Helsinki Homicide: Nothing but the Truth

by Jarkko Sipila

  “We’ve got the suspect under surveillance and now we have the call data. We’ll look at it tomorrow.”

  “So you’re going to work tomorrow?”

  “Looks that way. Someone’s gotta look after these witnesses.”

  SATURDAY,

  DECEMBER 16

  CHAPTER 23

  SATURDAY, 1:40 P.M.

  PASILA POLICE HEADQUARTERS

  Joutsamo set the handset back on the base. No answer. Nothing. The call had gone directly to voicemail. She was sitting at her desk when Takamäki came in.

  “Anything?” he asked.

  Hope rarely had a place in the VCU’s line of work, but Takamäki was hoping for a yes. Joutsamo shook her head gravely.

  “Damnit.”

  Mari and Laura Lehtonen had disappeared. Joutsamo had found out about an hour earlier after she tried to call Mari’s cell phone and it went straight to voicemail. Apparently, the phone was off. Joutsamo had Laura’s number too, but the result was the same.

  Joutsamo had then tried the front desk at the Kirkkonummi safe house, and what she heard from the guard nearly made her drop the phone. According to the log, Mari and Laura had left the safe house at 10:45 A.M. No reason was indicated. The guards had changed at noon, so the current one couldn’t tell her anything about what had happened.

  Joutsamo had wondered why the police hadn’t been notified. According to the guard, they had no such protocol. The safe house was not a prison, so the guards couldn’t stop them from leaving. Joutsamo had acquired the morning watchman’s cellphone number, and after calling him, she had learned that Laura and Mari had simply walked out. Just the two of them. The guard hadn’t seen a car, taxi or any other vehicle on the cameras. Mari had been carrying a bag.

  The watchman had noted that they appeared to be heading for downtown Kirkkonummi, just over two miles away. And the weather was good for a walk: sunny and just a few degrees below freezing. That’s where the trail ended, at least for now. If yesterday the case had seemed to have cooled down, now it was blazing hot again.

  Tracking down Mari and Laura was now their first priority, but as such, the situation could certainly be worse. By all appearances, their departure had been voluntary, so they hadn’t been abducted. Takamäki and Joutsamo were most worried about the fact that neither of the Lehtonens had their cell phone on. Of course, it was possible that both batteries were dead, but that was unlikely.

  Kulta had been sent to Kirkkonummi to try to determine their route and track down any leads. Where were they headed? To the store? The train station or further? Back to Helsinki?

  Takamäki had analyzed the situation, and issuing a nationwide APB didn’t seem prudent. Instead, he had notified the Espoo PD, since Kirkkonummi was their jurisdiction. If the pair was spotted, the Helsinki VCU was to be notified.

  Mari and Laura’s disappearance was not the only active front in the case. Joutsamo had already called Takamäki at around ten to fill him in on Jere Siikala’s call data. Two days prior, the phone number that the police had on file for him had been in contact with an unidentified prepaid phone. Takamäki had already obtained a warrant from the district court for the new number.

  He had also obtained warrants for the cell towers in the vicinity of the Kaarela house, which had turned up three other prepaid SIM cards. There were also other active cell phones in the area that might belong to Guerrilla. Joutsamo had already looked into these other phone owners’ backgrounds, suspecting that Guerrilla, aware of police interest in prepaid numbers, might have registered a phone with a false name. According to Suhonen, mobiles registered to phony names were a hot commodity in many bars. The phone companies had promised fresh data by late afternoon.

  “Anything new on Guerrilla?” asked Takamäki.

  “Apparently still in the house. He was observed in the kitchen. Making toast,” said Joutsamo.

  Takamäki laughed. “Suhonen must’ve found a pretty good spot if they can see into the kitchen. At least we’re getting regular updates.”

  “Narcotics was asking how long they should keep it up if the guy’s not doing anything.”

  “Hell. I’d say indefinitely…at least with the current situation.”

  * * *

  Mikko Kulta was driving along a dirt road leading away from the safe house. The road was familiar to him because he had just driven it in the other direction five minutes earlier. At the building, he had checked Mari and Laura’s room. Empty: the deserters had taken all of their belongings. He had also interviewed a Kurdish woman, who hadn’t known anything about the pair’s whereabouts.

  Kulta had updated Joutsamo on his findings. The empty room changed his search tactics: no need to check ice cream parlors or coffee shops. The pair had jumped ship entirely, opting to tread water on their own. Joutsamo had sent a patrol to their home address and started hunting for close relatives. As the police didn’t know much about Lehtonens’ friends, they began searching for them, starting with Mari’s co-workers.

  Kulta came upon a couple of houses on the side of the road, but decided to skip them. It was possible that neighbors had seen a woman and a girl, but more than likely the pair had continued on. Maybe somebody had given them a ride to Kirkkonummi. His first stops would be the Kirkkonummi train station and bus depot, and if the pair wasn’t there, then he’d search the cab stands. Of course, it was also possible that someone had been waiting to pick them up somewhere in town, but if that were the case, how in the hell would he ever know.

  The drive to the train station took about five minutes. Kulta was playing a CD he been burned with some favorite hits. Blue Oyster Cult was playing now: “…don’t fear the reaper.” Advice Kulta wasn’t inclined to take. The case had already had its share of ominous overtones, and this latest stunt was not a positive development.

  Kulta pulled his little Nissan into an angled spot at the Kirkkonummi train station.

  He stepped out of the car, lit a cigarette and headed straight for the train schedule next to the main wooden building. Someone had spit on the glass in front of the departures display, but Kulta could still make out the text. He knew from his car’s odometer that the trip from the safe house to the station had been 2.1 miles. The Lehtonens had left the safe house at 10:45, and it would have taken them at least half an hour to walk there, more likely forty-five minutes. Thirty minutes seemed like a good number to Kulta.

  All trains to Helsinki left on the hour and half hour, so the first possible train had left at 11:30 and the next at noon. Another train had left at 11:00, but the pair would have never made that without a ride. Even Kulta had spent almost ten minutes getting from the safe house to the platform.

  For westbound trains, there had been an express to Turku at 10:35—impossible timewise—and next in line was a local at 12:03, followed by another express at 12:35.

  Kulta was almost certain that if the Lehtonens had come to the station, they would have boarded a train to Helsinki. It seemed logical, especially since Kulta didn’t think they were going into hiding. They would have been safer at the safe house. Something else was behind this.

  Kulta jotted down the departures, since Joutsamo would ask for them anyway. He walked through the crisp, clear air toward the main building, scanning for surveillance cameras. He found three, all appearing to be trained on the station frontage and the platform.

  He reached the entrance to the station and pulled the handle. It didn’t budge. He pulled again before noticing a small sign that read, Closed Sat.

  Can’t give up now, he thought. Especially since he’d have to explain everything to Joutsamo. She wouldn’t tolerate disappointments stemming from

  lack of effort. There was no hiding it—she could smell indolence from a mile away.

  Kulta considered his options. It’d be worth a call to ask about surveillance footage—maybe mentioning “Helsinki Homicide” would carry some weight. But who to call? The Espoo PD? They had jurisdiction here. Or the state railways? The whole case was beginning to irritate
him. The surveillance videos were unquestionably the most promising idea. He dialed directory assistance, which connected him with the state-owned railway company. A recording informed him that offices were closed until Monday. For train schedules, he could call the premium-rate number. A call to the security company responsible for the train station ended in a voicemail box.

  Just as Kulta hung up, his phone rang. “Yeah,” he answered.

  “It’s Joutsamo,” said an irate voice on the other end. “What’s the status?”

  “Uhh…” Kulta cleared his throat, knowing he’d already lost. Everything from this point forward would just end up sounding like an excuse, but he explained the events at the safe house and the problems at the station.

  “Well, shit,” Joutsamo barked. “Get the footage, then.”

  “And how do you suggest I do that?” he barked back. “I don’t even know who the station manager is.”

  Joutsamo was quiet for a moment. “Come on Kulta… I’m in Helsinki, for god’s sake. You’re in Kirkkonummi. Gee, I wonder where the station manager might be? Quit fucking around and do

  your job.”

  “Fine,” said Kulta.

  He hung up the phone and cursed, drew his Glock and searched the door for a pane of glass with a break sensor on it. Once he located it, he smacked the glass with the butt of his gun and it shattered. Inside, the alarm began to sound. Damn right, that’s more like it. Security guards, a cruiser and some stiffs from the railway would be crawling all over the place in no time. Kulta stepped back with a smile and slipped out a pack of cigarettes.

  * * *

  Joutsamo came into Takamäki’s office with a stack of papers.

  “What did you hear from Kulta?” said Takamäki. “He find anything?”

  “He’s at the Kirkkonummi train station complaining that it’s closed and he can’t get any footage.”

  “You’re shitting me.”

  Joutsamo smiled. “That’s what I said. I’m sure he’ll figure it out.”

  “Let’s hope so. We need that footage ASAP. The million-euro question is whether they’re travelling alone or if someone has abducted them... Still nothing from their phones?”

  “Nope, still off. But I did get Jere Siikala’s call data. I found a prepaid extension that made and received a few calls in the Kaarela area after the verdict. And a couple texts too.”

  “So it might be Guerrilla’s new phone.”

  “Possible, but we don’t know for sure. The phone has definitely been in the area the whole time.”

  “Where’s it been calling?”

  Joutsamo paused. “Other prepaid numbers in the metro area: Pakila, Töölö, Kallio, Lauttasaari, Itäkeskus…”

  “So a fair amount of traffic.”

  “But we got nothing on the content or the recipients. Is he still holed up in that house?” asked Joutsamo.

  “Yep.”

  “Must have quite the food stash in there—he never has to go for groceries? It also occurred to me that the house had a broadband connection when we raided it back in September. We don’t have access to that, so he might be communicating over the internet.”

  “I know,” said Takamäki, and he thought for a while. “With our only charge being threatening a witness, we’ll have a hard time getting a warrant for a full phone tap, much less emails.”

  “Yeah. Same old story. What’s the plan, by the way, if we actually find the Lehtonens?”

  “You have any suggestions?” he said, looking helpless.

  Joutsamo shook her head. “Give them an earful? Scare the shit out of them?”

  Takamäki didn’t reply.

  * * *

  A small white security vehicle swerved up to the curb in front of the train station and a large broad-shouldered man in a gray uniform stepped out. Both the car and the uniform looked ridiculously small in comparison to the man. He walked up to the door where Kulta was waiting and promptly noticed the shattered windowpane.

  “What’s this?” he barked, one thumb hooked on his utility belt, where a canister of tear gas was at the ready. “What happened?”

  Kulta had already taken out his badge and he held it up. “Mikko Kulta, Helsinki VCU. Sorry, little accident here. I yanked on the door a bit too hard and the glass busted.”

  “Really. Let’s see that badge.”

  Kulta handed him the badge, and the man stood there examining it without so much as an upward glance. Bad idea, thought Kulta. The guard should have taken a few steps back. If Kulta had had any bad intentions, he could have easily surprised the big man.

  “Okay, I guess this looks legit. I’ll just call the glass company.”

  “Listen,” said Kulta. “You wouldn’t happen to have the key would you?”

  “Sure. Why?”

  “Well, actually I’m working on a pretty serious case, and I need to see the CCTV footage. That’s why I’m here.”

  “Oh, yeah?”

  “Yes,” said Kulta in a serious tone of voice. The guard seemed a bit slow on the uptake, but Kulta was glad the guy hadn’t asked about the case. Few rent-a-cops could resist prying about anything related to real police work.

  The lout nodded and took out his key ring. “CCTV footage, huh?”

  “Yeah, you know where the monitoring station is?”

  “Sure…follow me,” said the guard, and he opened the door.

  Kulta fell in behind him with a smug smile.

  * * *

  Rauli Salo, prison guard, was sitting alone at a table in Parnell’s Pub drinking beer from a mug. His navy blue parka was draped over the back of the chair. The Pub, in Kallio, was furnished in the traditional British style—dominated by dark-toned woods. Salo glanced at his watch: a quarter after two. Fifteen minutes late already.

  A blond-haired man came in and Salo followed him with his eyes. He wasn’t sure what sort of man he was here to meet. This one stopped just inside the entrance and scanned the bar. He looked about fifty and wore a black Burberry overcoat, which he left on as he made his way for Salo’s table. The man’s face was tanned.

  “You waiting for somebody?” the man asked from six feet off.

  The prison guard nodded, and the man sat down at the table. “Hello,” he said. “I had to find a parking spot.”

  Salo guessed the man had parked a Mercedes, or at least he seemed to have expensive tastes. The guy would fit in better at some trendy bistro downtown than this poor man’s pub in Kallio. Salo had expected something between a straggly-bearded junkie and a tough-looking torpedo, but you never knew with these criminals. This was actually better—at least he’d get paid. Salo slowly sipped his beer.

  “Well?” Martin said impatiently. The lawyer didn’t feel quite at home, and he didn’t care much for this sort of impromptu meeting. On the phone, the man had said he had a message from a certain inmate. Of course that meant Korpi. But who was this guy across the table? Martin didn’t know and didn’t really

  want to, either. He didn’t look like someone on parole, anyhow. More like a prison staffer.

  “Your inmate had a message.”

  “You already told me that.”

  “Money first. He said five hundred.”

  Martin gave the man a hard stare. “Five hundred?” He couldn’t possibly know how much Korpi had actually said, and wondered to what extent this guy was padding his own pockets. Martin dug out his wallet and slipped five green bills into the man’s hand. “So?”

  “He says tighten the screw.”

  “Tighten the screw?”

  “That’s right,” said Salo.

  “I see,” said Martin, and he got up to leave.

  After he left, Salo stayed to finish his beer. He thought about what the message meant. Five hundred for that was easy money. Tighten the screw…must have something to do with Korpi’s debts. Whatever it was, he knew he shouldn’t be conveying messages from a prisoner in solitary, but what harm could it do? Especially when it was so vague, and not really even a threat.

&nbs
p; Salo was actually glad that Korpi owed him one now. In the long run, it would make his life easier. There was one major difference between the work of police and prison guards: the former encountered criminals in fleeting moments of danger, but the latter had to live with them for years. It called for a different kind of touch that involved cooperation. And easy money.

  * * *

  As Joutsamo stepped into his office, Takamäki could tell from the faint smile on her face that she had good news.

  “What is it?” he asked.

  “Something, which is a good thing. First off, Kulta got footage of the Lehtonens at the Kirkkonummi train station. They boarded an 11:30 train toward Helsinki, scheduled to arrive at 12:08. The video showed that they were clearly alone on the platform.”

  Takamäki glanced at the clock. “So we’re about two and a half hours behind them.”

  “Right, but of course they could’ve gotten off at an earlier stop. No sign of them at the apartment.”

  “I’m sure Kulta will check the footage at the Helsinki end next?”

  “That’s what he said,” said Joutsamo.

  “Well, at least we’re on the trail.”

  That the Lehtonens were travelling alone was a relief. If someone had snatched them, they wouldn’t be using public transit. More than likely they would’ve been tossed into a trunk. Or a trash bag.

  “One other thing,” said Joutsamo. “Guerrilla got another phone call. Came from a cell tower in Kallio.”

  “A prepaid phone?”

  Joutsamo nodded. “That’s the third call from the same number, but all from different towers. I think it makes sense to file for a warrant at this point.”