Nothing but the Truth hh-3

by Jarkko Sipila

  While the uniformed officers began shepherding the shocked guests down the stairs, Suhonen opened the door to an adjacent room and glanced inside. One look at the desk, laptop, bookshelves and stacks of paper told him it was Martin’s office. A few cell phones were charging on the desk. Forensics would have fun with this place.

  One of the Espoo cops came back upstairs. “We got a little problem. Couldn’t fit all of them in the cruisers, so I called for another. Martin’s waiting in your car, so I’ll ride with him in the back seat and make sure he doesn’t try anything.”

  “That’s fine,” said Suhonen.

  The beat officer smiled, “Quite the coke party. Two more lawyers, one communications director and a Supreme Court clerk in the bunch.”

  “Ha! Looks like headline material,” said Suhonen, and he called Takamäki, who informed him that Jere Siikala had been taken into custody without event.

  Suhonen took another look at the man’s lavish home and wondered if Espoo’s Narcotics unit would dare rifle through the office of a Supreme Court clerk. Takamäki, for one, would never miss such opportunity.

  SUNDAY, DECEMBER 17

  CHAPTER 25

  SUNDAY, 8:55 A.M.

  PORVOO STREET, HELSINKI

  Suhonen was sitting in the front seat of his Peugeot, parked in front of Porvoo Street 17 with a clear view of the Lehtonens’ apartment building. Though it had been legally parked, a Volvo had been towed to another spot down the street so Suhonen could have the best vantage point.

  Helsinki was awakening to a beautiful, sunny winter Sunday. The temperature was ten degrees below freezing and an inch of snow had fallen overnight. Suhonen occasionally had to run the engine so the windows wouldn’t frost over, and he’d cracked the window to minimize the problem.

  All was quiet on Porvoo Street. The Lehtonens’ building was at the old terminal stop of the number 3 streetcar, once called the “five-minute stop” because of how long the streetcar waited before turning around. The stop formed a sort of plaza, decorated by about ten trees, an electrical substation building, a couple of recycling barrels and a cab stand. Seven- and eight-story buildings surrounded the plaza. The Weeruska restaurant lay on Suhonen’s right behind a yellow fence.

  The blue-gray building where Tomi Salmela was killed was located directly across from the Lehtonens’ apartment. On the ground floor was a convenience store with barred windows.

  Aside from a few early risers out walking their dogs, nobody else was around. Three dogs went huffing past with a man in tow. Either he was deeply in love or under his wife’s thumb-nobody else would spend their Sunday morning out in the cold juggling three unruly dogs.

  The towing operation had been carried out at about six in the morning, and Suhonen had since downed a few cups of coffee. He’d been forced to relieve himself behind a nearby building, but it had still been dark out then.

  Now that the Kaarela surveillance operation was over, Narcotics had taken the overnight shift here, which had ended at six. In Kaarela, the police had had to remain out of sight, but here it didn’t matter. To the contrary, they wanted to be seen. The cruiser that had been waiting outside the building the previous day had been removed so as not to irritate Mari Lehtonen.

  The Lehtonens were inside-that much they knew. Or at least the police hadn’t seen them leave. After the show, Joutsamo had escorted them home. They had wanted to walk, so the sergeant had followed them in the car at a distance of no closer than thirty feet. Mari hadn’t wanted to talk.

  A man with a black knit hat pulled low over his eyes and his hands in his jacket pockets walked past the parked cars in front of the building. Suhonen followed him idly with his eyes. The man’s step was somehow plodding, perhaps from a hangover. A couple of cars drove past. Someone scraped the windows of a Saab, then pulled out of the parking space in front of the building.

  Suhonen had time to ponder again. With as much time as he spent alone with his thoughts, he could have been a famed philosopher by now. He shook off thoughts of his personal life-he didn’t care to think about those now. Things were muddled enough without them. The inside of the windshield began to fog up again and Suhonen started the engine. The fan breathed cold air at first, but soon enough it began to warm up.

  An old rusty Ford Escort was approaching from the oncoming lane, and Suhonen snapped to attention. That same car had driven past the building only a few minutes earlier. It was an early eighties model, with a boxy-looking body, maybe an ’82, he thought. At the most-at the very most-it was worth five hundred euros.

  Suhonen couldn’t make out the driver, but the car slowed up and parked in the same spot the Saab had vacated a few minutes earlier. Despite the abundant space near the crosswalk, the driver had to crank the wheel a few times to get in.

  A man in an army jacket got out of the car. From some fifty yards off, Suhonen put the man’s age at about twenty. He wore black jeans and his hair hung down from beneath his knit hat. The man closed the car door, and with quick strides, headed back in the same direction he had come from. Clearly a speedier fellow than the hung-over bum from earlier. Something was bothering Suhonen and he lost twenty seconds figuring it out: the man hadn’t locked his door. An Escort that old certainly wouldn’t have remote locks. Nobody left their door unlocked in this neighborhood.

  The guy was already twenty yards from the Ford and about seventy from the Peugeot when Suhonen swung swiftly out of his car. He took his key ring and reflexively locked the doors with the remote as he hurried off toward the Escort. As he drew nearer, he memorized the plate number. The car looked rough-five hundred would be asking a lot. Nearly every seam was engulfed in rust. A long crack stretched across the passenger side of the windshield.

  Suhonen peered in the window. The seats looked filthy and worn. The floor was littered with garbage. He worked his way around the car and noticed a bag in the footwell of the back seat. Too many things were adding up.

  Suhonen’s first impulse had been to run after the driver, but the car was clearly a higher priority. He took a couple of steps back and called dispatch. Thirty seconds later, another unsettling fact was added to the list: according to the plate number, the car should have been a black BMW. Suhonen backed away from the car and ducked behind the corner of a building. He notified dispatch of a possible bomb and gave a description of the driver to be forwarded to patrol cars in the area.

  Suhonen looked around. Nobody in sight. He speculated about the potential bomb’s detonating device: probably on a timer, and unlikely a matter of minutes, since the driver hadn’t run from the car, thought Suhonen. From further off came the wail of the first siren, and then another. For chrissakes, he thought and dialed Takamäki’s number.

  * * *

  Within twenty minutes, several blocks surrounding the plaza on Porvoo Street were cordoned off. More than a dozen police cars were on site with roof lights flashing. An ambulance and a few fire trucks were parked on the side streets. A crowd had gathered, but the police weren’t answering questions.

  A bomb-sniffing dog approached the car and began barking-it had detected the scent of explosives. The fact that the temperature had dipped to twenty degrees Fahrenheit made the situation especially problematic. Most explosives became very unstable below twenty-five degrees.

  Police began evacuating residents living in the cordoned area. The first to be evacuated was the nearest building: the Lehtonens’. Needless to say, the tenants were alarmed as police filed through the apartments one by one, ordering people to exit through the back door as soon as possible. They were allowed only enough time to put on warm clothes.

  The evacuation was unusually extensive: there were nearly ten large apartment buildings in the area. The streetcar line had been brought to a standstill.

  Mari and Laura were ushered out with the others with no special treatment, since the patrol officer didn’t know who they were. Mari pressed him for a reason, but all he could say was that a police operation in front of the building required that al
l residents leave the area.

  Now Mari and Laura were sitting in a small coffee shop on Western Brahe Street, each nursing a cup of tea and a roll. From the window, she could see the police barricade at the corner of Sture and Porvoo Streets, about a hundred and fifty feet off. All four tables at the coffee shop were full.

  Mari brooded as she gazed out the window. A number of police officers were about and she noticed a TV reporter. Despite the turmoil, Mari had had the good sense to take her wallet and phone along. Her purse was on the floor, along with the “Christmas present” Anton had given her.

  “What’s this all about, Mom?” asked Laura.

  Mari shrugged.

  “Is this about us?”

  “Sweetie, I don’t know.”

  “But what if it is?”

  “Just eat your roll,” she snapped. She, too, felt unsettled.

  The door to the coffee shop opened, and in came Sanna Römpötti. The owner of the coffee shop was an older woman with her hair in a bun, and she recognized the reporter. “Hello,” she said from behind the counter.

  “Hi,” said Römpötti as she scanned the patrons at the tables. She recognized Mari Lehtonen.

  “So what’s going on out there?” asked the shop owner. A hush came over the room.

  Römpötti turned back to the counter and answered loudly enough that everyone could hear. “We’re still not sure, but apparently some kind of bomb threat. For now that’s all we know.” She turned back toward the tables. “Are there any evacuees in here? I’m looking for somebody to interview.”

  Römpötti’s gaze fell on Mari, who gave a nod of consent and Römpötti came over to the table.

  “Have a seat,” said Mari, and the reporter sat down and unzipped her coat.

  “We’ve met before,” said Römpötti. “Not formally, but I was there in court when you testified. I’m Sanna Römpötti, crime reporter for Channel 3 news.”

  “Yes, I know,” said Mari. She was sizing up the situation.

  “So were you two evacuated?” asked Römpötti, glancing occasionally at Laura as she ate her roll. The reporter’s approach was simple. Her job was to get potential interview subjects to talk, and that was all. An ordinary person’s account would make the bomb threat seem real to viewers. The facts she could get from the police.

  “Yes, we were.”

  “At what time?”

  “Let’s see…it would’ve been about a quarter after nine. We were just having breakfast when a policeman rang the bell.”

  “And what did he say?” This was good material, thought Römpötti. Maybe she could even talk Lehtonen into going on camera.

  “He just mentioned some kind of police operation in front of the building. Did you say there was

  a bomb?”

  “That’s what I’ve heard from my own sources, but it hasn’t been officially confirmed. And we don’t know whether it’s an actual bomb or just a threat. They’re not letting anyone on the scene yet. So this was in front of your building?”

  “Yeah,” Mari nodded.

  “What building number?”

  Lehtonen told her. The reporter took out her phone and passed the information on to a roaming cameraman outside. With this information, he could look for a chink in the crowd at the police barricade where he could get footage of the car. Römpötti had considered renting a helicopter, but decided against it. The massive police operation was certainly unusual, but bomb threats weren’t all that rare.

  Römpötti was just wrapping up her phone call with the cameraman when Mari’s phone rang. The caller was unidentified, but she answered anyway. It was Joutsamo.

  “How you doing?” asked the sergeant.

  “Alright,” said Mari. “What’s going on?”

  Joutsamo paused briefly before responding. “Someone parked a car in front of your building this morning with a backpack containing an explosive. We don’t yet know what kind, but we’ll find out. The bomb squad is dismantling it for transfer at the moment. Where are you?”

  “Not far away.”

  “And where might that be.”

  “Why do you ask?” said Mari.

  “I think it’s best if you two return to Kirkkonummi. I know it is.”

  Mari thought for a moment. “And what if we don’t? We still haven’t done anything wrong,

  you know.”

  Römpötti was listening intently, a puzzled expression on her face.

  “Of course you haven’t done anything wrong, but it’s the safest option. The only option.”

  Lehtonen took a sidelong glance at Römpötti as she spoke into the receiver. “I don’t want to hide anymore.”

  Joutsamo was quiet. “Well, let’s talk face to face at least. Can I pick you guys up? Where are you?”

  “I don’t see why we should meet,” said Mari. “I mean…what’s the point if you can’t help me. I think I’m just gonna have to change my game plan.” Lehtonen looked at Römpötti and hung up the phone.

  Römpötti didn’t say anything. The woman would have to take the initiative, and Römpötti was all ears.

  “It was a real bomb. In a car, in front of our building,” said Mari in a low voice.

  “Maybe it has something to do with you?” said Römpötti. Lehtonen nodded. The story was shaping up into headline news: Car Bomb Planted at Murder Witness’s Doorstep.

  “So do you want to hear my story?”

  She did, and Mari told her everything.

  CHAPTER 26

  SUNDAY, 12:00 P.M.

  PASILA POLICE HEADQUARTERS

  Fifteen or so grim-faced police officers had assembled in the VCU conference room. In addition to Takamäki’s core group of detectives, a few other VCU investigators, VCU Chief Karila, Kannas from Forensics, Nykänen from the NBI and Syväoja from the Finnish Security Intelligence Service were present. The FSIS was in charge of national security and took an interest in the bomb since Finland was the current president of the European Union. Because Finland’s term expired at the end of the year and no important conferences remained, Syväoja was the lone FSIS representative needed at the meeting.

  The time was two minutes to twelve when Deputy Chief Skoog walked into the room and greeted everyone with a tight-lipped nod.

  Takamäki took a final glance at the clock and commenced the meeting with a briefing on the background of the case, including Mari Lehtonen’s testimony and the subsequent threats, after which he went into the events of the day.

  “At nine o’clock this morning we found the most serious threat so far,” said Takamäki. “A car parked in front of Lehtonen’s apartment building with an explosive in the back seat footwell. This resulted in an extensive precautionary evacuation of all residents in the area. The full story hasn’t yet been revealed to the residents or the public, but we’ll go through the media process later. Let’s start with Lehtonen. Joutsamo, what’s the latest?”

  Joutsamo shrugged. “I chatted with Mari. She doesn’t want to cooperate with us. Thinks we’re trying to solve her problems by locking her up in some kind of quasi-prison, which she’s opposed to because she doesn’t feel she’s done anything wrong.”

  “What? Is she nuts?” said Deputy Chief Skoog.

  “Not nuts,” said Joutsamo. “More like a woman of principle. Once she’s made up her mind, she doesn’t change it.”

  “Sounds nuts to me,” said Skoog. “Have you explained the gravity of the situation to her?”

  Joutsamo ignored the comment and went on, “At this point we don’t know exactly where she is. Apparently still in the city somewhere, but she hasn’t returned home. The blockade was lifted as soon as the explosives were removed. We posted a squad car in front of the apartment building, but there’s been no sight of her, nor her daughter. In a way, that’s a positive sign, since if we don’t know where they are, then it’s unlikely Korpi’s henchmen do either.”

  Takamäki interrupted. “An even better sign would be getting them back into the safe house.”

  “I don
’t think it’s possible… We can’t force them.”

  Skoog looked pensive. “Can’t force them… Well, if we can’t, maybe a psychologist can. We could have her committed, and the girl could go into foster care.”

  Joutsamo scowled in Takamäki’s direction. “Hmm…”

  Skoog was unfazed. “That’s my recommendation at this point. We can’t let a woman targeted by these kinds of threats prance around town while we sit around and wait for the next bomb threat. That’s a good way to get innocent bystanders killed.”

  “So Lehtonen’s not an innocent bystander?” said Joutsamo.

  Skoog glared at the sergeant. “She’s the target-that’s what she is. No question about it. The centerpiece of this case.”

  “We’ll talk tactics later,” said Takamäki. “We haven’t even gone through the incident yet. Kannas, what about the explosive? What do we know

  about it?”

  Kannas stood up. “We’ve received the preliminary results from the NBI lab. The backpack was filled with a plastic explosive by the name of hexogen, also known as RDX, developed during the Second World War. Chemically, it’s a nitroamine organic compound, which is basically military grade, so the same stuff the pros use. As far as its composition, more precise tests are still underway, and I’m sure we’ll hear more soon. Provided they don’t blow up their lab in the process,” said Kannas with a campy baritone and a smile.

  The others weren’t amused. Takamäki was about to guide him back on topic, but for once, Kannas checked himself, “I won’t go into the technical details; we can talk about that later as needed. The origin of the explosive is still unknown…” said Kannas, looking straight at Syväoja, who would take an interest in this aspect, since it was the same explosive used by the Chechen rebels in Russia. “…But we did find one fingerprint on the bomb’s detonator, which, by the way, wasn’t set properly. The bomb could never have exploded because one of the safeties was still engaged. No telling if that was accidental or intentional. At any rate, based on the timer, the bomb was set to go off at 10:28. The scariest part was the fact that cold weather makes the explosive very unstable. We had to warm up the car before moving…”