file. And of course, the envelope could have been sealed with water. “Anybody have anything else?”

  “So the girl didn’t catch the plate number?” said Kulta.

  “Nope.”

  “I can look for the car on the surveillance cameras in the area,” said Kulta. “Unless there’s a better idea.”

  “Sounds good. Check the database for any cameras on Brahe Street, but be sure to look further out, too. The suspect was probably trailing her all the way from the theater academy on Haapaniemi Street.”

  Suhonen’s phone rang. He glanced at the screen and excused himself from the conference room.

  “Hey,” said Suhonen in the hallway.

  “Hey,” said Salmela.

  “What’s up?”

  “This is kind of a strange thing, but there’s a lot of buzz going around about this Mari Lehtonen.”

  “What kinda buzz you talking about?”

  Salmela paused for a while. “She seems to have found herself on someone’s hit list…”

  “Tell me more.”

  “Well, someone’s got a lotta dime and wants to give her a real hard time. Damn, that was like a poem. Not exactly Tommy Tabermann, but not far off. I oughta pick up the pen…”

  “Stick to the point,” Suhonen snapped.

  Salmela was silent for a moment. “What, something happened?”

  “First tell me what you know. What kind of hard time, and who?”

  “That’s the whole problem. I don’t know whether it’s true or just talk…”

  “Get to the point.”

  “Right. Well, word is you can make some good money for pushing her around.”

  “What kind of pushing.”

  “What do you think? Harassment…threats against the family…that kind of thing. Problem is, word’s going around a bit too much.”

  Suhonen knew what he meant. In that case, it was probably planted. Such a rumor was bound to spread quickly in the bars with everyone wanting to crow about what they knew.

  “What’s your guess?”

  “I dunno. I’m sure there’s some truth to it, but it sounds more like a plant. True or not I figured I’d call.”

  Suhonen thought for a moment. “Well, thanks. All I can tell you is someone gave Lehtonen’s daughter a letter threatening to kidnap her.”

  “No shit.”

  “Nothing happened, but we got our hackles up over here.”

  “No kidding...”

  “And then earlier someone squirted glue in

  her door.”

  “In the lock?”

  “Right.”

  Salmela didn’t respond.

  “Helloo,” said Suhonen after a while.

  “Well, if this someone’s already doing it, then why would they trumpet it all over the place. Unless these things happened because of all the talk?”

  “Good question. Did you have a particular ‘someone’ in mind?”

  Salmela smiled. “Well, someone someone... Isn’t it pretty obvious?”

  “Well, yeah. But still, why all the talk?”

  “Either this someone’s recruiting more guys or he just wants to extend his reach. You know. A little guerrilla marketing, right?” said Salmela, with emphasis on the word guerrilla.

  “Right,” said Suhonen, and he hung up the phone.

  * * *

  Suhonen stepped back into the conference room and waited till all eyes were on him.

  “Well?” said Takamäki.

  “A horse named Champion’s gonna win at the races tonight,” he said with a smile.

  Takamäki looked impatient.

  “So my informant tells me there’s a lot of s
treet talk about getting back at Lehtonen. Even more about her than the best places to steal Christmas presents for the kiddos.”

  The others were not humored.

  “But,” Suhonen continued, “of course there’s another angle. If someone really wanted to get back at her, why would they be advertising it? Might just be a cover.”

  Kulta looked skeptical. “Right, a twelve-year-old girl is being stalked, but it’s just a cover.”

  “My point exactly,” said Suhonen. “If someone actually wanted revenge, they wouldn’t fuck around. They’d just do it—girl in the trunk, a bullet in the brain, and the body in the drink. And mom goes too.

  Right now, it’s all talk, threats and games. Intimidation.”

  Takamäki nodded while the others just stared. “At any rate, the only charge we can work with right now is intimidating a witness. The maximum penalty is three years in prison, which means we can’t use phone taps.”

  “And we have no suspects,” said Kulta.

  “Really?” said Suhonen. “It’s obvious that this is connected to Korpi’s trial, and Jere Siikala is one of Korpi’s lieutenants. If Guerrilla’s not the perpetrator, he’s at least the instigator.”

  “Based on what evidence?” said Kulta.

  Takamäki cut in. “The threshold for reasonable suspicion isn’t terribly high. I won’t open an investigation in Siikala’s name yet, but obviously we’ll have to start looking into his activities. The prosecutor never charged him in the murder investigation, so we can’t use that as a pretense for surveillance.”

  “What about the mom and the kid?” asked Kannas.

  “We’ll have to consult with Joutsamo about that.”

  “Just thinking that a round-the-clock operation like this takes four guys per day, at the least. That’s a lot of manpower...”

  Kulta interjected. “Ever heard of that German prosecutor who lives in a fenced-in bunker with his family? The kids get carted off to school in an armored Mercedes?”

  “There’re plenty of Finnish cops who’ve hung it up because of threats, too,” said Kannas. “Even if the cop can deal with it, the family’s another story.”