“I’m lucky if I understand it. Well, I suppose you’ll be joining them.”
Karila smiled. “Sorry. Budget meetings. Unless you have any better suggestions, it’s gonna have to be you. I’m dealing with reams of political bullshit right now. The Interior Ministry is fielding hundreds of calls and emails demanding the minister’s resignation. I hear that parliament has started three separate inquiries into the minister’s performance. And all this will trickle down to us.”
Takamäki was still looking at the headlines on TV. “Well, I guess it’s worth a try. Things couldn’t get much worse anyway. But we’ll have to arrange to get Lehtonen into the prison.”
“I already took care of it. You take Joutsamo, pick Lehtonen up from work and drive in the side gate. They’ll take you straight to the visitation room. There’ll be a couple guards for extra security.”
* * *
Rauli Salo was on his way to Korpi’s dreary cell on the northern block with his 10:30 lunch. The guards on the block didn’t mind at all that Salo had volunteered to take the gang boss his meals. A small note on the cell door read: “No contacts.”
The northern cell block, sometimes referred to as the “hazardous waste ward,” was among the most poorly maintained in the complex. All prisoners on the block were either in isolation or under protection, so the cells were under constant lock-down. To make matters worse, the cells had no running water or toilets. Buckets served as bed pans, which had infused the wing with a distinctly revolting stench.
The routine was rigid: breakfast at 7:00, lunch at 10:30, and dinner at 3:10 P.M. At some point during the day, prisoners were permitted one hour outside. That was it.
The green cell walls were dirty and dilapidated, and the cramped windows served only to complement the oppressive atmosphere.
Salo opened the cell door. Korpi sat up on his cot with a grin. “Look who’s here, room service. What’s it gonna be today?”
“Sausage soup,” said Salo, before lowering his voice to a whisper, just in case Korpi’s cell was wired. An isolation cell was probably not worth the trouble, but you could never be too careful “The number you gave me doesn’t answer anymore.”
“Really?”
Salo shook his head. “There’s news all over the TV and papers about a bomb threat against Lehtonen. You know…the witness from your trial. She bitched out the cops pretty good on TV.”
“That’s good,” said Korpi. The man behind the bombing was no mystery to Korpi—few besides Ahola had access to such explosives. The man had a stash of them at a cabin out in the country. Korpi tried to reason out what had happened. If Martin had stopped answering his phone, he was probably in jail. That was to be expected. And the cops would certainly have launched a major operation after the bomb threat. But if Martin was in jail, then Guerrilla probably was too, since he had been Martin’s contact.
“Did they catch the bomber?”
“As of this morning they were still looking.”
Korpi smiled as he nodded. “You got some paper? I got another number.”
“I…I can’t,” whispered Salo. “This whole thing… It’s getting kinda heavy.”
Korpi narrowed his eyes at the guard. “You think you have a choice?”
Salo didn’t respond.
But Korpi knew when to let out the reins and when to pull them in. Now it was time to let them out. “Alright. This’ll be the last time. I’ll give you this number…all you have to do is say ‘game over.’”
“Game over.” he repeated. “What’s that supposed to…”
“You don’t need to know. But I’ll tell you anyway. We’re gonna leave her alone. You do this, and I won’t ask you for anything more. Once everything cools down, you’ll get a grand.”
“A grand. And no more jobs after this.”
“That’s right,” whispered Korpi, and he recited the telephone number.
His face was serious, but behind it was a barely suppressed laugh. Did the guard really think he could get off this easy? But he’d taken the bait, and swallowed the hook. And the story Korpi had given him about the message was just that: a story.
Korpi spooned himself some soup, and Salo closed the cell door behind him. He felt unsettled about the message. Korpi was clearly behind the threats on Lehtonen’s life, so calling the phone number would be construed as aiding and abetting a convicted criminal. Of course, he had already been guilty of that when he met that suit in the restaurant, but then he hadn’t known what a serious crime it would lead to.
Salo considered his options. Maybe he could just deliver the message, collect the money and hope nobody found out. And if the message brought an end to the threats, it would actually be a good deed.
As he strode down the hallway of the isolation wing, he struggled to come up with any other alternatives. He could contact the police and tell them about this latest message, but then they would grill him about any previous messages. Nobody would believe that this was the first, because it was too farfetched. It would end with a conviction for aiding and abetting, and then he would be fired.
Shit. It was just one call. And for that, a grand. With the five hundred from before, that made fifteen hundred—a nice trip to Thailand for a couple of weeks, where he could relax and forget the whole thing.
The sooner he did it, the less it would bother him, he decided. But he wouldn’t use his own phone. He’d use the phone in the break room at the prison.
Game over. That wasn’t so bad.
CHAPTER 28
MONDAY, 1:00 P.M.
KALLVIK STREET, EAST HELSINKI
Matti Ahola was lying on the sofa, staring at the sweeping patterns in the plastered ceiling. To him it was much like a starry sky—it let the mind roam free. Ahola imagined a swan, but the image transmuted into a dragon and he was forced to close his eyes.
He felt tired, not having had any decent sleep in twenty-four hours. Always on the move. That the cops were after him for the car bomb was obvious, but all he wanted was to sleep. The car wasn’t a good place for that. He’d awake to a masked SWAT cop busting in the window and jamming an MP5 against his temple. It would be just his luck for someone to call the police about a guy sleeping in his car.
Harri Nieminen’s apartment had been Ahola’s only hope. Nieminen was an old boxing buddy with whom he had traded plenty of blows in the ring. When Ahola arrived, Nieminen had told him that the cops had busted in his door last night. The broken lock hadn’t gone unnoticed. Now a padlock dangled from a hasp on the inner jamb, and Nieminen simply swapped it to another hasp on the outside when he left the apartment.
Nieminen had at first resisted when Ahola showed up, but the business end of a Nagant Russian revolver had settled the matter in Ahola’s favor.
Ahola heard Nieminen rustling on the mattress, where he’d been told to stay. Ahola sat up halfway, the revolver resting on his stomach.
“Gotta take a piss,” said Nieminen.
“Alright. Go on.”
Once he heard the unmistakable sound coming from the bathroom, Ahola assessed his situation: Korpi’s go-ahead for game over had finally come, so Lehtonen’s time was up. Earlier on, Guerrilla had given him information on where she lived, where she worked, and her daughter’s movements. The kidnapping threat was easy, but the bomb had called for more careful planning. His orders then were only to scare her, so he had left one of the safeties on. When Korpi turned the screw, it was usually a full turn.
Now it was time to kill. Ahola was dreaming of the ways to do it when Nieminen came back from the bathroom. He waved the gun toward the mattress, and Nieminen sat down.
“How long you planning on staying? I need to take care of some things.”
Ahola laughed. “I’ll stay as long as I want, so lie down and make yourself comfortable. Don’t worry though…won’t be long.”
“I heard Korpi’s out of money. That the cops found his stash.”
“That’s not true, just rumors…” said Ahola. “By the way, how’s your lit
tle bro?”
“Kaappo?”
“Yeah.”
“Doing a four-year stint for dope. Haven’t heard from him in about a week.”
“Hmm.” Ahola thought for a moment. “Korpi’s got money, that much I know. Spread the word.”
Nieminen shook his head and lay down on the mattress. Under as much pressure as Ahola seemed to be, it was probably best not to aggravate him.
Ahola’s thoughts turned back to killing the woman. How should he do it? Ring the doorbell and blow her brains all over the front entry? First the mom, then the girl? Lehtonen didn’t own a car, so planting a car bomb was out, and the cops were bound to be on high alert anyway. Maybe he could run her over if he found the right time and place, but that left too much room for error. Complicated schemes were too difficult—there had to be a simpler way. A drive-by shooting? Not bad. The getaway would be fast, anyhow.
Ahola sat up. His head hurt from thinking. But what to do about Nieminen? If the cops had raided the place, Nieminen would surely rat him out at the first turn. Like the time Ahola lifted all the wallets from the locker room at the boxing gym. He’d always figured Nieminen had squealed. The others had proceeded to give Ahola a severe beating, for which the most visible mark was a broken nose. The prison doc, however, had once mentioned something about brain damage. Payback time had come.
Ahola stood up to stretch. He held a pillow in his left hand, which concealed the revolver in his right. Nieminen watched him from the mattress on the floor.
In an instant, Ahola was upon him, smothering his face with the pillow. He plunged the barrel into the soft batting and pulled the trigger, but it didn’t muffle the shot like he had hoped. His eardrums slammed shut. The pillow muffled the sound waves from the tip of the barrel, but the gap between the barrel and cylinder had allowed air and sound to escape.
Fuck! That wasn’t supposed to happen, he thought, and stepped off of the limp body. It had worked on TV! Shit!
* * *
Takamäki was driving and Joutsamo was sitting with Mari in the back seat. The car was stopped at a red light on Aleksis Kivi Street.
“You’re serious?” said Lehtonen, which was the same thing she had said when the detectives had arrived fifteen minutes earlier to pick her up from work. After a little coaxing, Lehtonen had fetched her coat and purse, and followed them out.
“We wouldn’t be doing this otherwise,” said Joutsamo. “The psychologist says it could help. I don’t know if that’s true, but it can’t hurt.”
“And who is this psychologist,” said Lehtonen.
Only then did Takamäki realize that he didn’t know either. “I don’t know.”
“So how can you buy into this if you don’t even know who it is?”
“Well, Deputy Chief Skoog did speak with him.”
“And you believe what your superiors tell you?”
Takamäki smiled. “We have to. The boss has more brass. We’re just cogs in the police machinery, right?”
“Right…” said Lehtonen. “…I was a little upset… During the interview and all…”
“Well, don’t worry about it,” said Takamäki. “I must admit, it actually raised some important questions about our witness protection. It has made
me think… Now if only we can resolve the question of your safety.”
Takamäki’s phone rang and Joutsamo picked up where he left off. “At least we’re making an attempt at something other than just hiding you away.”
Takamäki answered and Karila informed him of a car chase on the East Highway. The suspect, believed to be Matti Ahola, was bound for downtown Helsinki. Takamäki checked his mirrors.
* * *
Ahola stepped on the gas. The speedometer in the old Fiat showed 95 mph, all the engine was capable of. Ahola jerked the wheel, veering in and out of traffic. Someone leaned on their horn, and Ahola felt like sending a salute with his Nagant. The whine of sirens approached from behind.
Goddamnit, he thought to himself as he changed lanes again.
Why the fuck did he have to believe what he saw on TV. That shot echoed through the whole damn building, and some guy was already on the stairs with a phone to his ear as he was leaving. So the cops had gotten the news immediately, even if Ahola had interrupted the call with a gun butt through the man’s teeth.
Ahola knew they’d spotted his Fiat because a cruiser in the oncoming lane with its sirens on had pulled a U-turn just after it passed him. Ahola floored it, and the car zoomed ahead.
He glanced in the rear-view mirror. At least two squads were on his tail and a third was coming down the ramp from the Kulosaari bridge. One of the cruisers came abreast of him on the right, and he fired off a shot. The bullet shattered his passenger-side window, but had no other effect except that the cruiser dropped further back.
The Fiat hurtled over the East Highway bridge toward downtown Helsinki. Up ahead was a crossroads: straight onto Juna Street which would quickly turn into Teollisuus Street, or right up the ramp and then down to the waterfront road. The choice to the right looked too congested. The lights at the top of the ramp could turn red at any second. Going straight, he could make it to the streets of Kallio, maybe even lose the cruisers with a few quick turns, ditch the car and disappear down the alleys and backstreets.
The brake lights on a Volvo station wagon popped on in front of him, and the Fiat bounded ahead with a quick swerve to the right.
Just off the Häme Street bridge, at the point where Juna turned into Teollisuus, he could cut into oncoming traffic through the bus lanes, and from there to the streets of Kallio.
The East Highway curved gently to the right and then again to the left. Up ahead, more flashing lights were visible, and as he reached the bus stop, he caught a movement to his left and heard two loud bangs. Officers on the shoulder had pulled a spike strip, puncturing all four tires. The car began to track wildly, but Ahola stepped on the gas. Just before the next intersection were four cruisers lined up in a barricade. This one he wouldn’t be breaking through with the Fiat. Maybe with a Range Rover, but not the Fiat.
Ahola jerked up the emergency brake and swung the wheel sharply to the left in an attempt to swing the tail around. If he could make it back a few hundred yards, he could take the ramp the wrong way down to the waterfront road.
With tires, the one-eighty may have stood a chance. But without them, the bare rims bit into the asphalt and the Fiat flipped, spun along the pavement on its roof, and flopped over onto its side.
Ahola struck his head and shards of broken glass lacerated his face. His chest hit the wheel, knocking the wind out of him. His knee was hurting too, but still, he remained conscious.
He snatched up his pistol and began bashing out the windshield. Shouts came from all sides: “Police! Don’t move! Drop your weapon!” But he wasn’t listening. The subway tunnel was just on the other side of the fence. If he could make it there, they’d never find him.
He stood up in front of the car, and his peripheral vision caught a dark movement bounding up from the side. K-9. He fired off a shot and the dog fell yelping to the ground at his feet. He fired again and the yelping stopped. The cylinder held seven rounds, so three remained.
The shouts came again. Ahola looked around. There were at least twenty cops. Shit, he thought. He wasn’t going back to prison, but there were few alternatives. The subway tunnel was too far. He lowered his weapon to think. Maybe he could take a few cops with him. Then he’d be a legend.
Ahola raised his gun and managed to fire off a couple rounds toward the nearest cruiser. Then he felt two thuds in his chest just before he heard the shots. An immense pain took hold of his body for a moment, and then there was nothing. He never even felt the third bullet. Matti Ahola was dead before his head hit the pavement.
An orange subway train made a hissing sound as it disappeared into the tunnel.
* * *
The visitation room at Helsinki prison had about ten glass-partitioned tables, each with four to five
chairs bolted to the floor. The room had been updated during the remodel, and the ambiance was quite modern. A tall window near the ceiling let in plenty of bluish winter light.
Joutsamo and Lehtonen were talking at one of the tables. Along with them was police psychologist Maija Saarni, sent by Deputy Chief Skoog. The forty-five-year-old woman was an instructor at the police academy. She was slender, and had a radiant face that seemed always to be smiling.
In addition to them, there were also two armed prison guards, both bald and well over six feet tall. Firearms and tasers hung from their belts.
Takamäki had driven in through the side gate, where the assistant warden was waiting to take them to the visitation room. They had bypassed the security checkpoint, so none of them had to relinquish their phones. Joutsamo and Takamäki had left their weapons in the glovebox of the car, as it was a bad idea to bring them into prison.
Takamäki was lingering near the door of the visitation room, talking on his cell phone.
“That’s too bad,” he said. Karila had just explained the turn of events on Juna Street. All of Ahola’s bullets had either hit squad cars or missed, but three of the police’s had found their target—all in the chest.
Takamäki listened for a while. “Yeah, clearly justifiable force, but naturally the state prosecutor will have to conduct an investigation. What’s the status on the shooting at the apartment?”
“I put Kafka’s team on it since you got your hands full with Lehtonen,” said Karila. “It’s pretty obvious Ahola shot Nieminen, even if the details are still a little murky. Considering they’re both dead, that’s the way it’ll probably stay. But Nieminen’s apartment was one of the ones Suhonen and Kulta shook down last night.”
Helsinki Homicide: Nothing but the Truth Page 23