Nothing but the Truth hh-3

by Jarkko Sipila

  “Pads and everything?”

  “Seniors’ rules. No checking and no slap shots. Otherwise, everything’s the same. But I figured if I wore Kevlar under my pads I could be a bit more aggressive.”

  Takamäki was a bit surprised. Had the man’s new relationship taken its toll? Takamäki had also played hockey as a kid. Maybe he could give it a shot again too. “How was Salmela?”

  “Drunk as a skunk. We chatted and one of us cried. He was still taking it pretty hard, so it was good I went to see him. Ended up just crashing on the couch. What about you guys?”

  “I hung it up at around midnight, but some people don’t know when to stop. Once Kannas and Nykänen got to reminiscing there was no end to the chase stories.”

  Suhonen chuckled. The team had once rented a cabin for the weekend, and Kannas had brought a handful of Matchbox cars in order to better illustrate his best pursuits from the last twenty years.

  * * *

  Counselor Martin was sitting on the opposite side of a wooden table from Korpi. Between the two men stood a glass partition about sixteen inches high to prevent visitors from smuggling contraband to the inmates. The prison also had separate rooms partitioned off with thick plexi-glass walls and telephones for communication.

  With the exception of a lone guard, nobody else was in the room. The guard kept his distance, since conversations between lawyers and clients were confidential. Martin had known of a case in which the police had illegally eavesdropped on prison conversations between a lawyer and his client, who had been convicted of financial crimes. But today, he considered the risk of audio surveillance to be insignificant. The NBI agents at fault had gotten a slap on the wrist from the parliamentary ombudsman, whose job it was to ensure that public officials observed the law. A repeat performance would undoubtedly lead to formal charges.

  Martin and Korpi had been conversing for nearly half an hour.

  “You’re sure this is what you want,” said Martin, his voice tense and worried. He felt reluctant to get mixed up in Korpi’s affairs.

  “You’ll do just as I tell you.”

  “It could influence the handling of your case in appeals court.”

  “Appeals ain’t gonna change anything, didn’t I just tell you that? The cops got ’em in their pocket just like district. The more I think about it, the more sure I am I got convicted on my record. Had nothin’ to do with this case.”

  “That’s what I’ve been saying all along.”

  Korpi leveled a piercing gaze at his lawyer. He had seen glimpses of the man’s weakness before, and now it was showing again.

  “You said your piece yesterday in court. Now you’ll do what I say. You get in touch with Guerrilla and tell him what he has to do.”

  Martin nodded. Maybe this once, he thought. He was only delivering a message, nothing criminal, just a bit unsettling. In a way, he understood Korpi, understood his anger. But he had to get something in return.

  “Alright, it’s a deal. I’ll do it. But then this

  is over.”

  “What?”

  “Using the old coke thing to blackmail me.”

  Korpi laughed. He hadn’t even begun yet, but there was little point in telling Martin that. “Sure. It’s a deal.”

  “Deal?”

  “Yup. Oh yeah…and if you happen to need a little pick-me-up, just ask Guerrilla. But no phones. Same goes for the meeting-make sure the cops don’t find out.” He lowered his voice a little. “Shoot him an anonymous text saying, ‘Wanna catch a hockey game?’ An hour after he texts back, he’ll be at the McDonald’s by the ice arena.”

  Martin didn’t respond. His face was expressionless. Obviously, the police were on the right track if Korpi’s gang used these kinds of spy tactics to throw them off the trail. “Okay,” he said finally.

  “Good. The cops were probably out celebrating their victory last night, but at least one of them will be clearheaded enough to notice if someone’s talking openly about the case.”

  “Right. So…you still want to go over this appeals form?”

  “No,” said Korpi as he stood up. He gestured to the guard, and as the man shuffled over, he said to Martin, “Send it straight to the court once you get it ready.”

  The guard approached. Korpi looked up, “I’d like some lunch now.”

  “Fine,” said the guard. “Cabbage rolls today.”

  “My favorite.”

  Martin watched his client being escorted from the room. A steak dinner would hit the spot, he decided. With a couple of cold beers. But before he did anything else he would send that text. As soon as he got his phone back at the gate, anyhow. Yeah, and a new SIM card would be a good idea.

  CHAPTER 17

  THURSDAY, 1:50 P.M.

  JOUTSAMO’S APARTMENT, HELSINKI

  Joutsamo lay idly on the sofa of her two-room apartment. She had on an extra-large green T-shirt, baggy black shorts and a blanket draped over her legs. It was almost two in the afternoon. The worst of her headache had succumbed to ibuprofen, a sandwich and a soft drink, but her mood was still listless. Her only consolation was that she hadn’t planned to get anything done today anyway, since it was the day after the Christmas party. So there was no reason to feel bad about being idle.

  But there was one thing she had managed to do. She had sent a happy-name-day text to a friend of hers who had moved to London. A very cute friend by the name of Jouko.

  The television was off-nothing of interest was on in the afternoon anyway. Something from Madonna was playing on the radio in the background. On top of the bookcase was a picture of Joutsamo’s parents. With the two of them seeming to stare at her, she didn’t care to look in that direction at the moment.

  The evening had gone on right up until the last call at 3:30 at the Zetor Bar. Luckily, Nykänen and Kannas had been in the mood to dance. The more she danced, the less she drank.

  She wondered if she should force herself to get up and clean. A fitting punishment for such overindulgence. Cleaning was too much to ask, but she got up nonetheless-if only because she was bored of lying down-and padded into the kitchen nook. She poured some water into the teapot and rubbed her weary face. She didn’t need to look in the mirror to see how terrible she looked. Maybe she should take a shower and force herself outdoors. All she could see from the kitchen window was the greenish flank of the neighboring building, but at least it wasn’t raining. According to the thermometer, it was twenty-five degrees. That would perk her up.

  The tea water was just beginning to hiss when Joutsamo heard the phone ring. But where in the hell was it? She followed the ringing to the left-hand pocket of her overcoat, which still reeked of cigarette smoke, peeked at the caller ID, and answered with a smile.

  “Well, hi,” she said before clearing her throat. The deepness of her own voice startled her.

  “Hi,” said a perky woman’s voice on the other end. The caller was Sanna Römpötti. “How’s it going? By your voice I’d say not so well.”

  “Well, I’m fine now. The team had a Christmas party.”

  “I hope I didn’t wake you?”

  “No,” said Joutsamo. The teapot began to whistle and she returned to the kitchen with the phone on

  her ear.

  “Quiet day at the press room here. I thought I’d lure you out for a beer…er… lunch.”

  “I’m thinking probably not…” said Joutsamo, perhaps a bit too emphatically.

  “Just wanted to congratulate you on the Korpi case. Well done.”

  “Well, it wasn’t really all that complicated. Muuri did a good job on the prosecution.”

  Römpötti paused for a moment. “What else

  is new?”

  Joutsamo looked at her bubbling teapot. “Figured I’d have a cup of tea.”

  The reporter laughed on the other end. “OK, get better. We’ll talk later.”

  “Bye,” said Joutsamo. She set the phone down on the table and took a packet of tea out of the cupboard, and a teacup from the dryin
g rack. Her apartment didn’t have a dishwasher.

  Joutsamo was pouring steaming water into the cup when the phone rang again. She paid no attention to the screen, assuming Römpötti had thought of some hangover joke.

  “Yeah?” she answered.

  A second’s pause passed. “Is this Joutsamo?” asked a woman’s voice. Joutsamo recognized Mari immediately, and her fear.

  “Yeah, it’s me. Sorry, I thought you were someone else.”

  “OK, uhh…” said Lehtonen, trailing off.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “It’s really not that serious, but I thought maybe you could help.”

  “Of course. How?”

  “Well, yesterday my ex-husband called to harass me out about that court case, and now this afternoon when Laura came home from school, the lock was all gummed up with some kind of glue.”

  “I see,” said Joutsamo. She felt sharper already. “What did he say on the phone?”

  “Called me stupid for talking to the police. You know, the kind of things exes say when they’re drunk.”

  Joutsamo knew the type. “Are you at home now?”

  “Yes. The locksmith changed the lock, so we’re okay on that front, but I just wondered if you could do something about Anton so he doesn’t start with his harassment again.”

  “Can’t really take him to jail for it, but I can sure look into it. How’d Laura react?”

  “Kind of confused. She didn’t really understand because I haven’t told her everything.”

  Joutsamo gazed out the window. Her head was already beginning to clear. “We’ll try to do something about it.”

  “Just try. That’s all I ask.”

  Immediately after hanging up the phone, Joutsamo dialed Takamäki’s number.

  CHAPTER 18

  THURSDAY, 3:30 P.M.

  KALLIO NEIGHBORHOOD, HELSINKI

  Suhonen sat down in the front seat of a gray Peugeot parked at the intersection of Vaasa and Fleming, and took a folded piece of office paper out of the breast pocket of his coat. It was a mug shot printout of forty-year-old Anton Teittinen, Mari Lehtonen’s ex-husband, his dark hair hanging over his forehead, eyes glowering at the camera from beneath his brows. His bloated face was serious enough without the scowl. The photo had been snapped a year ago, after Teittinen was arrested for a bar brawl. A search of his record had turned up several other petty crimes.

  Suhonen was out in the field alone. He had begun his search for Teittinen at the man’s home address. No luck knocking on the apartment door. He had listened through the mail slot, but heard nothing. Back outside, Suhonen had checked to see if any lights were on. The man could be hiding out in the dark apartment, of course, but that was unlikely.

  He could be at work, but that was also unlikely. The police had his phone number, so in principle, Suhonen could have called and tried to set up a meeting, but that wouldn’t have been as effective-the encounter should come as a complete surprise to Teittinen.

  Suhonen started the car, drove a couple blocks and turned onto Helsinki Avenue. Not finding a single parking space, he pulled the car up to a bus stop.

  He got out and walked the remaining distance to the Corner Pub. The pavement was slick and the cold seemed to be tightening its grip. It felt about ten degrees below freezing.

  The stench of smoke hit him at the door, even with only a third of the seats in the pub occupied. A few tables boasted groups of three and four, while others were occupied by just one man and a beer. Suhonen’s eyes quickly took in the room. The hands on the clock showed half past three.

  Teittinen was sitting alone at a corner table reading a daily. Nothing on Suhonen’s face betrayed the fact that he had found his quarry.

  The bartender stood behind the bar with an inquiring look.

  “Coffee,” said Suhonen.

  The man didn’t say anything, just took out a cup and filled it. “One euro.”

  Suhonen put the coin on the bar and took a sip. Not bad. Metallica’s “Nothing Else Matters” was playing softly in the background.

  Teittinen had draped his dark, hooded jacket over the neighboring chair. He looked larger than Suhonen had expected, and was wearing jeans and a gray, paint-stained sweatshirt. His hair fell over his forehead in the same way it had in the mug shots. His skin was strikingly bad.

  Suhonen took his coffee and strode over to Teittinen’s table. “Looks like you got room,” said Suhonen as he pulled up a wooden chair. The table was riddled with cigarette burns.

  Teittinen sized up Suhonen. “Room over there too,” he growled, but Suhonen had already sat down.

  Suhonen remained silent and Teittinen started to get edgy. “What the hell?”

  Suhonen just took a sip of coffee.

  “What, you wanna piece of me? Here I am minding my own business and you come butting in. Look around, asshole. Plenty of seats to be had.”

  “I’m not looking for a fight.”

  “Well you’re damn sure gonna get one if you don’t start explaining.”

  Suhonen calmly drank his coffee. “Listen, Teittinen,” he began, then paused briefly. Mentioning the man’s name seemed to have the desired effect, as he flinched. Suhonen went on, “You’ve been harassing a friend of mine.”

  “How you know my name?”

  “I know your shoe size, too.”

  That was no lie. He had gotten it from one of the case files, in which Teittinen had kicked a victim in

  a fight.

  “Size ten.”

  “What the fuck? What is this?”

  “Listen to me when I’m talking to you. I just said you’ve been harassing a friend of mine.”

  Teittinen had apparently come to the conclusion that he shouldn’t mess with Suhonen. This was the kind of guy who could be packing, and he seemed to be in good enough shape. Teittinen didn’t even have a knife. “What friend?”

  “Mari Lehtonen.”

  “What, you banging that bitch?”

  “No, just a friend.”

  “And who are you?”

  “I already told you-I’m her friend. Use your ears, idiot.” Suhonen clearly had the upper hand, and was taking full advantage of it.

  “Yeah, right. So what did I supposedly do?”

  “You know.”

  Teittinen wrinkled up his brows. “I called her once and bitched her out for talking to the fucking cops about that shooting, and then taking it to court.”

  “So?”

  “What do you mean, so? You don’t talk to the cops…everyone knows that.”

  “What were you doing at her apartment earlier this afternoon?”

  Teittinen looked genuinely confused. “Phh. Been drinking here all day.”

  “Bullshit.”

  “What are you a cop? This some kinda interrogation?”

  “Fuck it,” Suhonen grumbled. “You want to go outside or in here? Fists or knives?”

  Teittinen sized him up once more and changed his tack. “Marko!” he shouted at the bartender. “Ain’t I been here since noon?”

  Marko appraised the situation at the corner table and shouted back, “Yup, been here all day.”

  Suhonen was confused. He didn’t put much in the bartender’s claim, but Teittinen’s look of genuine surprise was perplexing.

  “There you have it,” said Teittinen in a triumphant voice. “Shit, tough guy, check your facts before you come hassling an innocent man.”

  Suhonen wondered who had glued the lock. “Whatever the case, you stay away from Lehtonen,” he said.

  “Fine. I’ve had more of her stinky ass than I care to remember.”

  Suhonen stood up and left, leaving the coffee cup on the table.

  “Asshole,” Teittinen stammered just loud enough for Suhonen to hear.

  * * *

  The corridors of the VCU were quiet tonight.

  “Care for some coffee?” asked Takamäki.

  Suhonen shook his head.

  “Well, I’ll skip it too, then.”

 
The detectives were sitting in Takamäki’s office. Outside the window, all was dark, save for the yellow glow of the street lights. The temperature had dipped to ten degrees Fahrenheit, and a light snow was drifting down from the skies.

  “If it wasn’t Teittinen, who was it?” said Takamäki.

  “Well, he confessed to the drunken phone call, so why would he deny the glue job? It was just a little bullying.”

  Takamäki went on, “Think it was one of Korpi’s guys?”

  “That was my first thought.”

  “But why now that the trial is over? You’d think the point of any harassment would be to scare the witness out of appearing in court.”

  “It’s possible that Lehtonen has another enemy,” said Suhonen. “Or maybe her daughter’s friends were just playing a prank.”

  Takamäki thought for a moment. “What do you think we should do?”

  “Well, a little glue in a lock is a pretty innocent thing. And since we have no idea who did it, it’s all guesswork anyway. No point in starting anything.”

  “Agreed. Korpi wouldn’t be using a glue bottle for his payback.”

  “So we should just lay low?”

  “Yeah. But let’s keep tabs on it,” said Takamäki.

  “You want me to fill Joutsamo in?”

  “No need. I’ll tell her tomorrow when she gets in. Let her have at least a half-day off.”

  * * *

  Laura Lehtonen was walking alone along Western Brahe Street toward home. Her face stung in the frigid air and she pulled her wool hat further down over her ears. The red of her scarf and parka was carefully matched with that of her hat. The snow creaked beneath her boots.

  It was just past seven o’clock and her theater feedback session had just ended. The director had praised Laura’s performance, hence her buoyant mood. The director had also mentioned a spring project, one much more demanding than the current one. Laura would play one of the main characters.

  Skaters flocked on the ice rink. Laura hoped to go skating someday soon with her best friend, Mira.