Helsinki homicide: Cold Trail

by Sipila, Jarkko

  The judge sat still in the chair, and a ten-foot wire led from the strapped explosives to Repo’s detonator. The device, which was about the size of a TV remote, lay on the table. Repo had left the safety on.

  Fredberg’s gaze followed Repo incessantly. Repo sat down at the table and picked up the detonator. “Are you afraid of dying?”

  “I don’t know,” the judge said. His forehead itched, but he couldn’t scratch it. “I’ve never thought about it in terms of being afraid, because it’s inevitable, a given fact.”

  “Do you believe in God?”

  “Yes, although I consider myself a Christian by convention rather than conviction.”

  Repo stared Fredberg in the eye. The judge was trying to look somehow dignified, even though his hair was a mess and he was wearing nothing more than pajamas.

  “I lost my faith in God eight years ago.”

  “What hap...?” Fredberg started, quickly swallowing the rest of the sentence.

  “Were you going to ask what happened?”

  “I was, but I already figured out the answer.”

  Repo didn’t immediately respond.

  “Who was it who said, ‘That which is not just and fair may not be law’?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Answer!” Repo roared, causing Fredberg to flinch.

  “Olaus Petri, of course. In the 1530s. All judges know that.”

  “I read those principles in the prison library. They compared judges to God.”

  “Yes, well.” Fredberg chose his words with care. “I’d say that’s reading a little too much into it.”

  Repo’s eyes remained locked on Fredberg’s. “Because the judge is charged by God to judge rightly, he must strive with all his might to know what justice is,” Repo cited from memory. “The judge acts at God’s command.”

  Fredberg didn’t dare to contradict him. “I believe that’s correct.”

  “God urges us to mercy, and according to Olaus Petri, justice must include mercy as well.”

  “I fully agree with you.”

  “So why wasn’t any shown in my case?”

  Fredberg tried to remember the case, but he couldn’t recall the details.

  “If the court acted wrongly, that can be corrected. I can personally look into the case and act as your advocate.”

  “You should have advocated for me eight years ago,” Repo said. “Now it’s my turn to be the judge.”

  * * *

  Sitting alone in the lead vehicle, Joutsamo dug her cell phone from her pocket. Takamäki, Turunen, and Helmikoski had gone for a round to get a better picture of the situation. The snow had turned to rain, but slush still covered the ground.

  The number rang six times before a sleepy voice answered. “Römpötti.”

  “Good morning!” Joutsamo said, feigning perkiness.

  “Anna, what the hell?” the reporter growled. “It’s three in the morning.”

  “That’s right, We’ve still got an hour to play before the bars close. Come party.”

  “Give me a break,” Römpötti moaned. “I haven’t gotten a good night’s sleep all week. And now I probably won’t be able to fall back asleep.”

  Joutsamo was amused by how slowly the human brain worked when it was roused from slumber. “Come on! Let’s go!”

  “No!” Römpötti shouted. “No way!”

  Joutsamo decided to end her teasing. The risk was that Römpötti would hang up and turn off her phone. “Listen. It’s about work. Are you sure you’re awake?”

  “Work? At this hour?”

  “Yup. Cops never sleep.”

  “Neither do reporters, at least not this one. Tell me,” Römpötti said, her voice more alert.

  “We found the escaped convict in Lauttasaari. He’s holed up in a house on Marina Road. There’s a pretty big police operation going on here.”

  A slapping sound filled the air. Joutsamo glanced up and saw a red helicopter landing further down the soccer field. The air current from the rotors whipped the water-drops harder into the van’s windshield.

  “The air ambulance just arrived.”

  “Holy shit! I’ll call a cameraman and be right over.”

  “There’s one more thing. He has a hostage.”

  “Wow. That’s not good. You know who it is?”

  “Yes. Fredberg, chief justice of the Supreme Court.”

  Römpötti was silent for a second. “You gotta be kidding me. That’s a huge story.”

  “And a serious situation.”

  “Are you going to get him out of there alive?”

  “We’re doing our best.”

  “How close can I get? We’re going to broadcast straight from the scene.”

  “Takamäki said your team can come onto the soccer field. I don’t know exactly what he has in mind.”

  Römpötti’s voice was thoughtful, “Is that so? Are we going to be part of some police operation?”

  “He’ll probably tell you more himself, but I can always call some other network and see if they want to bring a van up on the field.”

  “We’re on our way.”

  Joutsamo looked at the helicopter, which had cut its engine. The blades of the rotor still spun, drooping lazily. All of the ingredients for a massive catastrophe were in place.

  CHAPTER 20

  THURSDAY, 4:10 A.M.

  LAUTTASAARI, HELSINKI

  Turunen brought a thermos into the lead van and produced three paper cups from his pocket. “Sorry, all I got was coffee. Black, no sugar.”

  “No worries,” Joutsamo said. She was sitting at the computer. Takamäki was next to her.

  “None at all,” he agreed.

  Turunen pulled the side door shut and sat down in the passenger seat. He set the cups down next to the laptop and poured out steaming java.

  Joutsamo got hers first. “What’s the situation?”

  “Same as an hour ago. Both are in the dining room. Haven’t moved,” the SWAT leader informed them. Takamäki knew that the SWAT team had a device they used to see people’s movement through walls. The system worked like radar, except the waves transmitted by the equipment penetrated walls and bounced off people. They hadn’t managed to set up cameras to produce any helpful images.

  Earlier, Turunen had also laid out the plan for entering the home. Since Repo was apparently not in possession of a firearm, they only had to deal with one threat: the detonator. If it was the release-type, they would have to successfully cut the wire between the explosives and the detonator, which would require a major diversion. In practice their best chance was if a police officer was allowed to bring food or something else to the house. The problem of course was that there was presumably plenty of food inside the house.

  Their other opportunities would arise if Repo fell asleep or if somehow they could catch him off guard when the detonator’s safety was on.

  “No contact has been established?” Turunen asked.

  “No. We’ve been calling at regular intervals, both the landline and Fredberg’s cell phone. No answer,” Takamäki reported.

  “Is this technically a hostage situation?” Turunen pondered. “We don’t know what Repo’s demands are. Some sort of demand is necessary for a hostage situation to arise.”

  “Save it for the court room,” Takamäki said, taking a sip of coffee. “If and when some lawyer finds fault with our decisions here.”

  “What have they been talking about in there lately?” Joutsamo asked. One of the tech vans was continuously recording any conversation transmitted by the window mics.

  “Not getting much of anything. Repo’s got the same record on repeat: mercy, the verdict, and a judge’s responsibility. He’s really bitter about that conviction,” Turunen reported.

  “So the same as before,” said Joutsamo.

  “It’s a vendetta,” Turunen said. “Not much to add. We hear a lot of threats like these, but almost no one carries them out.”

  “Yeah, thinking more about Repo’s minds
et…I guess our society has become so individualistic nowadays that advancing your own interests is now the most important thing, or the only thing, in some instances,” Joutsamo reflected. “That means the justice system and state bureaucracy are constantly working more and more like the business world, where money and productivity are the priority.”

  “You mean the state doesn’t act in the best interests of individuals,” Turunen clarified.

  “In the business world, it’s the company’s job to protect its own interests. Bureaucrats will start doing the same as this business-type thinking is shoved down their throats. The purpose of the system will change from looking after the interests of the people to ensuring the functioning of the system itself. When that happens, any person lodging a complaint about civil servants becomes a burden, and those who do it repeatedly become branded as nuisances who won’t be taken seriously, like Repo. At the same time, the government grows more secretive, and any missteps within the system get covered up. All this feeds into the thinking that things can only be resolved by taking the law into your own hands. Repo is probably a pretty good example of this.”

  Turunen nodded. “If Fredberg manages to get out of this alive, the first thing he’ll probably do is demand a bodyguard. And when one judge has a bodyguard, all the others will think they need one, too.”

  “And they’re not necessarily unjustified. I think we’re going to be seeing more and more situations like this.”

  No one had anything to add. Turunen’s phone rang, and he summarized his brief conversation for Takamäki and Joutsamo: “We’ve also got the landline tapped now.”

  “No other phones have turned up?” Takamäki asked. The police had set up a base station that pulled in all cell phone calls in the area and allowed them to listen in. The caller didn’t notice anything. Cell phones were programmed so that they sought out the nearest base station, and the police’s base station offered the best alternative. But the police would have to comb through all the calls in order to be able to pinpoint Repo’s phone.

  “No,” Turunen said. “Not even any calls from reporters yet.”

  Takamäki grunted. He remembered a situation where a reporter at the scene of a siege had called his source at the police department without knowing that the call was being intercepted. The incident had led to an official reprimand for the source.

  “Who’s going to get the warrants for all this?” Joutsamo asked.

  “Karila or Kafka can take care of that,” Takamäki answered. “And Helmikoski is handling the expressway closure. He already wrote up a press release.”

  Two armored Pasi personnel carriers from the military turned onto the soccer field from the marina end. The streamlined tanks had six wheels, and the military identifiers were already covered by police stickers. The intent, aside from providing safety for the police officers, was to present a show of strength to the hostage-taker.

  “Should we try again?” Takamäki wondered out loud. Joutsamo nodded and gave the computer the command to start recording. The phone Takamäki was using was connected to both the computer and a speaker.

  Takamäki pulled up Fredberg’s landline from the phone’s memory. The phone rang.

  Turunen’s radio beeped and a voice announced: “The target is moving inside the house.”

  Takamäki looked at Turunen, who turned down his radio. His expression was hopeful.

  “Hello,” answered a male voice.

  “Hello,” Takamäki said in a firm, neutral tone. “This is Lieutenant Kari Takamäki from the Helsinki Police Department. Is this Timo Repo?”

  A moment of hesitation. “Yes.”

  Takamäki thought Repo’s voice sounded relatively sober, despite the fact that he had only spoken two words.

  “How are things in there?”

  “Calm,” Repo answered.

  “Good. It’s pretty calm out here too, even though this sleet doesn’t look like it’s going to let up anytime soon,” Takamäki said. He had a single objective for the conversation: bring the standoff to a conclusion in such a way that no lives were lost. “Do you have any suggestions as to how we could resolve this situation?”

  Repo grunted. “Pack your bags and get out of here. Then there won’t be a situation.”

  “As I’m sure you’re aware, that’s not possible.”

  “Well, do you have any suggestions?”

  “Timo,” Takamäki said, intentionally using his first name. “I think we could resolve this by you and Fredberg coming out nice and slow and leaving the explosives inside.”

  “I’m not going back to prison,” Repo announced, his voice determined.

  Takamäki’s and Joutsamo’s eyes met. A lack of willingness to compromise on a key negotiating point was a bad sign.

  “You don’t want to go back to prison because you were wrongly convicted, as an innocent man,” Takamäki said. He wanted to communicate empathy and avoid conflict. That being the case, he wouldn’t be mentioning Karppi’s death.

  Repo was silent.

  “We’ve looked into that old case during your escape. It seems to be full of irregularities.”

  “Irregularities!” Repo burst out.

  “Major errors that can be fixed.”

  “And how would you fix them, lieutenant?”

  “The case can be reopened, and retried, and if you are found not guilty, you’ll receive significant compensation for the past eight years,” Takamäki said. He was trying to feed Repo the idea that he did have an alternative to the detonator.

  “I don’t believe you! I tried for a couple of years to get it overturned, but no one lifted a finger. I was branded a habitual complainer. None of my appeals were taken seriously.”

  “The situation has changed. I’m on your side,” Takamäki said, wondering for a second if he was going too far.

  “You’re just saying that because you want me to come out with the judge.”

  Takamäki had anticipated this response. That’s why he had asked Joutsamo to call Römpötti.

  “I’m willing to state it publicly, too. Do you want me to say it on live TV on the 6 a.m. news?”

  Repo was silent for a minute, and Takamäki didn’t pressure him.

  “Judges should be the system that ensures justice is served, not be an extension of the state bureaucracy,” he finally said. “No. I was convicted as an innocent man, so I own the right to kill as compensation for my lost life. I don’t want anything from you.” Repo cut off the call.

  Joutsamo stopped recording, and neither she nor Takamäki said anything for a minute.

  “The last part was pretty bad, but maybe you got him thinking,” she said. Joutsamo knew that during hostage negotiations, the main objective was to bring the target out of their emotional turmoil and get them to think rationally.

  Turunen nodded approvingly. “Owning the right to kill for doing time as an innocent man. That’s pretty heavy.”

  “It’s just a reflection of his bitterness,” Takamäki said. “We can influence that feeling. At least we can try. But what he said about not wanting to go back to prison sounds serious.”

  Joutsamo nodded. “He might’ve ended up in prison anyway because of Karppi, but now he definitely will for this siege.”

  “True. After we defuse this situation, we can think about what comes next,” Takamäki said. What happened at Karppi’s house should not be brought up here, unless Repo wanted to address it himself. Now they needed to concentrate on defusing Repo’s bitterness.

  “Anna, tell Römpötti I’ll give her an interview at six regardless. Let’s try to establish contact with Repo before that.”

  “Is there any food out in that changing cabin?” Joutsamo asked.

  “Sandwiches,” Turunen answered.

  Raindrops struck Joutsamo in the face as she stepped out of the car. Luckily she was wearing boots, so her toes would stay warm.

  * * *

  Veteran SWAT officer Jarmo Eronen was sitting in the back of the tank, right next to the rear d
oors. The army vehicle was as bare-bones inside as it was out. Eronen’s partner, “Jack Bauer” Saarinen, was sitting further in, eyes shut. They switched places every twenty minutes to maintain their alertness.

  Eronen, who was almost thirty, had been on the SWAT team for about five years. His older brother had died about ten years earlier in a police operation on an island off of Helsinki. The incident had inspired him to apply for the police and the SWAT team.

  The back door of the Pasi had a small hatch where Eronen could look out down the barrel of his MP5 submachine gun. It had a laser sight under the barrel, but it wasn’t on. The house was about 20 yards away. Eronen could see the front yard and the right facade of the house. He had night vision gear, but neither he nor Saarinen wanted to use it. In spite of the rain, the city lights gave off enough light.

  They had seen no movement. Nor was there any reason to have. The team had managed to get a radar sensor close to the house, and an announcement would come over the radio if any movement was detected inside.

  Eronen was a trained sharpshooter. Nonetheless, his Heckler & Koch MSG90 rifle was on the bench of the Pasi in its black canvas holster. The distance to the house was short enough that the MP5 would suffice.

  Eronen was happy that the tanks had shown up, because just half an hour ago he had been lying on the ground under a poncho. The Pasi wasn’t comfortable, but it was noticeably better than the wet ground. When you were lying outside, you had to piss by rolling up on one side. At least in the Pasi there was a canister.

  No movement. In a couple of minutes it would be Bauer’s turn to take over.

  The SWAT officer was used to waiting. It didn’t bother him in the least. It was better to get situations resolved without violence. Some time ago, Turunen had informed them that contact had been established with the target. That was a good thing.

  No hint of movement.

  * * *

  Takamäki was sitting in the lead van alone, looking toward the house. The house itself was not visible; other vans were in the way. The scene reminded Takamäki of some old Western where the pioneers formed their wagons into a ring. Takamäki was at the computer, reviewing the log of all that night’s developments.