Cold Trail hh-4

by Jarkko Sipila

  Takamäki didn’t answer. If Repo wanted to talk, let him talk.

  “Somehow it all bubbled up that weekend when Dad’s funeral was coming up, and I read in the paper that Fredberg had become the chief justice. I had really trusted the appeals court and overall system. I thought, OK, district court sentences can be sort of be based on whim, but I thought the appeals courts actually had better judges. But there was just this goddamn asshole who doesn’t even know how to do his job,” Repo said. “See, the only thing you learn in prison is how to hate.”

  “Why did your dad kill your wife?”

  “I don’t know. He never told me the exact reason. Some argument,” Repo said.

  “And your father didn’t want to take responsibility later either, even though he knew he was dying?”

  “He didn’t want to die. According to the hospital papers, he demanded the best care. He was probably afraid he’d be left in a prison cell to rot. Like what happened to me. After Arja died, I had two paths ahead of me: life with my son or prison. The authorities chose prison for me. Thanks a fucking lot.”

  Takamäki was mildly horrified. It was good that Repo told him his story, because it brought them closer together. Takamäki had a better chance of influencing Repo’s choices. There was also something troubling about the way things were headed, though. Repo was telling him things he hadn’t ever told anyone before, and was up in the red zone of his emotional barometer again.

  “You said in your last phone call that judges were supposed to ensure that justice is served, not be an extension of the state bureaucracy. I agree with you.”

  Repo laughed drily. “You’re telling me. My case is a perfect example, and hopefully it will be remembered. But listen, Takamäki, I’ll be watching you on TV at six. After that, I’ll decide what I’m going to do.”

  “Follow your head, not your feelings,” Takamäki said. “And call me first. Do you have my number?”

  “Yeah, I can see it here on the phone.”

  “You’re a unique case who can do some good for the system.”

  “Bullshit, I’m not unique in any way. Open your eyes and ears, man.”

  Takamäki feinted once again. “You promise to call?”

  “Ha! I promise to look into whether I can call,” Repo retorted. “Oh yeah, one more thing. I didn’t kill Karppi. I was there, but he fell and hit his head by himself,” Repo said and hung up.

  Takamäki reflected on the call. Good or bad?

  CHAPTER 21

  THURSDAY, 6:00 A.M.

  LAUTTASAARI, HELSINKI

  The morning TV broadcast began with the show’s soothing theme music. Takamäki couldn’t hear the sound, but he could see the show’s intro graphics on the monitor that had been set up next to the satellite van.

  Wearing a black leather jacket, the reporter Sanna Römpötti was holding a large umbrella at Takamäki’s side. In front of them stood cameraman Ike Karhunen, his large camera wrapped in plastic and trained on them. Karhunen had also set up lights, which initially made Takamäki squint. The lights would of course be visible from the besieged house, but Takamäki had allowed their use.

  Römpötti had explained beforehand how the beginning of the broadcast would go. The anchor would kick things off at the studio, but the broadcast would quickly shift to Lauttasaari, with Römpötti answering a few of the anchor’s questions. Takamäki’s turn would come a few minutes later.

  Takamäki gazed silently at the monitor-the host was talking. The text “Supreme Court Chief Justice Held Hostage” appeared on the screen. That made the incident major news. If Repo had kidnapped, say, his former lawyer, that also would have been news, but nothing on this scale.

  Römpötti appeared on the screen and answered the first question that she’d heard through her ear mic.

  “The situation here at Lauttasaari is very serious. Timo Repo, a convicted murderer who escaped from prison a few days ago, has barricaded himself in that house there behind me,” Römpötti reported, gesturing toward the stand of trees. “He is holding the chief justice of the Supreme Court hostage. Let’s take a look at some footage of how the situation developed here over the early-morning hours.”

  Material that had been shot earlier that night was shown on the monitors. Römpötti had presumably edited the clip in the satellite van.

  Römpötti turned toward Takamäki. “This will take a good sixty seconds. Then you’re on.”

  “So you’ll ask and I’ll answer.”

  “That’s usually the way it goes,” Römpötti smiled. “Shitty weather, huh?”

  “At least we have an umbrella. Those guys on the front line don’t.”

  Takamäki watched the footage of the siege. Pictures of the armored cars arriving and the medic copter waiting on the field were being shown when the cameraman announced that they would be continuing the live broadcast in ten seconds.

  Takamäki thought once more about Repo in the house. He was definitely watching the broadcast, because five minutes ago the radar man had announced that there was movement in the living room. After that, the sounds of the TV had been heard coming from the room. What would the hook be that would convince Repo to give in?

  “We’re back broadcasting live from Lauttasaari,” Römpötti announced into the mic, “where convicted murderer Timo Repo, who escaped last week, is holding Aarno Fredberg, the chief justice of the Supreme Court, hostage. The police operation here is being led by Detective Lieutenant Kari Takamäki of the Helsinki Police Department’s Violent Crimes Unit. Lieutenant Takamäki, what’s the latest status?”

  Takamäki kept his gaze on Römpötti. “Things are very calm at the moment, and have been for several hours now. In order to ensure the safety of the public, we have had to take precautionary measures of cordoning off a large area and rerouting Western Expressway traffic. Of course that’s going to cause a lot of headaches for commuters traveling from Espoo to downtown Helsinki.”

  “Have you established contact with Timo Repo?”

  “Yes,” Takamäki said, but did not elaborate.

  Römpötti was caught a little off guard by the one-word response, but recovered quickly. “What are his demands?”

  “Repo was sentenced to life in prison in 1999 for the murder of his wife. The Helsinki Police Department has, in conjunction with the escape investigation, conducted a preliminary review of that case, and there appear to be some anomalies in it.”

  Römpötti bit. “Anomalies? What do you mean?”

  Takamäki turned his gaze directly to the camera, so the words would be targeted personally to Repo.

  “The Kouvola Court of Appeals upheld Repo’s life sentence, but the case definitely demands a more detailed investigation.”

  “So Repo has, perhaps, been wrongly convicted?”

  Takamäki’s gaze stayed on the camera. “It’s very possible. The matter must be investigated in detail as soon as this situation here has been resolved.”

  “So an unprecedented situation?”

  “You could say that,” Takamäki said, turning back toward Römpötti.

  “Supreme Court chief justice Aarno Fredberg used to sit on the bench at the Kouvola Court of Appeals, and he was one of the judges that sentenced Repo to life in prison. Can we assume that there’s a connection here?”

  Takamäki nodded. “That is the case.”

  “What kinds of demands has Repo presented? How can this situation be resolved?”

  “The police are approaching the situation as calmly as possible. As I said earlier, we have been in contact with Timo Repo and negotiations are ongoing. The old case will be reinvestigated at a later time, and for right now the police are, of course, working toward a peaceful resolution.” Römpötti understood Takamäki’s tone of voice: it was time to end the interview, but she wanted to ask one more thing.

  “The police statement earlier read that Timo Repo was not considered particularly dangerous. Presumably that’s no longer the case?”

  Takamäki didn’t care for t
he question. “The police are seeking to resolve this in a peaceful manner and are continuing negotiations.”

  Römpötti turned toward the camera. “And so the siege that began last night here in Lauttasaari continues. Now back to the studio.”

  The morning host came back on screen. Photos of the judge appeared, quickly followed by clips from Römpötti’s recent interview with Fredberg.

  “Thanks,” Römpötti said to Takamäki. “Nice interview.”

  The cameraman turned off the lights.

  “Good,” answered Takamäki. “You might want to keep those cameras rolling and aimed at the house. Something might happen soon.”

  “What?”

  “If I only knew,” Takamäki said, as he strode off toward the lead van, twenty yards away. He heard Römpötti order Karhunen to keep the camera filming the house.

  He ran into Joutsamo outside the van. “Good interview, maybe,” she said. “Repo’s on the line. He called as soon as you went off the air. Said he’d hold until you made it to the phone.”

  Takamäki’s face was grave. “Okay, tell Turunen to get his men ready. We might be going in soon.”

  “The moment of truth?” Joutsamo asked.

  “The moment of doom.”

  “Helmikoski also got a pretty serious barrage of calls from the other media outlets. They want to move in closer from their cordon on Lauttasaari Road. In the name of equal treatment.”

  “That interview wasn’t journalism, it was a police operation. The message was intended solely for Repo.”

  “I know that,” Joutsamo said, as they reached the door of the lead car. “But explain it to them.”

  Takamäki’s phone rang. Blocked number. “Hello?” he answered.

  “Hi there, Mary J. Juvonen from Iltalehti...”

  Takamäki pressed the button marked with a red receiver.

  “Explain it to her if she calls back,” Takamäki said, handing the phone to Joutsamo. Takamäki stepped into the van, where Kirsi Kohonen was sitting. Joutsamo followed.

  “Hi,” his red-headed subordinate said. “Call for you.”

  Takamäki sat down on the seat of the van, took a deep breath, and picked up the receiver. “Hello.”

  “Hello, it’s Repo.”

  “Hi,” said Takamäki. At least the fugitive’s voice didn’t sound overly tense.

  “You did well on TV.”

  “Ha,” Takamäki grunted. “Good, if that’s what you thought. I hope you understand that I’m serious about this now.”

  “Yeah, I understand that, and I’d sincerely like to thank you for your empathy.”

  “After that publicity, your case and the two bureaucrats will definitely be investigated with a fine-toothed comb.”

  “That’s wonderful,” Repo said laconically. “Do you remember who Jorma Takala was?”

  Shivers went up Takamäki’s spine. “Of course.”

  “The explosion at the market square in Mikkeli twenty-one years ago changed a lot of things about the way police conduct their operations.”

  Takamäki knew what Repo was referring to. Takala had robbed a bank with a shotgun and dynamite in Helsinki, then taken hostages that he drove 130 miles north to Mikkeli. In the middle of the night, the police stormed the car, freeing two of the hostages. The officer shot Takala, but he still managed to detonate explosives killing himself and one hostage and injuring ten officers. This led to the police becoming much more cautious in hostage crises. Nowadays, the police always had time to wait, and the focus was on a peaceful resolution.

  “There always has to be a crisis before things change,” Repo continued. “Now that you told the country on TV how this situation came about, hopefully it will have a similar impact on the justice system that Takala had on the police. Judges should be the part of the system ensuring that justice is served, not an extension of the state bureaucracy. Maybe they’ll think a little harder about that after this.”

  Takamäki gave Joutsamo and Kohonen a concerned look. “Come on, don’t say that.”

  “Hey, Takamäki,” Repo said. “Listen to Johnny Cash’s song ‘Hurt’ once this is over. He’s an ex-con. After that, you’ll know how I feel.”

  “I…” Takamäki tried to interrupt.

  “I said, listen to the song when you get a chance. Johnny Cash, ‘Hurt.’ My English isn’t great, but the song starts off with lyrics saying that he has to hurt himself so he’ll know he’s alive. That’s the way it is in this case, too. Society needs to be hurt in order for it to function properly.”

  “Timo,” Takamäki raised his voice. “Don’t do anything foolish…”

  “I’m not going to do anything foolish. You have one minute to pull back all your officers. I don’t want to do them any harm. But the outcome is inevitable now.”

  “Give us two minutes so we can get everyone out from around the house,” Takamäki replied.

  “Okay,” Repo agreed. “And thanks.”

  Takamäki sighed and ended the call. Two minutes wasn’t much time.

  Turunen sprinted the fifteen-foot trip to the lead car. “Not looking good?”

  “No. Pull everyone back. Immediately.”

  The radio reported, “Movement in the house.”

  “And we’re not even going to try to go in there?”

  “No. Let’s minimize the damage. Not a single officer is going to die today. At least at Lauttasaari this morning. We have no choice.”

  Turunen took the radio and announced the order to pull back at least a hundred yards from the house.

  * * *

  Eronen had been manning the gun for twelve minutes when the radio announced that everyone was to retreat to at least a hundred yards. Saarinen was startled awake. The driver of the Pasi heard the command and revved up the vehicle’s diesel engines.

  The army sergeant at the wheel confirmed the order with the police officers: “Pull back?”

  Eronen looked at the house. There was no movement.

  “Yeah, follow the order,” Eronen replied, but at that very moment he saw the back door of the house opened. A man in black pajamas stepped out, or at least that’s what it looked like. He wasn’t wearing shoes. He took a few tentative steps and looked around.

  “Stop!” Eronen shouted, and the Pasi, which had just been rolling backwards, shuddered to a halt. Eronen opened the back door and hurled himself out. He was moving fast and slipped on the wet asphalt-his legs were stiff from crouching in the Pasi. He smacked his knee but leapt back up. Saarinen had already made it to his side. Eronen waved at the man who had emerged from the house, who darted toward the policeman.

  Eronen glanced at the house. It appeared peaceful. The man in the pajamas came running toward the police officers barefoot. He didn’t have any explosives strapped to him.

  Eronen was anxious about the imminent explosion and wondered if they’d make it back to the tank, or whether they should just hit the ground. If he climbed on top of the guy in the pajamas, the protective clothing would shield the other man too. Eronen now recognized him as the chief justice of the Supreme Court. Even though he had said all kinds of crap on TV, he still needed to be protected.

  Saarinen was the first one to make it to Fredberg and drag him along, forcing him to move faster. Eronen aimed his weapon at the house just in case Repo decided to come after them. No one did.

  “Faster!” Eronen yelled, turning to follow the other two. He caught up to them five yards from the tank, he was running right behind Fredberg. At least Eronen’s gear would protect the judge from any shrapnel.

  Eronen and Saarinen tossed Fredberg into the Pasi. The judge yelped as he banged his leg against the edge of the back hatch. Saarinen jumped in, and Eronen followed. The policemen slammed the hatches shut and ordered the sergeant to drive.

  Eronen was winded from the exertion, but he switched his ear mic to Talk. The man in the pajamas lay quietly on the floor of the armored vehicle. Saarinen was pointing his automatic weapon at him just in case.

  “A man
exited the house. Looks like the judge. We’ll bring him to the lead van.”

  “Please repeat,” Turunen said.

  “A man exited house just as we received the order to retreat. We took him into custody and have him in the vehicle,” Eronen said, taking a closer look at the man’s face. “This is Supreme Court chief justice Fredberg. Identification is positive,” Eronen continued, before turning off his mic.

  “Good,” Turunen said. “Everyone pull back. The target informed us that he will detonate soon. You have about 20 seconds.”

  * * *

  Römpötti was antsy. The morning show was interviewing some local politician about the westward extension of the subway, and it had taken a second call to the producer to get him to interrupt the interview. On screen, the morning host was rapidly repeating the news on the siege.

  “Our reporter Sanna Römpötti is at the scene. Sanna, what’s happening there now?”

  Römpötti was in the shot for the first two seconds, after which Karhunen shifted the camera to what interested people more.

  “The situation has developed dramatically here over the past few minutes. The police have retreated, and the tanks are on the move. According to eye witness accounts, someone exited the house, but those reports are still unconfirmed…”

  Römpötti’s sentence was interrupted by an enormous explosion. Flames burst out of the house’s windows, and the roof appeared to jump up a few feet before collapsing. Roof tiles showered down on the soccer field, with the nearest ones coming down fifty feet away. Heavy smoke rose from the corner of the house.

  The first one to say anything on the TV broadcast was the Green party politician whose microphone had remained on in the chaos. “Oh my god! How horrible!”

  The anchor rapidly took control of the situation, since she didn’t know if Römpötti was okay.

  “Viewers, you are watching a live broadcast of the dramatic end to a siege. A convict who escaped prison earlier this week took the chief justice of the Supreme Court hostage, an incident that evidently came to a conclusion in this explosion. We do not know if there are any casualties. Our reporter Sanna Römpötti is on the scene. Sanna, are you all right…? Sanna!”