“These are unpredictable cases. With your record it shouldn’t…”
“Kiss my ass. You get to walk outta here and I get to walk into a cell. Damnit. How can you be so fucking stupid?”
Martin wanted to ask him how he could have been so stupid as to be waiting outside while his partner offed some minor dealer. But he didn’t dare. He wasn’t sure if Korpi had actually known about Nyberg’s plan to shoot Salmela. According to the verdict, however, there was no doubt that Salmela’s
death was an execution. Nyberg’s self-defense claim had been completely quashed in court.
“Maybe I oughta tell the cops about your nose candy…”
Martin cut in, “Keep it down! Might be a mike.”
“Oh, that’s right,” Korpi sneered. “A client can’t even have a private conversation with his lawyer anymore.”
“I’d think you’d know there’s no such thing.”
“Fuck,” Korpi kept ranting. He took his seat and tried to calm down.
“The appeals court could…”
“Fuck the appeals court. How is this possible? Hell, I had it all figured out-don’t talk about nothin’ on the phone. Everything gets taken care of off the grid…”
“Are you making a confession?” asked Martin. In all actuality, he wished that were the case, as then he could invoke ethics rules to get out of representing Korpi. That actually sounded like a pretty good outcome.
“Of course not. I didn’t know anything about it-you know that. Do you think I’d have been in that car if I’d known? Not a chance in hell. Son of a bitch! What reason would I have to lie to you? And I sure don’t trust the appeals court to change anything. They’re all in bed with the pigs one way or another.”
Martin started to say something but Korpi shut him up with a raised hand. “Don’t say a word. Not a word. Just listen. I don’t understand how it’s possible some bitch with a photographic memory would just happen to see me and then go and call the cops. That’s some bad fucking karma. Shit, I can’t think straight with fifteen years hanging over me, but I’ll figure it out. I know from experience you never sleep the first night after a sentencing, but that doesn’t matter right now. I’ll get things straightened out.”
Korpi fell silent, and Martin was quiet too.
Korpi spoke up again, “Not sure if they’re gonna move me to Helsinki Prison today or tomorrow, but you’re gonna come meet me in the afternoon. By then my head’ll be clear and I’ll tell you what to do.”
“I can’t…”
Korpi narrowed his eyes. “You’ll do what I tell you. Or you’re the one I’ll be thinking about tonight.”
CHAPTER 15
WEDNESDAY, 10:05 P.M.
MARI LEHTONEN’S APARTMENT
Mari Lehtonen was at home watching the evening news with her daughter, Laura, at her side. Mari had opened a bottle of wine, which had now dwindled to about a third. The broadcast had begun with news from the Middle East, which had been grim for so many years that it wasn’t interesting anymore. Next up had been some political story, but that too, at least tonight, held no charm.
The news anchor continued, “Tonight Helsinki District Court sentenced two men to life in prison for a drug-related murder that took place in September. According to the court, the motive for the murder was a turf battle between competing drug rings.”
Laura glanced at her mother, who nodded.
The screen cut abruptly to reporter Sanna Römpötti, standing in front of the courthouse in the waning light. Römpötti proclaimed that the court’s swift verdict was only as extraordinary as the murder: two dealers, who had been previously convicted of drug crimes, assassinated a competing dealer. It was yet another example of the ever more violent nature of organized crime.
Some photographs of the crime scene appeared on the screen and Römpötti described the murder. As the surveillance photograph of the Mazda in front of the apartment building appeared on screen, the reporter explained, “A crucial piece of evidence in the case came when a Helsinki woman testified to having seen this car, as well as the driver’s face, at the time of the murder. In court the witness identified gang leader Risto Korpi as the man who was waiting in the car, while Korpi’s henchman Esa Nyberg went into the building and shot a competing cocaine dealer to prevent him from taking business from Korpi’s organization.”
More crime scene photographs appeared on the screen. “Korpi denied allegations in court that he had been at the scene, and that he had given Nyberg the order to kill. But since a reliable witness had testified that Korpi was in the car, and Nyberg was a member of a gang led by Korpi, the court found him guilty of murder as well.”
Mari’s phone alerted her to a text message, but she ignored it. The broadcast moved on to the backstory and highlighted the recent spate of violence among criminals. The reporter concluded that the game was clearly getting more ruthless, and would continue to do so.
When the news anchor reappeared and shifted to a story on water quality, Lehtonen picked up her phone. The text had come from her boss, Essi Saari, and it was brief: “Nicely done!”
Lehtonen had time to take another sip of wine before the phone rang. The call was from an unknown number. Mari wondered if she should answer or not, but since the police also used blocked numbers, she decided to answer.
“Hello?”
“Yeah…so I hear you got a nice new black suit and red necklace,” said a man’s voice. Mari recognized her ex-husband all too well.
“What?” she managed to say as she stood up.
“Where’d you get the money for them fancy new clothes and jewelry?”
Mari stole into the bathroom and closed the door so Laura wouldn’t hear. “What are you talking about? You’re drunk.”
“Fuck yeah, I’m drunk, but I still got ears. I hear you been hanging out with the cops in a fancy new suit and necklace puttin’ an innocent man in jail.”
“I don’t have any… Where’d you get this number?”
The man’s voice grew threatening. “Listen, whore. You done somethin’ real stupid and you’re gonna…”
Lehtonen hung up and turned off her phone. The jerk could leave a thousand voicemails and she wouldn’t listen to a single one. She came back into the living room and Laura looked at her inquiringly.
“Nothing. Just a wrong number.”
The girl shrugged. “What are we watching sports scores for?” she wondered, reaching for the remote control. The next channel up was airing some detective show.
“Change the channel,” said Mari. “Or better yet, get your jammies on and get to bed. You’ll be getting that feedback on your project tomorrow night.”
She poured herself another glass of wine. The tremor in her hand had returned.
* * *
Joutsamo was crooning like an Idols star on the karaoke stage of the Ace of Spades Bar, “And your day to day life is the torment of strangers. Day after day, restless Cinderella makes a martyr of herself.”
The other officers were sitting around a table in the crowded bar.
“I didn’t know homicide cops could sing,” said Nykänen.
“Now you do. She’s the one and only,” said Takamäki, and he took a swig of beer. With five rounds already in his system, he was beginning to feel it.
“Least not here, anyway,” Nykänen added. The Ace of Spades was the flagship of Finland’s karaoke bars, and not just anybody could take the stage there. “I gotta say, though, she’s not half bad.”
“Yeah. Seems like she’s good at everything she does. Either that or she doesn’t do anything she
stinks at.”
“You know, I’m still a little bitter about you stealing her away,” said Nykänen, not entirely joking. Nykänen had once worked with Takamäki’s team, but had made lieutenant and taken a position with Espoo narcotics, where Joutsamo had been working. “She planning on going for lieutenant?”
“Not sure. That’s what I’ve been asking her myself, but she hasn’t hinted either way
.”
“It’d be a good position for her.”
“I think her clock is ticking, too.”
Nykänen gave Takamäki a blank look before he finally understood. “Oh, right. Yeah. Is she seeing someone?”
“Not to my knowledge.”
“Strange. Maybe she’s set the bar too high.”
The music faded out, and the men changed the subject as Joutsamo came back to the table.
“I see you know your Dingo tunes. Nicely done,” said Takamäki.
Suhonen had a fresh cider waiting for her. “Not bad,” he said, handing her the drink.
“Thanks,” she smiled.
Suhonen heard his phone ring through the opening bars of Don Huonot’s, “Good Night, Good Morning.” “No such thing as a bulletproof heart yet,” sang a forty-something man, well out of step with the music. After checking the number, Suhonen excused himself, got up and went into the bathroom where he could hear.
When he came back five minutes later, the conversation had turned to the Korpi case. The team was happy with the course of the investigation and the final verdict.
“I gotta go,” said Suhonen without sitting down.
Takamäki looked at him inquiringly. “What is it?”
“My friend Salmela called. He’s pretty trashed. Gotta make sure he doesn’t do something stupid.”
“Okay,” said Takamäki, and the others wished him luck. Joutsamo got up and planted a wet kiss on Suhonen’s shaggy cheek.
“What’s that for?” he asked.
“I dunno,” she said, smiling. “Just felt like it.”
Suhonen shook his head with a grin. He slipped on his jacket and stepped out of the bar. The air was crisp and cold in contrast with the smoky confines of the karaoke bar. He coughed a few times to clear his lungs and decided the weather was nice enough to walk the one-mile-plus to Salmela’s apartment on Helsinki Avenue.
He kept up a brisk pace as he turned up the hill toward the Hakaniemi bridge. Of course, he could have taken a taxi too, but a little walk might help him work off a few beers, or at least seem to. Salmela hadn’t seemed suicidal at all-more lonely than anything. Maybe the verdict had stirred up old memories of his son.
The streets were quiet. A few cars were about at this hour, but almost nobody on foot.
Suhonen had gone to Tomi’s funeral in October. The proceedings had been spartan, and Tomi’s mother hadn’t come. Suhonen wasn’t sure if Salmela had talked about it with his ex at all. It was really none of his business.
At any rate, right now Salmela needed Suhonen’s company more than his comrades at the bar did.
Suhonen decided to take a shortcut through a small park. Four- and five-story stone buildings flanked the park on all sides. A couple of street lights were burned out.
Suhonen noticed the movement a few tenths of a second before he heard the voice. “Hey man, you got a smoke?”
Three youngsters in dark hooded sweatshirts with stocking caps pulled low over their foreheads appeared from behind some bushes. Suhonen stopped about six feet short of the boys, “Sorry, not at the moment.”
The kid in the middle had a thin face and straggly hair, about eighteen years old. He slipped a knife out of his belt and held it up. “Then gimme your money.”
“Everything you got,” said the one on the left. “So we don’t have to kick your ass.”
“Okay, okay…take it easy. It’s all yours,” Suhonen said, raising his right hand in capitulation. “It’s right up here in my breast pocket. Just let me get it out.”
Suhonen chattered on in hopes of keeping the knife man at bay. He considered his options at the same time. Not many…he was in too much of a hurry.
He opened the zipper of his jacket pocket with his right hand, his eyes locked on the knife man. Suhonen’s unexpected calmness was beginning to make the kid nervous. “Cough it up you son-of-a-bitch,” he hissed, thrusting at the air with his knife. “I’ll cut your eyes out!”
Really, thought Suhonen, still fumbling in his pocket. “Just a sec here, let me find it,” he said, wrapping his fingers round his Glock. He pulled it out and leveled it at the knife man.
Gun in hand, Suhonen’s voice went cold, “Now get the fuck outta here you little pussies. And don’t try this again.”
The knife man turned to run, but tripped on his own feet and crashed down a few steps away. His friends didn’t bother to stop and help him, and Suhonen was upon him before he could regain his footing. He threw the kid onto his back, pressed his knee into his chest, and put the gun barrel against his temple. “Next time I kill each and every one of you. Understand?”
The kid nodded.
“I didn’t hear you!”
“Yes! I understand!
“Good, you gonna quit this shit?”
“Yeah.”
“Sure about that?”
“Yeah, yeah,” he said, his voice shrill now.
Suhonen pressed the gun harder. “And you’ll go to school? Do a little studying and start your own business…that’s the way to make some real money.”
Suhonen stood up and let him go. The gun went back into his shoulder holster. He could have called it in and had a cruiser come for them, but it was already too late. He glanced around quickly: nobody watching from the windows.
Suhonen continued on his way. At no point had he identified himself as a police officer, but there was no doubt in his mind that this was just the sort of preventive work that a police officer should be doing.
THURSDAY, DECEMBER 14
CHAPTER 16
THURSDAY, 8:30 A.M.
HELSINKI PRISON
A pudgy guard with a shaved head and wooden expression led Korpi to the entrance of his cell. Korpi was holding a small bag with some personal items, his prison-issue coveralls and bedclothes.
The third floor of the east wing, with its pale walls and potted plants, was more akin to a stalwart hospital than an ordinary prison. First built in 1881, Helsinki Prison was intended to project a sinister presence to the outside. That’s what it still did, but after several remodels, the inside of the complex had begun to appear progressively more accommodating. Or at least as accommodating as a prison well over a century old can appear.
“Here’s your cell,” drawled the guard. Though not an imposing presence, Rauli Salo had plenty of experience as a prison guard. He knew Korpi from the con’s previous stint, and he predicted what Korpi would say next.
Korpi stopped at the door and glanced inside. “This ain’t gonna work.”
“You don’t have a choice.”
Korpi had been quickly transferred from the new admissions block, where inmates sometimes spent weeks. Cell block three was in better shape than the others, but Korpi didn’t intend to share a cell. He turned to the guard. “Lifers get special rights. I want my own cell.”
“You think I have a say in that? It’s a question of space. Two guys per cell is the bare minimum. Most cells have three or four, plus construction noise. You oughta be thankful I got you this much. Cell doors are open till eight here, too. Lockdown’s at five on most blocks.”
Not convinced, Korpi took another look at the cell. Some girly pictures were hanging on the walls and a guitar was leaning against the windowsill. Whoever occupied the lower bunk was either at work or class. “Who’s got the bunk there?”
“Kaapo Nieminen. Mule. Doing a couple years for drug smuggling.”
“So you’re sticking me in a cell with some junkie. Fuck. Not gonna happen.”
“No other choice.”
Korpi looked at the guard in silence. “Well. Then you know how it’s gotta go.”
The guard shrugged his skinny shoulders. He knew all too well. By tomorrow morning at the latest, Nieminen would file for transfer to the protective ward under a barrage of threats from Korpi. And Korpi would keep going regardless of who they put in the cell with him. Salo couldn’t be bothered by it-there was no changing inmate hierarchies. Certain inmates would give the orders, and the gan
gsters could terrorize whoever they wanted. Korpi would be in the pen for a long time, so it paid to get along with him, which is precisely why Salo had tried to arrange things beforehand.
Korpi stepped inside and slammed the heavy steel door behind him. The doors weren’t locked during the day. Korpi tossed his bag onto the top bunk. He snatched the guitar by the neck and swung it hard against the metal frame of the bed. The instrument splintered in one hit. “Fucking junkie,” he hissed, as he emptied the man’s things onto the lower bunk.
Next up would be to find out which of his friends were on the block, and in that respect, this was a good place to be. Sometimes referred to as “Little Tallinn,” the Estonian inmates held court along the gable end. There would likely be some familiar faces over there.
In any case, he had a meeting with Martin in the afternoon. Korpi’s thoughts had crystallized overnight. He knew now what had gone wrong, and what he had to do.
* * *
At his computer, Takamäki was reading reports on last night’s events. A few robberies had occurred in the early part of the evening, but nothing very serious. It had been almost noon before he made it to the station. The rest of the team had the day off, which is why they had chosen the previous day for the Christmas party.
Takamäki registered a movement out of the corner of his eye. Suhonen had walked past the door.
“Suhonen,” Takamäki called after him.
Suhonen returned to the door with a smile. “Look who actually made it in.”
“Well, I’m supposed to be here. You have the day off, so what’s your excuse?”
“Just figured I’d go to the gym and check some emails. Those finance detectives invited me to play
on their hockey team, and I couldn’t remember when the game started.”
“You taking up hockey?”
“Sure. Back in Lahti I played till I was sixteen. Haven’t skated much since, but it’ll be interesting to see how it goes.”
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