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 little 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 w
ith 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.”
“Okay. Set up a meeting between Kafka and me for around five and we’ll all meet at five-thirty for a full briefing.”
“Got it,” said Karila. “Sounds good.”
Takamäki slipped his phone into his coat pocket and strode back to the table. Just as he was about to ask if everything was alright, he stopped himself. Saarni was explaining the objective of mediation. “…the goal is to reach a point where everybody has something to gain. A win-win situation.”
Lehtonen eyed the psychologist. “So what would a win-situation look like for me?”
“Well, for the threats to stop,” said Saarni with
a smile.
“Okay, so my life goes back to where it was before this whole thing started. But what would the win-situation be for Korpi, then?”
“That he see the bigger picture and comprehend it. And stop the threats.”
Lehtonen was stupefied. She looked from Joutsamo to Takamäki. “You can’t be serious. Geez. How can you talk about a win-win situation when nobody’s winning anything. I’m going home.”
“Hold on, Mari,” said Takamäki. “Right now, it’s lose-lose. You’re right. But if we can use this to rally back to even-lose, where you’re back at zero and Korpi’s the loser, then isn’t it worth a try? I’m not saying it’ll work, but since we’re already here I think we should see it through, don’t you? The only other option we can offer you is the safe house.”
Lehtonen looked at Takamäki. Her blue purse rested in her lap. “Well, since we’re already here.”
Saarni had little to add. “A positive attitude is important. The goal is simply to communicate and understand,” she managed.
Mari was about to snap at her again, but Takamäki set his hand on her shoulder and she checked herself.
A prison guard opened the door and glanced inside without a word. A couple of seconds later Korpi walked in followed by another guard, Salo.
Salo escorted Korpi, who was dressed in brown prison coveralls, to the opposite side of the table. Mari Lehtonen sat between Joutsamo and Saarni. Takamäki remained standing behind them. The burly guards stood further off.
Korpi’s bald head drew even more attention to his piercing eyes, which wandered from one person to the next. He began with Lehtonen. “Three of hearts. Phh.”
He went on to Saarni. “Two of diamonds.”
Joutsamo was ten of diamonds, and Takamäki, jack of clubs.
Saarni played along. “And what would you be?”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, it would nice to know so we can start
the game.”
Takamäki was certain he’d drop the ace of spades, the toughest card in the deck, but he blindsided them. “A joker. I’m whatever I want. A couple days ago I was a two of hearts. Couldn’t even stand up to that three over there,” he stared at Lehtonen. “But I’m wild… Right now I could be anything.”
The guy’s not dumb, thought Takamäki.
Korpi sat calmly with his hands folded on the table. Nobody said a word for at least ten seconds until Korpi spoke up again. “So I understand that you all wanted to meet. I know Lehtonen, Joutsamo and Takamäki, but who are you?” he asked the two of diamonds.
“Maija Saarni. I’m a psychologist.”
Korpi sniffed. “A police psychologist.”
“Correct.”
“Well, just as I figured. The cops would never trust any shrink but their own. What do you want?” he said with a smug look. “I got plenty of time.”
Takamäki gazed at the gang boss in his prison duds. What a smug bastard. Korpi wasn’t stupid. He just wanted to play games and flaunt his so-called intelligence. The thought of abruptly calling off the meeting occurred to Takamäki. Saarni clearly didn’t have any experience with hardened criminals if she was playing along with Korpi’s games and letting a criminal set the tone. On the other hand, she had gotten him to talk. A few months ago, the gang boss had been impenetrable in police interrogations.
“We’d just like to talk,” said Saarni. “About our situation.”
“What situation?”
She took a firmer approach. “Don’t play dumb with me. You’re not fooling anybody. You know exactly what I’m talking about.”
Korpi didn’t like her tone of voice, especially coming from someone he’d ranked as a two of diamonds. Nobody of that rank got the better of him. “I do? Well, let’s see. I’m an innocent man doing life in prison. The last few days I’ve spent in the hole because apparently I pose some kind of risk. So I hope you don’t mind if I don’t know much of anything right now.”
Takamäki felt like saying that in that case all was well, but it wouldn’t be constructive. A positive attitude was important, and the only way he could think of to be positive was to keep his mouth shut.
“What we do know is that you’ve been convicted. I can’t really comment on the rest. I’m a psychologist, not a lawyer.”
Takamäki and Joutsamo looked on with their mouths agape. Whoa, what was this woman trying to pull? Was she throwing the verdict into question or baiting him? Mari Lehtonen’s face was expressionless. She just stared straight ahead at Korpi.
“Allow me to comment, then,” said Korpi. “The only thing I’m guilty of was being in the car with that idiot Nyberg when he went and shot Salmela without telling me. I had no idea what he was planning. If I had, I’d have gotten him another driver.”
“So Nyberg screwed up?” said Saarni.
“Nyberg screwed up because he is a screwup. That’s why I’m serving a sixteen-year sentence.”
This last comment earned a smile from Takamäki. Sixteen years was hardly enough for Korpi.
“What is your relationship to Nyberg?”
Korpi stiffened. “What’s that supposed to mean?” he said, his eyes narrowing to slits. “What…is this an interrogation? You pigs record everything. You probably wanna use this against me in appeals….son of a bitch!”
Takamäki’s eyes shifted to the three guards. The two armed guards were still standing off a ways, and Salo stood to the right.
“This has nothing to do with your appeal. I’m looking for the object of your hatred,” said Saarni. “What is it?”
Korpi looked at her with a baffled expression. “All of you…don’t you see? The whole fucking system. Every one of you put me in a cage for life,” he said. His finger swept from Takamäki to Joutsamo. “These dirty pigs were prejudiced from the very beginning. Everything against me they took into account, and everything in my favor was ignored. I already said it in court, but you still don’t get it. How can you think I’d be dumb enough to drive on a stupid hit job like that? Just think about it. To collect a few thousand euros, okay, I’ll drive. But a hit job? Hell no. I got enough fucking money to…”
Takamäki wanted to ask where the money was now. In court, Korpi had mentioned a 400-euro TV which had now ballooned into a three-thousand-euro debt. Yet another mark of his lies.
Saarni’s game was beginning to dawn on Takamäki. She was going through the objects of Korpi’s hatred. As much as he seemed to hate himself, he’d never admit it. So his hate always needed a surrogate, and this time it was Mari Lehtonen.
“You remember Mari Lehtonen from the trial, right?” said Saarni.
“That’s right,” said Korpi, turning toward Lehtonen. “Pretty damn good memory you’ve got for a three of hearts. Pretty convincing show you put on, too, when Martin put you on the spot.”
“Let’s try to stick to the subject,” said Saarni. “What did Mari do wrong?”
Nothing but the Truth hh-3 Page 23