Helsinki Homicide: Nothing but the Truth

by Jarkko Sipila

  Once the waitress left, there was a brief lull in the conversation and Suhonen took the opportunity. “Those white-collar crime detectives might actually make something of themselves one day.”

  “Yeah,” croaked Nykänen in his gravelly voice. “Heard you were giving them seminars on undercover work.”

  The others pricked up their ears. Suhonen hadn’t mentioned teaching any classes. “Yep, instead of pushing paper, the financial crimes guys are actually out there actively looking for cases. Makes sense to me. They were pretty interested in tailing and infiltration.”

  “Ha!” said Kulta. “What’d you teach ’em? How to infiltrate the fat cats on the rooftop bar of the Palace Hotel?”

  Suhonen laughed. “Sure, we touched on that too. But also how to get a job, say, on a construction site. Those guys actually have some interesting stories. Apparently, the gray market is really booming. You know, wages paid off the books, hidden revenue…that sort of thing. They say things will only get worse till our eastern neighbors start getting their affairs in order.”

  “Well, at least they’re starting to catch up with the rest of the police force,” said Joutsamo. “Actually, they use kind of an interesting tactic in their surveillance. First they set up all their wire taps, then they take the suspects in for questioning. But instead of arresting them, the suspects are released and then start calling each other, all on tape. Something for us to try, too, at least with some of our cold cases.”

  Takamäki drank the last of his beer and smiled. “Don’t go getting too interested in this white-collar stuff. I don’t want you going anywhere.”

  Suhonen smirked. “Might just be me, but I’d rather be posted on a stool in the Corner Pub than some swanky place like Savoy. You find a more honest crowd in the Corner Pub. Those financial guys were telling me about Morgan Stanley…”

  “Morgan Stanley is a New York investment bank,” Joutsamo cut in.

  Suhonen grinned. “Right, that’s the one. Anyhow, they were telling me the bank gives psychological tests as a part of their job interview process. Turns out that if the test shows a tendency toward dishonesty, you might want to consider a career on Wall Street.”

  “Doesn’t sound much different from here in Finland,” said Joutsamo.

  “Business is global,” said Takamäki.

  “But seriously. We all need to cooperate on the big cases regardless of which unit or floor of the police station we find ourselves on,” said Nykänen. “We have no other choice.”

  “Maybe so. Provided all units have the same objective,” Takamäki hedged. His experiences collaborating with other units had been awful, and everyone knew it.

  The waitress broke the tension at an opportune time as she breezed in with the drinks.

  Kannas spoke up. “I ever tell you about the time way back when I was standing guard at the presidential palace and saw two people going at it in the Supreme Court building?”

  “Yes!” was the unanimous response followed by chuckles.

  Kannas grinned. “Well, this one I know you haven’t heard. True story. A Helsinki rookie is out riding shotgun with a twenty-year veteran and he wants to show off what he’s got. So they’re driving around and the rookie spots a crowd of people standing on the corner. He cranks down the window and yells, ‘Let’s get off the corner, people.’ They just kind of glance around, so he yells again, ‘Get off the corner... Now!’ So they kind of shuffle off and he turns to his partner and says, ‘How’d I do?’ ‘Not bad,’ says the vet, ‘That’ll teach ’em to wait at the bus stop.’”

  The others chuckled, though the joke had been told a hundred times before. Even the waitress laughed as she served up the last round of beers.

  “We’ll take the check, please,” said Nykänen. He turned back to his colleagues. “But here’s an actual true story from Espoo. So a patrol car was kind of creeping along through this neighborhood, right? A cat runs out of the bushes, and the squad runs it over. So the officer stops the car and goes with his partner to take a look.”

  “And this is supposed to be true?” said Joutsamo.

  “Didn’t I already say so? Well, the cat was just barely alive and kind of twitching, so the guys didn’t know what to do. They couldn’t really shoot it, but they didn’t want to let it suffer, either. So one of them suggests that they get back in the car and drive over it a few more times and that’s what they did. The cat was pretty much smeared into the pavement when one of them noticed a little granny—the cat’s owner—standing behind the bushes with her eyes like saucers.”

  “Ohhh, man,” Joutsamo groaned while the others laughed.

  Takamäki’s phone signaled a text message.

  “Couldn’t be the wife yet,” laughed Kannas, but the others grew quiet with anticipation.

  Takamäki dug his phone out of his belt holder and looked at the screen. His face was impassive. “From Muuri. Better read this out loud: Two life sentences. Unanimous decision. Lehtonen’s testimony was key. Puts Korpi at the scene. Well done!”

  Suhonen cracked a smile and raised his glass. “I’ll drink to that.”

  The others joined in.

  As he set down his glass, Suhonen took out his own phone and sent news of the verdict to Tomi Salmela’s father.

  * * *

  Counselor Martin and Risto Korpi were in a tiny holding cell in the basement of the courthouse. The room had space for a table and two chairs. Korpi couldn’t bring himself to sit, just paced around the cramped room like a caged animal: three steps one way, three steps back.

  Martin, on the other hand, sat at the table watching his client. He couldn’t help but feel afraid.

  “Fucking idiot,” Korpi hissed. “I trusted you. You said you’d take care of this.”

  “I never promised anything.”

  Korpi stopped and stared his lawyer in the eyes.

  “Really? Think again.”

  “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 experie
nce 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.