Helsinki Homicide: Nothing but the Truth

by Jarkko Sipila

  Scathing commentary, thought Römpötti.

  During the interview at the coffee shop, Römpötti had thought Mari to be somewhat crazy for spurning the security of the safe house, but once she explained the prospect of being trapped there for weeks and months, Römpötti had begun to understand. Her predicament applied specifically to the ordinary citizen. Certainly a criminal striving to break free of a gang could adapt to life in a safe house, but Mari Lehtonen had done nothing wrong. To the contrary, she had done everything right. And if that resulted in unbearable circumstances for her, something was seriously wrong with the system.

  After the interview, Römpötti had asked Lehtonen if she needed any help, but she hadn’t. She and her daughter had decided to see a movie and then go home. “Make it good,” she had said to the reporter.

  Römpötti had managed to find some additional material from foreign sources, including a sobering interview with Danielle Cable, her voice altered and her face scrambled. Cable gave an account of hiding from a criminal organization for seven years because she had testified against the man who murdered her husband. A second witness from the same trial, a father of three, had been murdered after a year of constant threats. The material wouldn’t fit into this evening’s news, but perhaps in a few days, once the story had really broken.

  Römpötti had also researched anonymous testimonies, where the witnesses’ identities were hidden. This was an unattractive alternative, since witnesses, police officers or courts weren’t infallible. The defense needed the right to cross-examine witnesses as to the reliability of their testimony, as Martin had done with Lehtonen.

  Römpötti’s thoughts returned to the news story. She wondered what clips she would use. She had managed to get some footage of the blockade on Porvoo Street, and later in the afternoon, toward dusk, she planned to take her cameraman to Lehtonen’s building, and to the spot where Laura was accosted.

  She’d need some commentary from the police. If neither Takamäki nor Skoog would comment, she’d send a regional reporter to interview the minister of the interior, now attending an Emergency Services Christmas party in the Joensuu area. The minister, who had almost certainly been briefed on the case, would undoubtedly comment on camera, at least on a general level. Römpötti would instruct her colleague to word the question, “How important is witness protection?” She could already hear the response in her head, something in the vein of, “More robust witness protection is a crucial part of the landmark Internal Security Program passed by the legislature two years ago. It is our top priority to safeguard anyone involved in the investigation of serious crimes.”

  With the minister’s comment as an intro, she would then move on to the account of an actual witness. The contrast would be stark. Then on the following day she’d run a follow-up story on what the Internal Security Program had accomplished: not much of anything.

  * * *

  Takamäki, Joutsamo, Karila, and Skoog were crowded into Takamäki’s already cramped office. “Just let me say something. I think we should go public with the case, maybe even issue an apology,” said Karila, the head of VCU.

  Deputy Chief Skoog shook his head. “We can’t do that… The best course of action is to do nothing and let the storm blow over. It’s not the kind of story other media outlets will pick up anyway.”

  “Really?” said Karila. “I’d say it’s exactly the kind of sensationalism the media loves—easy to understand and emotionally charged.”

  Takamäki sat behind his desk and wondered briefly if he should mention his wife’s reaction from a couple of days earlier, then decided against it. He sided with Karila. “I think we should answer Römpötti’s questions. I can do it. I’ll just say it’s a difficult problem, but as always, we do everything we can.”

  “If you admit publicly that we have a problem, where are you gonna get witnesses for these kinds of cases going forward?” said Skoog.

  “Well, if we sit on our hands while Lehtonen and Römpötti have their say, we won’t be getting any witnesses anyway,” said Joutsamo.

  “My point is that you can’t take an isolated case as an indication of systemic flaws,” said Skoog. “Sometimes it’s a good idea to talk to the media and try to sway public opinion in our favor, but in this instance we have no choice but to keep quiet. The witness chose not to take advantage of the safe house that we provided, and instead went solo with a tell-all to the media on a sensitive case. I still think she belongs in a mental institution, but that’s off the table now that the media is involved. Like I said, we’ll put out a statement like this, ‘Police were called to Porvoo Street this morning on reports of a bomb threat. For reasons pertaining to the investigation, no further information will be provided. The police are doing everything possible to hold the person or persons behind the threat accountable, and are asking for any information that might be connected to the case.’ And that’s all we say. I’ll take responsibility for all communications with the media.”

  Takamäki sat behind his desk, arms folded, trying to keep a straight face. “So you’ll take media responsibility. Maybe you’d like to lead the investigation as well?”

  “Don’t fuck with me. If this blows up in my face, I’ll have Internal Affairs look into your role in this mess,” said Skoog, and he stormed out.

  Takamäki, Joutsamo and Karila sat and watched as he left. Once the door had closed, Takamäki spoke up, “Well, looks like I’m still in charge of the case. Any ideas on how to proceed?”

  “You already said it,” said Joutsamo after a long silence. “Let’s find Ahola.”

  * * *

  The SWAT officer stood behind the door, his face masked, a helmet on his head, and in his hand, a three-foot iron ram at the ready. Three other SWAT officers were lined up behind him on the stairs, the first clutching a heavy ballistic shield, the second a shotgun, and the third an MP5 submachine gun. Suhonen stood further back in his leather jacket. He too wore a mask to protect his identity.

  Suhonen nodded and the lead man slammed the ram into the lock, reducing the surrounding wood to splinters. The door sprang open, and the shield man swung into the lead, followed by the officer with the shotgun. They moved more hurriedly than at the Kaarela house—the apartment had to be secured as quickly as possible.

  “Police! Nobody move!”

  Next came the submachine gun man, then the ram wielder, who had ditched the ram in favor of a pistol. Suhonen came in last.

  The apartment was a two-room flat in one of the high rises on Kallvik Street. The address had come from Joutsamo’s list of residences associated with Ahola and his accomplices. They had no indication that Ahola would actually be here, but there was only one way to find out. They’d already searched three other apartments, and six remained on Suhonen’s list. Kulta had his own list and another SWAT unit. Both teams were scrambling.

  Suhonen stepped into the entryway, which was littered with shoes, clothing and garbage. One of the SWAT officers was standing in the doorway on the left. “Empty bedroom,” he said as Suhonen came up.

  The entry hall ended at the bathroom door, with the living room on the left. A rotten smell permeated the apartment. Suhonen entered the living room, which had every mark of a typical gang hideout. A couple of mattresses on the floor with a blanket and a worn-out sofa on the opposite wall. On the floor in the corner was a small television playing some crime drama.

  One of the SWAT officers stood at the end of the sofa with his weapon at the ready while the other pressed the barrel of his shotgun against the head of a man lying there. The aggressive approach had been agreed upon in advance.

  “Harri Nieminen?” said Suhonen as he came abreast of the officer holding the shotgun.

  The man on the sofa didn’t respond. He had the brawny build and square jaw of a boxer. His hair was closely cropped and he wore a gray, hooded sweatshirt with the GYM logo.

  Suhonen tapped the officer with the shotgun on the shoulder and he withdrew the barrel some four inches.

 
“Where’s Matti Ahola?”

  “Matti?” the man rasped.

  “You heard me.”

  “I dunno. Haven’t seen him for days.”

  “Where’d you see him last?”

  Nieminen thought for a second. “Some bar over on the east side. Had a couple beers with him.”

  “I need an address.”

  “What’d he do?”

  “Something bad.”

  Nieminen was still lying on the sofa, his eyes darting from one masked cop to the next, then to the guns trained on his face. “That bad, huh?”

  Suhonen nodded. “He’s been working for Korpi. Korpi’s causing trouble, and we’re looking for his associates. Do you work for him?”

  “Uhh…no.”

  Suhonen just waited. Nieminen squirmed on the sofa for a while before speaking up, “Anything else?”

  “The address.”

  “Fuck if I remember. Shit. I don’t know…at some point he had an apartment over in Kannelmäki. In those old buildings by the Maxi store, or what used to be the Maxi. Just across from it on the other side of the turnabout.”

  Suhonen nodded. He knew the spot: Kanteletar Street 4.

  “He had some broad there who rented the place. First stairwell looking from the street, maybe fourth floor. Yeah, that’s it.”

  Suhonen wrote down the address and tapped the officer with the shotgun, who began pulling back out of the room, the barrel fixed on Nieminen until he had ducked behind the wall. The other gunman still had a submachine gun aimed at the man’s forehead.

  “Alright. If you see or hear from Ahola, give me a call,” said Suhonen, and he put a scrap of paper with his number on the arm of the sofa. “That way you won’t have any problems. And steer clear of Korpi. Lots of heat on him.”

  Nieminen nodded. “I can see that. Shouldn’t be hard to do with him in prison.”

  Suhonen wasn’t exactly reassured, but it wouldn’t take long before word of these shakedowns got out. “Good bye,” said Suhonen, and he turned to leave.

  “What about that door? Who’s gonna pay for that?” shouted Nieminen from the sofa, a submachine gun still staring him down from the doorway.

  “Call customer service at the Helsinki police department. Hours are eight to four-fifteen,” said Suhonen. Then he left.

  Two of the SWAT cops were already in the stairwell when Suhonen came out with the last. “Next stop Vartiokylä,” said Suhonen. “Another apartment building on Arho Street. Over there by the parking lot at the end of the road.”

  * * *

  Takamäki and Joutsamo were in the VCU break room when the theme song for the Channel 3 nightly news struck up on the television. “I can hardly wait,” droned Takamäki. He had a bad feeling about this.

  An image of a police barricade came up on the screen as the headline announced that a bomb had been found in front of a murder witness’s home. The next headline mentioned a bombing in Turkey, but the detectives weren’t interested.

  Now the anchor appeared on screen. “A car bomb was discovered today on Porvoo Street in Alppila. According to our latest reports, the incident was a retaliation against Mari Lehtonen, a witness at a recent murder trial. Last Wednesday, Lehtonen testified against gang boss Risto Korpi, leading to a murder conviction and life sentence. At the trial, Lehtonen linked Korpi to the scene of the murder.”

  The picture cut to the minister of the interior as he was addressing an audience. Römpötti’s voiceover mentioned the minister’s recent emphasis on witness protection. “Witness protection is a key component of solving serious crimes,” the minister thundered.

  The picture cut back to the police barricade on Porvoo Street, and Römpötti’s narration continued. “So says the minister. But what about in real life? After Helsinki resident Mari Lehtonen testified last Wednesday in a murder trial resulting in a life sentence for gang boss Risto Korpi, a car bomb was discovered in front of her apartment building this morning. The threats began a couple of days earlier when Lehtonen’s daughter received a note threatening to abduct her.”

  Lehtonen’s scrambled face appeared on screen. “I’m very disappointed in how the police have handled the situation. It seems that to the police we’re part of the problem, and they solve it by sweeping us under the rug.”

  Römpötti went on, “Lehtonen was disappointed when the only option presented to her by the police was that she and her daughter go into hiding. The Helsinki VCU provided her with a safe house, which she was prohibited from leaving.”

  Lehtonen came back on, “If I fulfill my civic duty and testify, it shouldn’t mean that my daughter and I become pariahs to be hidden away indefinitely by the police machinery.”

  Römpötti asked her, “Wouldn’t that make more sense in this situation?”

  Lehtonen answered, “I decided to stop being afraid. This Korpi’s the criminal, not me. I’m just an ordinary citizen trying to do my civic duty. If society expects citizens to testify in court, then it needs to be able to protect them. Maybe this safe house might work for some criminal, but not for an ordinary citizen. I’m very disappointed in the police’s performance.”

  Römpötti’s face appeared on screen. “At high profile speeches, the interior minister trumpets the role of witnesses, but in practice the authorities are powerless. Mari Lehtonen helped the criminal justice system convict a murderer, only to be offered her own sentence in return. According to our exclusive sources, the police have even considered having Lehtonen committed to a mental hospital for refusing to comply with their wishes. So first a witness, then a mental patient. Nobody from the Helsinki PD agreed to appear on camera to answer our questions.”

  The screen cut back to the news anchor, who encouraged viewers to follow the discussion on the morning talk show.

  Joutsamo shot Takamäki an inquiring look across the coffee table.

  “Not good.”

  “Mm-hm. Somebody from here should have answered their questions.”

  “Apparently Skoog didn’t feel up to it.”

  “I guess not. But with that minister priming the pump, the shit’s really gonna hit the fan,” said Takamäki.

  “You think Römpötti did it on purpose?”

  “Absolutely. Without an answer from us, she just kept going up the ladder. The minister doesn’t know anything about the case,” said Takamäki. “If I were a betting man I’d say the boss’ phones are ringing off the hook right now. First the police commissioner will get a call, then he’ll call the commander and on and on all the way to Deputy Chief Skoog, and from there the shit will pour right down the back of Lieutenant Takamäki’s collar.”

  “But Skoog was supposed to be in charge of media.”

  “I’m not really worried about the media or getting yelled at. I’m more worried about how Korpi’s goons are gonna react. Might be pouring fuel on the fire.”

  “Or not,” said Joutsamo.

  “How not? Don’t tell me you buy this bit about publicity protecting her?”

  “No, but the bad guys like it when the cops get smeared on TV.”

  “I dunno… I’d say she’s lucky they scrambled her face… But, I have been thinking about it a little. It is true that we don’t have any tools other than the safe house. Having the SWAT team running tactical raids and arresting everyone we can think of can’t be standard procedure every time we face this situation.”

  Joutsamo could see where Takamäki was going. “In other words we need to think twice before using witnesses.”

  “Maybe... I don’t know. We can’t isolate ourselves, but at the same time we have to preserve the public’s trust. Anyway, I’d better have another cup of coffee. Won’t be long before my phone starts ringing.”

  Before he made it to the coffeemaker, his phone rang. At least it was easy to pass the reporters on to Skoog, who had “volunteered” as the media contact. After a while, there was a lull in the calls and Joutsamo brought him a cup of coffee.

  The fourth call was from a very enraged Skoog.
/>   “What the hell,” he blustered. “How is this possible?”

  “Free press?” suggested Takamäki with a smirk. Joutsamo, the only other person in the break room, was sitting across the table.

  “Don’t fuck with me. This is a major crisis. That reporter made a laughing stock of the minister and that’s bad news for all of us.”

  Takamäki didn’t respond—he was waiting for Skoog’s threat to transfer him to some rural district to process gun permits.

  The silence made Skoog hesitate. He didn’t want to hesitate. He’d been lambasted, and now he wanted to lambast someone else. “Answer me! How is this possible?”

  “Didn’t you watch the broadcast? Lehtonen talked to a reporter. What more do they need?”

  “So where’d Römpötti hear about having Lehtonen committed? She didn’t know about that part.”

  “How should I know?”

  A foreboding silence prevailed. “There’s a mole on your team. Find out who it is!”

  “You know…” said Takamäki, the irritation audible in his voice now. “I think we’ve got enough to do around here without launching an internal investigation.”

  “Well… I want a full report for the minister by nine A.M. outlining everything that’s happened and when.”

  “Fine.”

  “This won’t be good for your career.”

  “So where’ll it be… Lapland or someplace else?” said Takamäki in a weary voice.

  “Huh?”

  “Don’t you always threaten to transfer us to the backwoods whenever something goes wrong? I’d just kind of like to know what district you think is at the bottom of the bucket.”