“You really don’t get it, do you?”
“Actually, I do. But I have some real work to do here. We have a witness who wants…uhh…needs protection.”
Takamäki was getting tired of the conversation, and his coffee was getting cold.
“You’re in deep shit.”
“Is there anything else? I got work to do.”
“No,” said Skoog, and he hung up the phone.
Takamäki tasted his coffee. Still warm enough. “Y-eaah...”
“Well?” said Joutsamo.
“Nothing,” he smiled. No point in burdening Joutsamo with the details. She’d already heard enough. “The chiefs are taking out their rage on everyone else, meaning all of us here in the field. No point worrying about it.”
“No?”
“Not if your conscience is clean,” he said. “In any case, Skoog wants a report on the case to give to the minister. Would you have time to do it?”
Joutsamo nodded. “Sure, I’ll be burning the midnight oil anyway.”
“Don’t make it too long. Two, three pages max. The attention spans at the ministry can’t handle anything longer. So no unnecessary details or confidential material. No addresses, for example, since it’ll be passed around the ministry and political circles. Who knows where it could end up.”
“Got it,” said Joutsamo.
“Oh yeah, and one more thing,” said Takamäki. “Let’s put another patrol car in front of the Lehtonens’ building tonight.”
“Just in case the publicity stirs up any nutcases, huh?”
He nodded. “Damn, we’re like a medical team trying to treat somebody who’s asking us to pull the plug.”
* * *
Mari Lehtonen was at home, sitting on the sofa in front of the TV with her legs folded beneath her and a glass of red wine on the coffee table beside her. She had just watched the news, and Laura, tired from the long day, was already asleep. It felt good to be home.
Mari got up and looked out the window onto the street below where a blue and white cruiser was parked. Despite her hard feelings, it still felt comforting. She thought about the news story, which had been rather critical. Joutsamo and the others were doing their best, of course, and maybe her words were too harsh. In the actual interview, Lehtonen had made it clear that her grievances weren’t against any particular officer, but against the system in general. Römpötti had edited that part out. For a moment, Lehtonen considered calling Joutsamo, but decided against it.
Mari returned to the sofa, took a sip of wine and thought about the coming Monday. Most likely she would go to work as usual, and Laura to school. She would have to schedule her day so she could bring the girl to school and get off early to pick her up. That would be best, no doubt.
Her attempts to analyze her own feelings fell short. Home felt good, if a little scary. Her eyes went to the handbag on the coffee table.
She didn’t feel tired yet, and was flipping through the channels when the phone rang. It was her ex-husband, Anton Teittinen. After a brief deliberation she answered.
“Hello.”
“Hey, it’s Anton. Sorry to bother you.” Mari could hear what sounded like the din of a bar on the other end.
“No worries.”
“Listen, you were great on TV, even if I couldn’t see your pretty face.”
She couldn’t decide whether to be warm or cold, so she settled on neutral. He had, after all, helped them out earlier. “Yeah, well…”
“I’m serious,” he went on. “You really put those pigs in their places. Fucking right on, you know.”
Lehtonen didn’t respond.
“But listen. There’s something I wanna talk to you about,” he said. “I got a call from a couple buddies who wanna help out. You know, be kinda like bodyguards for you two since the cops flopped so bad. These guys are definitely not Korpi fans…very much the opposite.”
“I’m not so sure,” said Mari. Anton’s buddies sounded shady, and she didn’t really want bodyguards, just a normal life. What she definitely didn’t want was to end up in the crossfire between two gangs.
“Come on,” he urged her. “Yes, they have criminal records, but that could make a good story: Ex-cons protect a witness when cops fail.”
“Well, I’m not so sure…”
“Seriously. Give it a chance,” he persisted. “Might take some of the heat off you on the streets if people hear these guys got your back. Don’t ya think?”
Mari didn’t want to say yes, but she did anyway. “Alright. That’s fine with me, but tell them to stay on the street—nobody comes inside my place. If we come outside, they can walk in front or behind, but nobody follows Laura into school or me into work.”
“Of course not. Trust me…it’ll be great. Just like an American president with the Secret Service and all,” he said and hung up the phone.
Mari took a sip of red wine as the same feeling of defeat that she had known so well during their marriage descended. Anton had always known how to twist her arm to get his way. After a divorce, several moves, and a restraining order, she had finally managed to break free of him, and now he was shouldering his way back in because Mari was too tired to argue.
MONDAY,
DECEMBER 18
CHAPTER 27
MONDAY, 8:00 A.M.
MARI LEHTONEN’S APARTMENT
Just inside the door of the convenience store across the street from the Lehtonens’ building was a newspaper stand boasting the word hero in one of its headlines. Just beside the headline was a scrambled screenshot from Mari’s TV interview; the subhead read Murder Witness Marked for Death.
Mari Lehtonen hadn’t seen the paper, nor the headline. She was at the breakfast table, drinking tea with her daughter and discussing their plans for the coming day. Some danger was unavoidable, but they couldn’t let it bother them. Mari had also instructed Laura on what say to her friends at school, the main message being that life was to go on as normally as possible. Mari would answer the inevitable questions at work in the same way.
* * *
Kulta and Kohonen were staked out in a car in front of the building—the same Peugeot 206 that Suhonen had used a day earlier. With such an ideal spot, the car had never been moved. Another police car, this one a cruiser, was posted just in front of the entrance.
Kohonen yawned. She’d been arranging phone taps at the station till midnight, hurried to bed, then
risen again at six. She and Kulta had climbed into the stakeout vehicle at seven. Division of labor between the two was clear cut: Kohonen had the girl, Kulta the mom. Neither were allowed to get any further than thirty feet. The previous evening, Takamäki had worked out the details with Laura’s teacher and Mari’s employer. The police were not to enter any classrooms nor Mari’s cubicle area, but were to wait outside in the hallway and reception area. Mari hadn’t responded to Takamäki’s calls.
Kulta fixed his eyes on a car pulling into a parking space in front of the building. A man wielding a camera got out of the driver’s side door and a youthful, dark-haired woman stepped out the passenger side. Reporters, thought Kulta. The media circus had begun. By 8:30, three cameramen and three reporters had gathered in front of the building, with one of the patrol officers tending the crowd. Kulta had asked Takamäki for advice, but had received none.
The clock in the Peugeot showed 8:36 when yet another vehicle pulled up to the curb: a matte black American muscle car. Kulta knew the model, a 1974 Chevy Nova.
The car was parked about a hundred and fifty feet from the Peugeot with its front bumper concealed so Kulta couldn’t make out the plates. The two men inside gave no indication of getting out. Kohonen had noticed the car too.
“Should we go have a look?” she said, already out the door. Kulta brought up the rear.
Both officers made sure their coats were open and checked their guns in their shoulder holsters. Despite freezing temperatures, neither felt particularly cold with their bulletproof vests on.
The Chevy wa
s parked about a hundred feet past the entrance to the Lehtonens’ building, and the detectives breezed past to the whir of camera shutters. Kohonen signaled one of the patrol officers to come too, and the entourage of cameramen tailed along.
At fifty feet, Kulta began to make out the men’s faces. The guy in the passenger seat had sunken cheeks and bad skin. His hair was long, and he had a small mustache. Kulta felt a glimmer of recognition, but couldn’t quite place the man’s face.
Then it came to him.
“Careful,” he said. The one in the passenger seat was Butch Willer, previously Pekka Viljamaa. The details of the name change were unimportant at the moment. What was important was the fact that Willer was a member of the Skulls, a hard-core organized crime ring fronting as a motorcycle gang.
“They’re Skulls,” said Kulta as he drew his pistol. “I got the passenger side, you take the driver.”
Kohonen and the other officer drew their weapons and sidestepped to the other side of the car.
The officer who’d been posted in front of the building came running up to shoo off the cameras. “Move away! Now!”
The herd took a few steps back, but the shutters kept clicking.
“Out of the car!” bellowed Kulta loud enough for the gangsters to hear. “Get out! Slowly!”
Inside, the two men glanced at each other and nodded. They opened the doors and stepped out slowly. Both had on gang vests over long-sleeved black T-shirts.
“Show me your hands!” Kulta ordered.
“What is this?” protested Willer in his shrill voice as he got out. Kulta didn’t respond, just kept his gun trained on Willer. The patrol officer came up from the side, and with one swift movement, threw the man to the ground, wrenched his arms behind his back and clapped the cuffs on. Kulta turned to the second gangster on the other side of the car—he was already in cuffs as well.
“What the hell,” said Willer from the sidewalk, his voice loud enough that the reporters could hear. “We didn’t do anything. All we’re doing is protecting Lehtonen cuz the cops can’t do it. We’re no criminals.”
“Shut up!” shouted Kulta. He swapped his gun for a phone and called for a patrol car to take these goons away—the one already on site was for security detail only.
One of the reporters took a couple wary steps toward Willer. “Did I hear you say you guys are Lehtonen’s bodyguards?”
“That’s right. The police can’t do it, so someone has to.”
The patrol officer glanced over at Kulta, who was still talking on the phone. He decided to break it up himself, “Okay, that’s enough. Press conference is over.”
“Can I ask who’s paying you?” said the reporter, the cameras whirring all around.
“Mari Lehtonen, of course,” said Willer. “She doesn’t trust the police.”
“That’s enough!” shouted the officer.
Kulta hung up the phone and came to his aid.
“Media, move back,” he ordered, but nobody listened. The thought of pulling out his gun crossed his mind, but he suppressed it quickly.
“Are the police so incapable of protecting Lehtonen that she has to pay gangsters to do the job?” stammered one reporter.
Kulta was getting very annoyed, but he managed to stay calm.
“Can you tell us what the reason is for this arrest?”
“Now there’s a good question,” said Willer from the sidewalk. “I’d like to know, too!”
Kulta tuned out the racket. His eyes scanned the surrounding area for more thugs. The Skulls weren’t exactly known for their bodyguards. Body counts was more like it. These two may well have been sent here on a hit.
Kulta’s eyes were drawn to the entrance of the apartment building, where two figures were exiting—Mari and Laura—apparently going somewhere. The two peered over at the ruckus before veering off in the opposite direction.
Shit, thought Kulta. If he started chasing them now, he’d drag the reporters and cameras along, but if he stayed here the Lehtonens would be sitting ducks, which was out of the question.
“Uhh,” Kulta hesitated. “I have to make a call here. Officer, uh…” he glanced at the name tag on the beat officer’s shirt pocket. “…Räsänen can field your questions.”
Räsänen looked at Kulta with desperation in his eyes. Kulta gave a quick nod as he motioned for Kohonen to follow him.
“So why are we being arrested?” Willer bellowed from the sidewalk. “We haven’t done anything wrong!”
“Yes, can you tell us the reason for this arrest?” the reporter yelled after the detectives as they hurried off.
Räsänen peered after Kulta and Kohonen. “Uhhh, well…it’s a question of public safety and keeping the peace,” he stammered.
The other beat cop led the second Skull out of the road and set him down next to Willer.
“That’s right, public safety and keeping the peace,” he repeated.
By then, Kulta and Kohonen were about twenty yards behind the Lehtonens. Once around the corner, they picked up the pace. Wailing sirens were drawing near. Backup for Räsänen was on the way. The situation there was under control.
Kulta turned to Kohonen, “Laura’s probably on the way to school,” he said. They picked up the pace once more and finally caught up.
“Morning,” said Kulta. “We’re from the Helsinki Police. We’ll be helping you out today.”
“We don’t need any help,” said Mari coldly. Laura wore a red knit hat, jacket, and had a book bag slung over her shoulder. She stayed close to her mother.
“In any case, we’ll be looking after you. I’m Mikko Kulta and this here’s Kirsi Kohonen.”
“Fine,” said Lehtonen. “Same rules as before then. Stay at least thirty feet away at all times.”
“As you wish.”
“So what was that all about back there?” asked Mari.
Kulta smiled. “Well, in order to establish a monopoly on your protection we have to squeeze out the gangsters.”
“Gangsters, huh?” said Mari.
“That’s right. On your payroll, apparently.”
“I’m not paying anybody. My ex-husband called yesterday and said a few of his friends wanted to look after me. I told him it makes no difference to me.”
Her impudence was beginning to grate on Kohonen. “Don’t you think you could have at least let us know?”
Lehtonen glared at the redheaded policewoman. “I didn’t ask you to come. It really makes no difference to me. Thirty feet, please.”
“Are we headed for the school?” said Kulta.
Mari nodded curtly, annoyed by the fact that her day wasn’t shaping up to be so normal after all.
Kulta hurried ahead, and Kohonen dropped back to a distance of thirty feet.
* * *
Takamäki was in the VCU break room reading the news on teletext, a text-based news service on TV. The headline read, Conditions Reach Boiling Point for Threatened Witness.
The lieutenant read the article: An incident occurred this morning on Porvoo Street near the residence of the same murder witness targeted in yesterday’s attempted bomb strike. Police arrested two gang members in front of the building, one of whom told reporters on the scene that the threatened witness had paid them as bodyguards because the police weren’t fit for the job. The Helsinki VCU has not commented on the incident.
Further down were two headlines in different colored fonts. Interior Minister: “We’re looking into the matter.” Minister of Justice: “Improvements are forthcoming.” Takamäki couldn’t bring himself to care.
VCU Chief Karila came into the room and poured himself a cup of coffee. “Have you looked at Ilta-Sanomat’s site yet? They posted the pics already. Kulta pointing a gun at the gangsters.”
“I haven’t looked,” said Takamäki, not that he had any desire.
“What about these two Skulls?”
“In jail. Both claim they were paid to protect Lehtonen. We didn’t find any weapons in the vehicle. According to Kulta, Lehtone
n says her ex set it up.”
“What about our bomber? Ahola.”
“We searched all night. Suhonen and Kulta probably raided upwards of twenty apartments with no result. Of course, it sent a message that working with Ahola right now isn’t too smart.”
Karila sipped his coffee. “This is turning into quite the farce.”
“It already is. I think Kulta said it best on the phone: ‘It’s all a downhill slide from here.’”
“What’s the situation with the Lehtonens?”
“Kohonen’s covering Laura at school. Kulta’s waiting in the lobby at Mari’s work.”
Karila paused for a while. “Skoog called.”
“Sounds ominous.”
Karila shrugged. “I don’t know. He got this idea from some psychologist that we should bring Mari into prison to meet Korpi. That way he could see that the target of his hate is just an ordinary woman. It’s called cognitive behavioral therapy, the idea being that Korpi would learn to monitor himself by managing his emotions.”
“You’re telling me a psychologist recommended this? Have you read Korpi’s psychological assessment? It says right there the man is incapable
of empathy. I think by definition that rules out any sort of mediation.”
“I don’t know. Might be something to it,” said Karila. Obviously, he had made his decision. All he wanted now was to get Takamäki on board. “Skoog says we’re moving more toward mediations, where face-to-face meetings with victims can prevent repeat offenses. According to this psychologist, human interaction is the best way to resolve any crisis. The idea is for Korpi to learn to control his own violent behavior and take responsibility for it.”
“I see. And you buy into this?”
“They’ll meet in a controlled environment. Maybe Korpi will see that it was nothing personal, she was just doing her civic duty—just part of the system. That’s what he needs to understand.”
Helsinki Homicide: Nothing but the Truth Page 22
