Nothing but the Truth hh-3

by Jarkko Sipila

  The clock in the Peugeot showed 8:36 when yet another vehicle pulled up to the curb: a matte black American muscle car. Kulta knew the model, a 1974 Chevy Nova.

  The car was parked about a hundred and fifty feet from the Peugeot with its front bumper concealed so Kulta couldn’t make out the plates. The two men inside gave no indication of getting out. Kohonen had noticed the car too.

  “Should we go have a look?” she said, already out the door. Kulta brought up the rear.

  Both officers made sure their coats were open and checked their guns in their shoulder holsters. Despite freezing temperatures, neither felt particularly cold with their bulletproof vests on.

  The Chevy was parked about a hundred feet past the entrance to the Lehtonens’ building, and the detectives breezed past to the whir of camera shutters. Kohonen signaled one of the patrol officers to come too, and the entourage of cameramen tailed along.

  At fifty feet, Kulta began to make out the men’s faces. The guy in the passenger seat had sunken cheeks and bad skin. His hair was long, and he had a small mustache. Kulta felt a glimmer of recognition, but couldn’t quite place the man’s face.

  Then it came to him.

  “Careful,” he said. The one in the passenger seat was Butch Willer, previously Pekka Viljamaa. The details of the name change were unimportant at the moment. What was important was the fact that Willer was a member of the Skulls, a hard-core organized crime ring fronting as a motorcycle gang.

  “They’re Skulls,” said Kulta as he drew his pistol. “I got the passenger side, you take the driver.”

  Kohonen and the other officer drew their weapons and sidestepped to the other side of the car.

  The officer who’d been posted in front of the building came running up to shoo off the cameras. “Move away! Now!”

  The herd took a few steps back, but the shutters kept clicking.

  “Out of the car!” bellowed Kulta loud enough for the gangsters to hear. “Get out! Slowly!”

  Inside, the two men glanced at each other and nodded. They opened the doors and stepped out slowly. Both had on gang vests over long-sleeved black T-shirts.

  “Show me your hands!” Kulta ordered.

  “What is this?” protested Willer in his shrill voice as he got out. Kulta didn’t respond, just kept his gun trained on Willer. The patrol officer came up from the side, and with one swift movement, threw the man to the ground, wrenched his arms behind his back and clapped the cuffs on. Kulta turned to the second gangster on the other side of the car-he was already in cuffs as well.

  “What the hell,” said Willer from the sidewalk, his voice loud enough that the reporters could hear. “We didn’t do anything. All we’re doing is protecting Lehtonen cuz the cops can’t do it. We’re no criminals.”

  “Shut up!” shouted Kulta. He swapped his gun for a phone and called for a patrol car to take these goons away-the one already on site was for security detail only.

  One of the reporters took a couple wary steps toward Willer. “Did I hear you say you guys are Lehtonen’s bodyguards?”

  “That’s right. The police can’t do it, so someone has to.”

  The patrol officer glanced over at Kulta, who was still talking on the phone. He decided to break it up himself, “Okay, that’s enough. Press conference is over.”

  “Can I ask who’s paying you?” said the reporter, the cameras whirring all around.

  “Mari Lehtonen, of course,” said Willer. “She doesn’t trust the police.”

  “That’s enough!” shouted the officer.

  Kulta hung up the phone and came to his aid.

  “Media, move back,” he ordered, but nobody listened. The thought of pulling out his gun crossed his mind, but he suppressed it quickly.

  “Are the police so incapable of protecting Lehtonen that she has to pay gangsters to do the job?” stammered one reporter.

  Kulta was getting very annoyed, but he managed to stay calm.

  “Can you tell us what the reason is for this arrest?”

  “Now there’s a good question,” said Willer from the sidewalk. “I’d like to know, too!”

  Kulta tuned out the racket. His eyes scanned the surrounding area for more thugs. The Skulls weren’t exactly known for their bodyguards. Body counts was more like it. These two may well have been sent here on a hit.

  Kulta’s eyes were drawn to the entrance of the apartment building, where two figures were exiting-Mari and Laura-apparently going somewhere. The two peered over at the ruckus before veering off in the opposite direction.

  Shit, thought Kulta. If he started chasing them now, he’d drag the reporters and cameras along, but if he stayed here the Lehtonens would be sitting ducks, which was out of the question.

  “Uhh,” Kulta hesitated. “I have to make a call here. Officer, uh…” he glanced at the name tag on the beat officer’s shirt pocket. “…Räsänen can field your questions.”

  Räsänen looked at Kulta with desperation in his eyes. Kulta gave a quick nod as he motioned for Kohonen to follow him.

  “So why are we being arrested?” Willer bellowed from the sidewalk. “We haven’t done anything wrong!”

  “Yes, can you tell us the reason for this arrest?” the reporter yelled after the detectives as they hurried off.

  Räsänen peered after Kulta and Kohonen. “Uhhh, well…it’s a question of public safety and keeping the peace,” he stammered.

  The other beat cop led the second Skull out of the road and set him down next to Willer.

  “That’s right, public safety and keeping the peace,” he repeated.

  By then, Kulta and Kohonen were about twenty yards behind the Lehtonens. Once around the corner, they picked up the pace. Wailing sirens were drawing near. Backup for Räsänen was on the way. The situation there was under control.

  Kulta turned to Kohonen, “Laura’s probably on the way to school,” he said. They picked up the pace once more and finally caught up.

  “Morning,” said Kulta. “We’re from the Helsinki Police. We’ll be helping you out today.”

  “We don’t need any help,” said Mari coldly. Laura wore a red knit hat, jacket, and had a book bag slung over her shoulder. She stayed close to her mother.

  “In any case, we’ll be looking after you. I’m Mikko Kulta and this here’s Kirsi Kohonen.”

  “Fine,” said Lehtonen. “Same rules as before then. Stay at least thirty feet away at all times.”

  “As you wish.”

  “So what was that all about back there?” asked Mari.

  Kulta smiled. “Well, in order to establish a monopoly on your protection we have to squeeze out the gangsters.”

  “Gangsters, huh?” said Mari.

  “That’s right. On your payroll, apparently.”

  “I’m not paying anybody. My ex-husband called yesterday and said a few of his friends wanted to look after me. I told him it makes no difference to me.”

  Her impudence was beginning to grate on Kohonen. “Don’t you think you could have at least let us know?”

  Lehtonen glared at the redheaded policewoman. “I didn’t ask you to come. It really makes no difference to me. Thirty feet, please.”

  “Are we headed for the school?” said Kulta.

  Mari nodded curtly, annoyed by the fact that her day wasn’t shaping up to be so normal after all.

  Kulta hurried ahead, and Kohonen dropped back to a distance of thirty feet.

  * * *

  Takamäki was in the VCU break room reading the news on teletext, a text-based news service on TV. The headline read, Conditions Reach Boiling Point for Threatened Witness.

  The lieutenant read the article: An incident occurred this morning on Porvoo Street near the residence of the same murder witness targeted in yesterday’s attempted bomb strike. Police arrested two gang members in front of the building, one of whom told reporters on the scene that the threatened witness had paid them as bodyguards because the police weren’t fit for the job. The Helsinki VCU has not
commented on the incident.

  Further down were two headlines in different colored fonts. Interior Minister: “We’re looking into the matter.” Minister of Justice: “Improvements are forthcoming.” Takamäki couldn’t bring himself to care.

  VCU Chief Karila came into the room and poured himself a cup of coffee. “Have you looked at Ilta-Sanomat’s site yet? They posted the pics already. Kulta pointing a gun at the gangsters.”

  “I haven’t looked,” said Takamäki, not that he had any desire.

  “What about these two Skulls?”

  “In jail. Both claim they were paid to protect Lehtonen. We didn’t find any weapons in the vehicle. According to Kulta, Lehtonen says her ex set it up.”

  “What about our bomber? Ahola.”

  “We searched all night. Suhonen and Kulta probably raided upwards of twenty apartments with no result. Of course, it sent a message that working with Ahola right now isn’t too smart.”

  Karila sipped his coffee. “This is turning into quite the farce.”

  “It already is. I think Kulta said it best on the phone: ‘It’s all a downhill slide from here.’”

  “What’s the situation with the Lehtonens?”

  “Kohonen’s covering Laura at school. Kulta’s waiting in the lobby at Mari’s work.”

  Karila paused for a while. “Skoog called.”

  “Sounds ominous.”

  Karila shrugged. “I don’t know. He got this idea from some psychologist that we should bring Mari into prison to meet Korpi. That way he could see that the target of his hate is just an ordinary woman. It’s called cognitive behavioral therapy, the idea being that Korpi would learn to monitor himself by managing his emotions.”

  “You’re telling me a psychologist recommended this? Have you read Korpi’s psychological assessment? It says right there the man is incapable

  of empathy. I think by definition that rules out any sort of mediation.”

  “I don’t know. Might be something to it,” said Karila. Obviously, he had made his decision. All he wanted now was to get Takamäki on board. “Skoog says we’re moving more toward mediations, where face-to-face meetings with victims can prevent repeat offenses. According to this psychologist, human interaction is the best way to resolve any crisis. The idea is for Korpi to learn to control his own violent behavior and take responsibility for it.”

  “I see. And you buy into this?”

  “They’ll meet in a controlled environment. Maybe Korpi will see that it was nothing personal, she was just doing her civic duty-just part of the system. That’s what he needs to understand.”

  “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.