Cold Trail hh-4

by Jarkko Sipila

  Takamäki thought Suhonen was asking the right questions. “Let’s not jump to any conclusions. Let’s see what Forensics turns up. We’re not even certain that Repo has been inside Karppi’s house.”

  “Wanna bet?” Suhonen asked.

  “No,” the lieutenant replied. “I want to eat my cold soup.”

  Takamäki managed to take two spoonfuls before his phone rang again. Suhonen smiled.

  It was Solberg from the Espoo Police.

  “Can you talk?” Solberg asked, like he normally did.

  “Eating lunch,” Takamäki replied in a tired voice.

  “Then I can probably bother you for a second,” Solberg said aggressively.

  Takamäki disagreed, but he still answered, “Well?”

  “Those surveillance camera images-when are you going to get them to me, and why the hell can’t you just email them?”

  Goddammit, Takamäki thought. How was he going to explain this one?

  “What’s the status of the forensic investigation of that car and the house?”

  There was a momentary silence at the other end.

  “How about you let me ask the questions. This is a crime being investigated by the Espoo Police, and you’re in possession of evidence we need. No doubt you’ve acquired those images lawfully, so it would be best if you’d deliver them here before we need to turn this into a bigger deal than it is.”

  Takamäki tried to calm him. “Listen, Solberg. Don’t forget to breathe.”

  “Are you fucking with me? If you want, I’ll get a warrant from my lieutenant, and we’ll come over to Pasila right this second.”

  “Take it easy. You might not be grasping the whole picture here.”

  “I’m grasping it perfectly goddamn well. There’s something sketchy about this Manner case, and I’m going to get to the bottom of it.”

  Takamäki strongly doubted Solberg’s ability to do so, especially since he wasn’t going to be allowed to get involved. He tried to think of a way to calm the guy down. He glanced at Suhonen, who was pretending to concentrate on his coffee but was listening to every word.

  Takamäki came up with a solution that would at least buy him some time. “I’ll bring the photos in an hour, if nothing acute comes up in the manhunt.”

  “I’m glad you’re coming to your senses,” Solberg said victoriously. “I’ll wait.”

  Takamäki didn’t bother telling him he’d be waiting for a long time; he just hung up. Then he looked at Suhonen, who gestured at the coffee cup in front of Takamäki.

  “That’s still hot,” Suhonen smirked.

  Takamäki tasted his lukewarm soup and decided to leave the rest.

  “That was that guy from Espoo I was telling Nykänen about.”

  Suhonen nodded. “Somehow I figured.”

  “The guy’s incorrigible. Hell, how can I explain something to him that I’m not allowed to talk about? He’ll probably suspect some conspiracy if he’s told to drop the case.”

  “I know the type,” Suhonen said, still smiling.

  Takamäki gave his grinning subordinate a questioning look.

  “He’s just like you,” Suhonen said.

  Takamäki was stunned. “But when I…”

  Suhonen laughed out loud.

  “Goddammit,” Takamäki said, joining in the laughter.

  “But Suhonen, remember that we have an escaped convict on the loose who we have cause to suspect of another homicide.”

  Suhonen couldn’t stop laughing. “And a few beer thieves to find, too. It’s not easy being a criminal investigator. I should probably transfer to the Auto Theft unit.”

  * * *

  The forensic investigators were wearing white paper overalls. There had been no need to discuss tactics, because Joutsamo had pronounced Karppi dead. Kannas had ordered a slow approach, which meant that the body would be examined last.

  The scene had been photographed starting from the door, and afterwards the investigators had started combing the floor inch by inch. Joutsamo’s footprints had been taken too, so they could later be distinguished from those of any potential suspects. Kannas knew that Joutsamo’s DNA sample was already in the database, so it would also be possible to look it up later. Joutsamo had said that she had only touched the door, the sheet covering the deceased, and the deceased himself.

  Kannas had seen hundreds of old people’s houses like this, usually in cause-of-death investigations where no crime was involved. In those instances, the investigation was significantly easier. The police showed up and did a superficial examination of the scene. The house was only investigated more thoroughly if the medical examiner decided there was any ambiguity involved.

  A couple of younger investigators were combing the floor. Kannas’ knees were in such bad shape that he left the floor work to others. He dusted powder on the door and looked for prints. When he found them, he used tape to transfer the print to paper. Then he documented the precise location where he found each print.

  Many death scenes smelled atrocious, with papers, garbage, bottles, and moldy food piled up to the investigators’ ankles in addition to the decomposing body. This was different: very tidy, even if the decor was heavily indicative of the fifties. The family had probably been established and the furniture bought back then. Old people weren’t big on change.

  Kannas moved inside after finishing the door, once the techs crawling along the floor had moved onward. The area around the light switch was usually good. This time was no exception. The problem here appeared to be that the majority of prints that he had found so far resembled each other. In all likelihood they were from the deceased. Of course he couldn’t say for sure yet, because even the dead had ten fingers, with a different print on each one.

  The techs put the strands of hair and other items they found into zip-lock bags and documented the exact spot where each had been discovered.

  This is going to take hours, Kannas thought. But there was no rush. Least of all for the deceased, who was the customer in this case. Kannas liked doing the dead one last service. If someone had taken another person’s life, the living should do everything in their power to figure out who the killer was.

  The techs had split up. The one on the left circled around toward the living room while the other one continued on toward the body. They should probably take a break soon. Working on all fours was hard on the knees and the back. If anyone knew that, Kannas did. The tech who was closer to the body had about ten more feet to go.

  If there was evidence of the killer in the house, Forensics would find it. That had been clear from the start. Tying their findings to suspects was Takamäki’s team’s job.

  CHAPTER 16

  WEDNESDAY, 4:57 P.M.

  HELSINKI POLICE HEADQUARTERS, PASILA

  The meeting had been set for five. Kannas had promised preliminary results by then. Suhonen entered the conference room, where Takamäki, Joutsamo, and Kohonen, the pull-up champ, were already waiting.

  “Wow, you’re on time,” Kohonen said.

  Suhonen grinned and made some remark about showing up late usually paying off, because meetings normally began with pointless chit-chat. He joined the others around the gray table-top.

  “Didn’t find him out in Malmi?” Suhonen asked.

  Joutsamo shook her head.

  “That Riihimäki thing,” Joutsamo began, giving a Takamäki a glance. “We can probably talk about that for a second before we begin the meeting proper.”

  Takamäki was amenable to the suggestion.

  Joutsamo gave the background. “So about that case where Repo got life. Something about it just doesn’t click. The entire investigation aimed solely at Repo being the only possible perpetrator. And I think there’s something really wrong there.”

  “Brief explanation,” Takamäki said.

  Joutsamo raised her thumb. “One. The act was extremely cruel. Repo’s wife’s throat was slit from the front in such a way that the killer saw her face.”

  A forefinger rose
up next to Joutsamo’s thumb. “Two. None of the neighbors heard any fighting to speak of that night.”

  Middle finger. “Three. They weren’t troubled alcoholics, who had gone off the deep end; it was a family with a young child where both of the parents had jobs.”

  Ring finger. “I’ve read all of the preliminary investigation reports and court verdicts, but nowhere is there a mention of a possible motive.”

  Joutsamo’s pinky rose last of all. “And on top of all that, you take into account that the police were informed of the homicide by some external party while the woman was lying dead in the kitchen and the husband in all likelihood passed out in bed. The call didn’t come from the apartment. In other words, something stinks here. And I’d say pretty bad.” Joutsamo’s gaze circled her colleagues, seeking support, but no one responded immediately. “Well, at a minimum. it wasn’t a clear-cut case like that asinine lieutenant in Riihimäki claimed.”

  Kohonen glanced at Takamäki before jumping in. “I agree. There’s something weird about the case. It doesn’t add up.”

  Suhonen shrugged. “Of course you’re more familiar with the paperwork, but the truth is that the motive in those domestic violence cases can be incredibly minor. Something the other person said or did two months earlier that’s been eating at the killer. Then when they get enough liquor in them and they’re not thinking so straight, it just happens.”

  Joutsamo looked at Suhonen. “But who called the police?”

  “What time did it happen?” Suhonen asked, continuing without waiting for an answer: “Where did the wife work? Was she supposed to be somewhere at some time, and someone who knew her called the police?”

  Joutsamo laughed. “That’s pretty…”

  Suhonen interrupted her. “If you’re fixated on that innocence theory, that’s just as bad as the Riihimäki police being stuck on the guilt theory, but you have to understand that this thing isn’t based solely on the police investigation. Both the district court and the appeals court found the guy guilty of murder.”

  Kulta came in. “Sorry, couldn’t get off the phone.”

  Takamäki rubbed his face. Discord was the last thing he needed in his team.

  “I think Anna’s approach in that old case is something we should definitely follow up on, but only once Repo is back in prison.”

  “Okay, I’ll write up a memo,” Joutsamo said, but didn’t bother to add that she had already sent the evidence she had got from the Riihimäki police station in for DNA analysis. The question she had posed to the lab was simple: whose DNA was on it?

  “Karppi’s death makes the hunt for Repo top priority,” Takamäki continued. “Karila promised us more resources, as long as we figure out where we need them and can use them. The number one question is, do we have definite proof that Repo has been in Karppi’s home?”

  All eyes turned toward Joutsamo. “I don’t know.”

  Big, burly Kannas appeared at the door. “Hey,” he said with a smile. “Definite proof of what?”

  Takamäki looked at his old patrol partner. “Glad you could make it.”

  “What do we need definite proof of?” Kannas repeated.

  Before Joutsamo could say anything, Takamäki continued. “A simple question: has Repo been inside Karppi’s home?”

  “A simple answer to a simple question: yes.”

  “Can you elaborate?”

  “But…I only give simple answers to simple questions,” Kannas said.

  Takamäki tried to smile, but it was forced. “Could you give us a little more information-explain in a little greater detail?”

  “Fingerprints?”

  “Yes,” Takamäki said, in a tone of feigned friendliness.

  Kannas sighed. “Of course. A fingerprint is a unique identifier made up of patterns formed on the skin of an individual’s finger. They have been utilized in criminal investigations since the 1890s. The first fingerprint…”

  “Not now,” Takamäki interrupted with a smile. “Not now. Just give us the information.”

  Kannas glanced at the others and realized that it might be best to get down to business.

  “All right. Let’s fast-forward 120 years into Karppi’s house. Timo Repo’s fingerprints were found there in several locations. We can’t tell when he was there or for how long, but he was definitely there. Prints were found on the dining room and kitchen tables, the couch’s wooden backrest, the coffee maker, and in the bathroom. Based on this, we can deduce that he wasn’t there just for a quick visit. And yes… Those prints can’t be eight years old, because the house has been cleaned regularly. And, it’s not likely that Karppi had sworn off coffee for that long, either.”

  “What can you tell us about the body?”

  The mood seemed somehow tense, so Kannas decided to stick to the facts.

  “The body is at the medical examiner’s office, so they will provide more detailed analyses, but it was lying next to the dining table, and there was blood and hair on the corner of the table. A naked-eye estimate: I’d say the gray color of the hair matches the hair on Karppi’s head.”

  “So he hit his head on the table.” Takamäki said. It was more of a statement than a question.

  “Yes, it’s pretty rare for a table to hit someone in the head,” Kannas jibed, but the joke flopped. “There were no substances on the floor that would directly indicate slipping. The deceased’s medical history is unknown, so it’s impossible to say whether he had a propensity for fainting or some other condition that could have caused the incident.”

  Takamäki looked at Kannas. “So at this point we know that Repo was inside the home at some point and that Karppi hit his head against the table for one reason or another.”

  “The cause of death will be revealed during the autopsy,” Kannas said. “I’d estimate the time of death to be morning, maybe between nine and eleven. It’s also possible that he had a heart attack and lost his balance and… Well, there’s no point speculating. The guys are combing through Repo’s dad’s house now, and after that we’ll take a look at that car Joutsamo found down the street, the one stolen from the swimming pool. They promised to call right away if the prints matched Repo’s.”

  “Was there a cell phone or landline in Karppi’s house?”

  Kannas thought for a second. “There was a cordless phone in the living room, but we didn’t find a cell phone.”

  “I’ll find out whether he had one,” Kohonen announced.

  “Let’s get the info on calls made from the landline just in case Repo used it,” Joutsamo continued.

  Takamäki thanked Kannas and added, “So the situation is that we have reason to suspect Timo Repo of homicide. Of course it’s also possible that an outsider had been there, but Repo remains our main line of investigation. We’ll decide on the classification of the crime once we have more facts, but as of now we’re looking at murder.”

  The others nodded.

  “And one more thing. Up till this point, our efforts have earned us an F-minus . Let’s try and do a little better.”

  “What about the press?” Joutsamo asked.

  Several reporters had asked about Repo’s hunt that day.

  “I’m still working on that,” Takamäki said.

  * * *

  The wipers swept the sleet from the car’s windshield. Suhonen was waiting at a red light at the corner of North Shore Drive and Maneesi Street. It wasn’t an intersection per se; it was a pedestrian crossing signal. A revolving ad display circled lazily in front of a red-and-yellow brick structure dating from 1840, North Shore Drive 18. Liisa Park was on the right, and behind it stood the War Museum. Suhonen had read somewhere that this was Helsinki’s Jugendstil architecture atits best.

  No one picked up, and Suhonen tossed the phone onto the gray passenger seat. Goddammit, Salmela! Okay, it was possible that his SIM card could have expired by now.

  The lights changed, and Suhonen stepped on the gas.

  He hadn’t felt like hanging around the station, where everyon
e seemed down about their zero-result manhunt. When a case didn’t move forward, police had too much time to think. That’s when it was better to go out onto the streets and see if you could find something there.

  Suhonen had been tooling around Kallio and Sörnäinen, hoping that he would accidentally run into a familiar face. Someone who would be able to tell him something. He had popped into six different bars for a coffee, and now he had to piss like nobody’s business.

  On the right, at the corner of North Shore Drive sand Kirkko Street, rose a handsome building with a tall, round corner tower. It was designed by Theodor Höijer in the 1880s. Suhonen had once staked out one of the sailboats in the nearby marina from in front of this residence and remembered the street-side plaque well. It stated that the lindens fronting the building had been planted by the ambassador of Imperial Japan in the autumn of 1943 as an emblem of the friendship between the peoples of Japan and Finland.

  A little further up Kirkko Street stood the Ministry of the Interior. Maybe they’d let him use the bathroom if he flashed his badge. Then he’d be able to say that for once the ministry had offered genuine assistance to an officer in the field.

  Suhonen’s second phone rang. “Yeah?”

  “Is that Suikkanen?”

  “Is that Juha?”

  “No, it’s Scarlet Pimpernel.”

  “Huh,” Suhonen growled. “What the fuck?”

  “‘Is that Juha?’ sounded like code language, is all. My code name could be Scarlet Pimpernel from here on out.”

  “I’ll give you a scarlet nose if you don’t get to the point.”

  At the corner of Customs Square, Suhonen turned the car from the North Shore Drive extension onto Alexander Street. He passed a low, one-story brick building on the right.

  “I’ve got an address,” Saarnikangas croaked.

  “For Repo?”

  “I think he’s there.”

  “What is it?”

  Saarnikangas cleared his throat. “Hmm, system’s kind of shutting down here, short-term memory loss. Early onset of Alzheimer’s.”

  “Stop using so much junk,” Suhonen growled, turning his car onto Maria Street. On the right, up ahead, was Maria Street 9, which stood out from the street’s other, older, more beautiful buildings. It was a corrugated metal structure built in the sixties. The only good thing about it was the Ace of Spades karaoke bar, the premier karaoke bar in Finland, where not just anybody dared to take the mic.