Deputy chief of police Skoog had called to tell Takamäki that he’d remain in charge of the operation. Command could be reevaluated in the morning if the unpleasant incident, as Skoog had termed the siege, still continued. That suited Takamäki just fine, because they would have to change shifts in the morning anyway. He and all the others who had been at the scene overnight would be sent home to get some sleep.
Skoog had also pressed for Takamäki’s prognosis about the eventual outcome, but Takamäki hadn’t been able to give him an answer.
Takamäki tried to think where things had gone wrong—why had a normal manhunt for an escaped convict ended up in a high-profile siege? The search for Repo had been taken seriously, with several officers dedicated to tracking him down. Agh, he thought. He could process all that later.
The numbers on the van clock read 5:32.
Takamäki decided to try calling Repo. As per Joutsamo’s request, a speaker had been pulled from the tech vehicle to the lead van, but things had been quiet inside the house for the past half hour.
He reached over to the computer to turn on recording and picked up the phone. The number was still in the phone’s memory, and it rang three times before Repo answered. This time the radar man didn’t announce anything about the target moving, so Repo probably had a cordless phone.
Once again, Repo answered with a simple “Hello.”
“Hi, this is Lieutenant Kari Takamäki. How are we doing?”
“You tell me.”
“Pretty well, I’d say.”
“Is that so?” Repo’s scornful tone sounded ominous to Takamäki. But he didn’t give up.
“Yes. The sooner we resolve this situation, the sooner we can start clearing up that old case. Rectifying the wrongs that happened.”
“How are you going to rectify those wrongs? By throwing cash at them? That seems to be the way the government works. When civil servants make mistakes, they can escape justice just by paying for it out with the taxpayers’ money. But nothing happens to them. I think that’s wrong.”
“No one has come up with a better system yet.”
“You civil servants all just protect each other, because you don’t know whose actions will be the subject of the next investigation. The atmosphere of fear keeps everyone quiet.”
Takamäki felt like disagreeing, but he didn’t want to escalate the argument. On the other hand, he couldn’t let his opponent humiliate him, either.
Repo continued. “If you can guarantee that Fredberg and that shit-head Leinonen, the lead investigator from Riihimäki, are charged with misconduct, I’ll come out right now.”
Takamäki thought for a moment. Repo wasn’t stupid. But there was no point stepping into the trap.
“I’m a police officer. I can investigate it, but the prosecutors decide who gets charged,” Takamäki said. “I can, however, guarantee you that I’ll investigate it.”
Repo chuckled sarcastically. “Maybe you’re a straight-shooter after all, at least you’re not lying to my face. Unfortunately, investigating it isn’t going to cut it. But you were saying something earlier about a TV interview. I could consider coming out if you present an apology to me on behalf of all Finnish police officers, and especially on behalf of that dunce in Riihimäki.”
Takamäki was getting pissed off, but he had to keep his feelings out of it. He reminded himself of his goal: bringing the situation to a peaceful resolution. “You want me to order you a pizza while I’m at it? Empire Special? Salami, shrimp, and garlic?”
“Garlic’s hard on my stomach,” Repo replied. “It got used to cabbage in the pen.”
“Seriously, though,” Takamäki shifted into a more sober tone. “I think we’ve been making progress. I’ve promised that we’ll investigate the old case. We’ve established that the actions of all civil servants involved in your case will be thoroughly scrutinized. That we agree on, right?”
“Sure. You did promise that,” Repo said.
“Good. Your old case will also be re-opened. By the way, we sent the clothes from the old murder scene in for DNA analysis. So you can be sure that if anything new turns up, we’ll do everything we can. We probably agree on that, too, right?”
“Yeah,” Repo said.
“Well, so help me out a little, too. What’s still standing in the way of us ending this whole stupid siege? What’s eating at you here?”
“The fact that the authorities destroyed my life with their sloppiness. I could’ve still...”
”Could’ve what?”
“Even though Arja was killed, I could’ve continued my life with Joel,” Repo said. Takamäki could sense the emotion in his voice.
“You said your wife was killed,” Takamäki interjected. “Who killed her?”
“I know who did it. He told me himself.”
“Your father?”
Repo was silent for a second before continuing. “A couple of years after the incident, he came to visit me in prison. We hadn’t ever talked about it before, but he wanted to come tell me. I had passed out, and he and Arja had had some massive fight that had ended in a single knife-slash. They had been standing across from each other and Arja had challenged him, told him he wouldn’t dare. Well, he dared to do the slashing, but he didn’t dare to take responsibility. Afterwards he panicked, put the knife in my hand, and left. He called the police from some phone booth,” Repo chuckled. “That’s back when there still used to be phone booths.”
“Did you tell this to anyone?”
“No. And after that, I stopped all my appeals, too.”
“Why?”
“I couldn’t. Okay, so he was a shitty dad and played a shitty trick on me, but I couldn’t do it to him. Besides, I had already been labeled a habitual complainer, so it wouldn’t have mattered. Who would’ve believed me? You?”
Takamäki didn’t answer. If Repo wanted to talk, let him talk.
“Somehow it all bubbled up that weekend when Dad’s funeral was coming up, and I read in the paper that Fredberg had become the chief justice. I had really trusted the appeals court and overall system. I thought, OK, district court sentences can be sort of be based on whim, but I thought the appeals courts actually had better judges. But there was just this goddamn asshole who doesn’t even know how to do his job,” Repo said. “See, the only thing you learn in prison is how to hate.”
“Why did your dad kill your wife?”
“I don’t know. He never told me the exact reason. Some argument,” Repo said.
“And your father didn’t want to take responsibility later either, even though he knew he was dying?”
“He didn’t want to die. According to the hospital papers, he demanded the best care. He was probably afraid he’d be left in a prison cell to rot. Like what happened to me. After Arja died, I had two paths ahead of me: life with my son or prison. The authorities chose prison for me. Thanks a fucking lot.”
Takamäki was mildly horrified. It was good that Repo told him his story, because it brought them closer together. Takamäki had a better chance of influencing Repo’s choices. There was also something troubling about the way things were headed, though. Repo was telling him things he hadn’t ever told anyone before, and was up in the red zone of his emotional barometer again.
“You said in your last phone call that judges were supposed to ensure that justice is served, not be an extension of the state bureaucracy. I agree with you.”
Repo laughed drily. “You’re telling me. My case is a perfect example, and hopefully it will be remembered. But listen, Takamäki, I’ll be watching you on TV at six. After that, I’ll decide what I’m going to do.”
“Follow your head, not your feelings,” Takamäki said. “And call me first. Do you have my number?”
“Yeah, I can see it here on the phone.”
“You’re a unique case who can do some good for the system.”
“Bullshit, I’m not unique in any way. Open your eyes and ears, man.”
Takamäki feinted once again.
“You promise to call?”
“Ha! I promise to look into whether I can call,” Repo retorted. “Oh yeah, one more thing. I didn’t kill Karppi. I was there, but he fell and hit his head by himself,” Repo said and hung up.
Takamäki reflected on the call. Good or bad?
CHAPTER 21
THURSDAY, 6:00 A.M.
LAUTTASAARI, HELSINKI
The morning TV broadcast began with the show’s soothing theme music. Takamäki couldn’t hear the sound, but he could see the show’s intro graphics on the monitor that had been set up next to the satellite van.
Wearing a black leather jacket, the reporter Sanna Römpötti was holding a large umbrella at Takamäki’s side. In front of them stood cameraman Ike Karhunen, his large camera wrapped in plastic and trained on them. Karhunen had also set up lights, which initially made Takamäki squint. The lights would of course be visible from the besieged house, but Takamäki had allowed their use.
Römpötti had explained beforehand how the beginning of the broadcast would go. The anchor would kick things off at the studio, but the broadcast would quickly shift to Lauttasaari, with Römpötti answering a few of the anchor’s questions. Takamäki’s turn would come a few minutes later.
Takamäki gazed silently at the monitor—the host was talking. The text “Supreme Court Chief Justice Held Hostage” appeared on the screen. That made the incident major news. If Repo had kidnapped, say, his former lawyer, that also would have been news, but nothing on this scale.
Römpötti appeared on the screen and answered the first question that she’d heard through her ear mic.
“The situation here at Lauttasaari is very serious. Timo Repo, a convicted murderer who escaped from prison a few days ago, has barricaded himself in that house there behind me,” Römpötti reported, gesturing toward the stand of trees. “He is holding the chief justice of the Supreme Court hostage. Let’s take a look at some footage of how the situation developed here over the early-morning hours.”
Material that had been shot earlier that night was shown on the monitors. Römpötti had presumably edited the clip in the satellite van.
Römpötti turned toward Takamäki. “This will take a good sixty seconds. Then you’re on.”
“So you’ll ask and I’ll answer.”
“That’s usually the way it goes,” Römpötti smiled. “Shitty weather, huh?”
“At least we have an umbrella. Those guys on the front line don’t.”
Takamäki watched the footage of the siege. Pictures of the armored cars arriving and the medic copter waiting on the field were being shown when the cameraman announced that they would be continuing the live broadcast in ten seconds.
Takamäki thought once more about Repo in the house. He was definitely watching the broadcast, because five minutes ago the radar man had announced that there was movement in the living room. After that, the sounds of the TV had been heard coming from the room. What would the hook be that would convince Repo to give in?
“We’re back broadcasting live from Lauttasaari,” Römpötti announced into the mic, “where convicted murderer Timo Repo, who escaped last week, is holding Aarno Fredberg, the chief justice of the Supreme Court, hostage. The police operation here is being led by Detective Lieutenant Kari Takamäki of the Helsinki Police Department’s Violent Crimes Unit. Lieutenant Takamäki, what’s the latest status?”
Takamäki kept his gaze on Römpötti. “Things are very calm at the moment, and have been for several hours now. In order to ensure the safety of the public, we have had to take precautionary measures of cordoning off a large area and rerouting Western Expressway traffic. Of course that’s going to cause a lot of headaches for commuters traveling from Espoo to downtown Helsinki.”
“Have you established contact with Timo Repo?”
“Yes,” Takamäki said, but did not elaborate.
Römpötti was caught a little off guard by the one-word response, but recovered quickly. “What are his demands?”
“Repo was sentenced to life in prison in 1999 for the murder of his wife. The Helsinki Police Department has, in conjunction with the escape investigation, conducted a preliminary review of that case, and there appear to be some anomalies in it.”
Römpötti bit. “Anomalies? What do you mean?”
Takamäki turned his gaze directly to the camera, so the words would be targeted personally to Repo.
“The Kouvola Court of Appeals upheld Repo’s life sentence, but the case definitely demands a more detailed investigation.”
“So Repo has, perhaps, been wrongly convicted?”
Takamäki’s gaze stayed on the camera. “It’s very possible. The matter must be investigated in detail as soon as this situation here has been resolved.”
“So an unprecedented situation?”
“You could say that,” Takamäki said, turning back toward Römpötti.
“Supreme Court chief justice Aarno Fredberg used to sit on the bench at the Kouvola Court of Appeals, and he was one of the judges that sentenced Repo to life in prison. Can we assume that there’s a connection here?”
Takamäki nodded. “That is the case.”
“What kinds of demands has Repo presented? How can this situation be resolved?”
“The police are approaching the situation as calmly as possible. As I said earlier, we have been in contact with Timo Repo and negotiations are ongoing. The old case will be reinvestigated at a later time, and for right now the police are, of course, working toward a peaceful resolution.” Römpötti understood Takamäki’s tone of voice: it was time to end the interview, but she wanted to ask one more thing.
“The police statement earlier read that Timo Repo was not considered particularly dangerous. Presumably that’s no longer the case?”
Takamäki didn’t care for the question. “The police are seeking to resolve this in a peaceful manner and are continuing negotiations.”
Römpötti turned toward the camera. “And so the siege that began last night here in Lauttasaari continues. Now back to the studio.”
The morning host came back on screen. Photos of the judge appeared, quickly followed by clips from Römpötti’s recent interview with Fredberg.
“Thanks,” Römpötti said to Takamäki. “Nice interview.”
The cameraman turned off the lights.
“Good,” answered Takamäki. “You might want to keep those cameras rolling and aimed at the house. Something might happen soon.”
“What?”
“If I only knew,” Takamäki said, as he strode off toward the lead van, twenty yards away. He heard Römpötti order Karhunen to keep the camera filming the house.
He ran into Joutsamo outside the van. “Good interview, maybe,” she said. “Repo’s on the line. He called as soon as you went off the air. Said he’d hold until you made it to the phone.”
Takamäki’s face was grave. “Okay, tell Turunen to get his men ready. We might be going in soon.”
“The moment of truth?” Joutsamo asked.
“The moment of doom.”
“Helmikoski also got a pretty serious barrage of calls from the other media outlets. They want to move in closer from their cordon on Lauttasaari Road. In the name of equal treatment.”
“That interview wasn’t journalism, it was a police operation. The message was intended solely for Repo.”
“I know that,” Joutsamo said, as they reached the door of the lead car. “But explain it to them.”
Takamäki’s phone rang. Blocked number. “Hello?” he answered.
“Hi there, Mary J. Juvonen from Iltalehti...”
Takamäki pressed the button marked with a red receiver.
“Explain it to her if she calls back,” Takamäki said, handing the phone to Joutsamo. Takamäki stepped into the van, where Kirsi Kohonen was sitting. Joutsamo followed.
“Hi,” his red-headed subordinate said. “Call for you.”
Takamäki sat down on the seat of the van, took a deep breath, and picked up th
e receiver. “Hello.”
“Hello, it’s Repo.”
“Hi,” said Takamäki. At least the fugitive’s voice didn’t sound overly tense.
“You did well on TV.”
“Ha,” Takamäki grunted. “Good, if that’s what you thought. I hope you understand that I’m serious about this now.”
“Yeah, I understand that, and I’d sincerely like to thank you for your empathy.”
“After that publicity, your case and the two bureaucrats will definitely be investigated with a fine-toothed comb.”
“That’s wonderful,” Repo said laconically. “Do you remember who Jorma Takala was?”
Shivers went up Takamäki’s spine. “Of course.”
“The explosion at the market square in Mikkeli twenty-one years ago changed a lot of things about the way police conduct their operations.”
Takamäki knew what Repo was referring to. Takala had robbed a bank with a shotgun and dynamite in Helsinki, then taken hostages that he drove 130 miles north to Mikkeli. In the middle of the night, the police stormed the car, freeing two of the hostages. The officer shot Takala, but he still managed to detonate explosives killing himself and one hostage and injuring ten officers. This led to the police becoming much more cautious in hostage crises. Nowadays, the police always had time to wait, and the focus was on a peaceful resolution.
“There always has to be a crisis before things change,” Repo continued. “Now that you told the country on TV how this situation came about, hopefully it will have a similar impact on the justice system that Takala had on the police. Judges should be the part of the system ensuring that justice is served, not an extension of the state bureaucracy. Maybe they’ll think a little harder about that after this.”
Takamäki gave Joutsamo and Kohonen a concerned look. “Come on, don’t say that.”
“Hey, Takamäki,” Repo said. “Listen to Johnny Cash’s song ‘Hurt’ once this is over. He’s an ex-con. After that, you’ll know how I feel.”
Helsinki homicide: Cold Trail Page 23
