Helsinki homicide: Cold Trail

by Sipila, Jarkko

  “I...” Takamäki tried to interrupt.

  “I said, listen to the song when you get a chance. Johnny Cash, ‘Hurt.’ My English isn’t great, but the song starts off with lyrics saying that he has to hurt himself so he’ll know he’s alive. That’s the way it is in this case, too. Society needs to be hurt in order for it to function properly.”

  “Timo,” Takamäki raised his voice. “Don’t do anything foolish…”

  “I’m not going to do anything foolish. You have one minute to pull back all your officers. I don’t want to do them any harm. But the outcome is inevitable now.”

  “Give us two minutes so we can get everyone out from around the house,” Takamäki replied.

  “Okay,” Repo agreed. “And thanks.”

  Takamäki sighed and ended the call. Two minutes wasn’t much time.

  Turunen sprinted the fifteen-foot trip to the lead car. “Not looking good?”

  “No. Pull everyone back. Immediately.”

  The radio reported, “Movement in the house.”

  “And we’re not even going to try to go in there?”

  “No. Let’s minimize the damage. Not a single officer is going to die today. At least at Lauttasaari this morning. We have no choice.”

  Turunen took the radio and announced the order to pull back at least a hundred yards from the house.

  * * *

  Eronen had been manning the gun for twelve minutes when the radio announced that everyone was to retreat to at least a hundred yards. Saarinen was startled awake. The driver of the Pasi heard the command and revved up the vehicle’s diesel engines.

  The army sergeant at the wheel confirmed the order with the police officers: “Pull back?”

  Eronen looked at the house. There was no movement.

  “Yeah, follow the order,” Eronen replied, but at that very moment he saw the back door of the house opened. A man in black pajamas stepped out, or at least that’s what it looked like. He wasn’t wearing shoes. He took a few tentative steps and looked around.

  “Stop!” Eronen shouted, and the Pasi, which had just been rolling backwards, shuddered to a halt. Eronen opened the back door and hurled himself out. He was moving fast and slipped on the wet asphalt—his legs were stiff from crouching in the Pasi. He smacked his knee but leapt back up. Saarinen had already made it to his side. Eronen waved at the man who had emerged from the house, who darted toward the policeman.

  Eronen glanced at the house. It appeared peaceful. The man in the pajamas came running toward the police officers barefoot. He didn’t have any explosives strapped to him.

  Eronen was anxious about the imminent explosion and wondered if they’d make it back to the tank, or whether they should just hit the ground. If he climbed on top of the guy in the pajamas, the protective clothing would shield the other man too. Eronen now recognized him as the chief justice of the Supreme Court. Even though he had said all kinds of crap on TV, he still needed to be protected.

  Saarinen was the first one to make it to Fredberg and drag him along, forcing him to move faster. Eronen aimed his weapon at the house just in case Repo decided to come after them. No one did.

  “Faster!” Eronen yelled, turning to follow the other two. He caught up to them five yards from the tank, he was running right behind Fredberg. At least Eronen’s gear would protect the judge from any shrapnel.

  Eronen and Saarinen tossed Fredberg into the Pasi. The judge yelped as he banged his leg against the edge of the back hatch. Saarinen jumped in, and Eronen followed. The policemen slammed the hatches shut and ordered the sergeant to drive.

  Eronen was winded from the exertion, but he switched his ear mic to Talk. The man in the pajamas lay quietly on the floor of the armored vehicle. Saarinen was pointing his automatic weapon at him just in case.

  “A man exited the house. Looks like the judge. We’ll bring him to the lead van.”

  “Please repeat,” Turunen said.

  “A man exited house just as we received the order to retreat. We took him into custody and have him in the vehicle,” Eronen said, taking a closer look at the man’s face. “This is Supreme Court chief justice Fredberg. Identification is positive,” Eronen continued, before turning off his mic.

  “Good,” Turunen said. “Everyone pull back. The target informed us that he will detonate soon. You have about 20 seconds.”

  * * *

  Römpötti was antsy. The morning show was interviewing some local politician about the westward extension of the subway, and it had taken a second call to the producer to get him to interrupt the interview. On screen, the morning host was rapidly repeating the news on the siege.

  “Our reporter Sanna Römpötti is at the scene. Sanna, what’s happening there now?”

  Römpötti was in the shot for the first two seconds, after which Karhunen shifted the camera to what interested people more.

  “The situation has developed dramatically here over the past few minutes. The police have retreated, and the tanks are on the move. According to eye witness accounts, someone exited the house, but those reports are still unconfirmed…”

  Römpötti’s sentence was interrupted by an enormous explosion. Flames burst out of the house’s windows, and the roof appeared to jump up a few feet before collapsing. Roof tiles showered down on the soccer field, with the nearest ones coming down fifty feet away. Heavy smoke rose from the corner of the house.

  The first one to say anything on the TV broadcast was the Green party politician whose microphone had remained on in the chaos. “Oh my god! How horrible!”

  The anchor rapidly took control of the situation, since she didn’t know if Römpötti was okay.

  “Viewers, you are watching a live broadcast of the dramatic end to a siege. A convict who escaped prison earlier this week took the chief justice of the Supreme Court hostage, an incident that evidently came to a conclusion in this explosion. We do not know if there are any casualties. Our reporter Sanna Römpötti is on the scene. Sanna, are you all right...? Sanna!”

  The explosion had popped Römpötti’s ear drums, and it took a minute before she could hear anything. Karhunen, the cameraman, waved his hand behind the camera, and the stunned Römpötti understood that she should talk now.

  “There has been an explosion here. We don’t have any details yet,” Römpötti said in an unnaturally loud voice. “Heavy smoke is rising from the building. Just a moment ago, escaped convict Timo Repo and Supreme Court chief justice Aarno Fredberg were in that house together. We do not have any information on the fate of either. The motivation for the siege was Repo’s potentially wrongful conviction for his wife’s murder. Fredberg was...”

  CHAPTER 22

  THURSDAY, 8:45 A.M.

  HELSINKI POLICE HEADQUARTERS, PASILA

  Takamäki was typing up his notes from that morning. He was tired, but it was best to record the chain of events while it was still fresh in his mind. Joutsamo, Kohonen, or the department secretary could transcribe the calls with Repo for the appendix, and Takamäki would still have a chance to edit his text. In any event, multiple parties would be demanding a report.

  Skoog burst into Takamäki’s office and started praising him as soon as he walked through the door. “Congratulations!”

  Takamäki raised his gaze. “What for?”

  “For a goddamned well-handled situation. You had about a zero percent chance of resolving it, but you got the hostage out of there.”

  “There are a lot of ways of looking at it. Repo let him go. Fredberg said Repo had spoken about mercy at the door as he let him go. Mercy he wasn’t shown himself.”

  “Well, he wouldn’t have let him go if you hadn’t succeeded in influencing his judgment.”

  “Hard to say,” Takamäki said, noticing a rare smile on the lips of the stern deputy chief. It didn’t suit his stony face in the least. Maybe that was because even though the mouth was smiling, the eyes were still hard.

  “I spoke with Fredberg, and he is truly grateful to the police tha
t the standoff was resolved this way. Even apologized for giving an interview to the press in which he had disparaged the police.”

  Takamäki nodded. “I still don’t consider the incident a success. The aim was to resolve it without a single victim.”

  “Of course that would have been preferable,” Skoog admitted. “But there’s nothing to complain about either. The hostage survived. That’s the most important thing. At least four officers are going to get a cross of merit for this. Suhonen for saving the wife, Saarinen and Eronen for their last-minute actions, and you for leading the operation.”

  Skoog’s praise felt good in a way—and yet it didn’t.

  “The press conference is a little over an hour away. You’re going?” Takamäki asked.

  “I was thinking I’d attend.”

  “Do I have to?”

  “Yes,” Skoog said. “Several networks are broadcasting it live. You deserve the recognition.”

  Takamäki looked thoughtful. “That old Riihimäki case is definitely going to surface. What are we going to say about it?”

  “I had a brief word with the attorney general about it,” Skoog said. “It clearly falls under the area of due process, and they promised to reopen Repo’s old case for review.”

  “So it’ll be transferred there?”

  “I agreed that you’ll drop by within the next few weeks to brief them as to what you feel the problem is.”

  “Fine,” Takamäki said. “Maybe it’s better that the AG’s office looks into it, because it’s a difficult spot for the police to be in. The wrongly convicted and the potential perpetrator are both dead, so from that perspective we have no interest in the case, since there is no one to prosecute.”

  Takamäki doubted they would find strong enough evidence to overturn Repo’s conviction. The clothes that Joutsamo had sent in for DNA analysis might reveal that Erik Repo had been in the apartment, but that didn’t make him a killer. In all likelihood the case would remain open. Without the Repos’ testimony, finding out the truth was nearly impossible. In any case not a single police officer or judge would be charged with misconduct, even if there were cause.

  “Repo told me his father’s account of events over the phone. It’s on tape. Should we turn it over to the attorney general’s office?” Takamäki asked.

  Skoog thought for a second. “Yes, if they think to ask for it, but we’re not going to actively mention it. It is, of course, nothing more than his version of events, and it’s not of great importance. But back to the matter at hand: the plan now is to stress Repo’s mental health problems. And that’ll be our theme at the press conference, too.”

  “Did he have any?”

  “Of course he did, if the guy was capable of resorting to a solution like that. We don’t want the media making him into some sort of martyr, victim of the system, or innocent murderer. We’re not going to speculate about his innocence, we’re just going to say that the attorney general is going to investigate. In the end, what we’re talking about are the unlawful actions of a mentally unstable man. We’ll also raise the fact that we’re investigating the Karppi incident as murder, and that Repo is—or, I mean, was—the prime suspect. In other words, before taking a hostage, Repo is suspected of murdering his father’s closest friend. We’ll knock him off that pedestal he wanted raise himself up on. Repo’s nothing more than a common criminal.”

  So this is how the system works, Takamäki thought.

  * * *

  Takamäki turned his Toyota station wagon into his townhouse lot. He drove into his parking space under the garage, stepped out, and locked the doors.

  The day was extremely gray, and the rain continued to drizzle down. Takamäki strode to his front door and stepped in. The lights were on, and Jonas was downstairs, sitting at the computer with one arm in a cast. Some black girl was shaking her booty on the music channel on TV.

  “Hey,” Takamäki said, and Jonas turned the TV down.

  “Pretty intense day, huh?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I watched you on TV this morning and during that press conference just now.”

  “Well, what did you think?”

  Jonas gave a little smile. “That was a really cool explosion, even the reporter went totally speechless.”

  Takamäki sat down on the sofa. “A person died there.”

  Jonas looked at his father. “He was one weird dude, killing his dad’s friend and all. Must have been pretty messed up. Was he innocent in that old case, by the way?”

  “That’s what he told me on the phone.”

  “Do you believe him?”

  Takamäki thought for a second. “In a way I almost want to, but I don’t know for sure.”

  “No, seriously. Tell me,” Jonas insisted.

  “I really don’t know. Seriously. Someone’s going to look into it, I guess, but it’s pretty hard to get new evidence in an old case like that. The clothes are being analyzed for DNA. Maybe something will come out of it. Maybe not.”

  “There you go with the cop talk again,” Jonas laughed. “You should have just said ‘No comment’ like that Skoog dude did on TV.”

  Takamäki changed the subject. “How’s the arm?”

  “Still attached to my shoulder. A little hard to surf the web with one hand. With the mouse it’s fine, but typing’s tough. How do one-handed people turn on their computers? For me at least that Control+Alt+Del you have to do at the start was pretty tricky.”

  Takamäki lay down on the sofa. “I need to sleep for a couple of hours, but feel free to hang out on the computer. It doesn’t bother me.”

  “Okay,” Jonas said, looking at his dad. Takamäki fluffed up the pillow and put his hands behind his neck.

  “Hey, Dad?”

  “Yeah?”

  “That accident I was in. Did you guys find out who the driver was?”

  Takamäki answered without opening his eyes. “Yes. This one criminal.”

  “Is it going to go to court?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Why not?”

  Takamäki thought for a second and rose up on his side. How could he explain this? Suhonen had found out from Salmela that a guy called Skoda Sakke had hit Jonas. They couldn’t use the information, though, because it would have immediately let the criminal league know that someone from the gang had talked to the cops. They couldn’t investigate the hit-and-run unless someone confessed to it, and that was extremely unlikely. Takamäki regretted having told his son that that they knew who the driver was.

  “Why not?” Jonas repeated.

  Takamäki sat up on the sofa to explain. “Is it enough if I tell you ‘No comment’?”

  “I guess, but I don’t get it. If you guys know who the driver is, why doesn’t he have to go to court? It was his fault. And who’s going to pay for my bike?”

  “The bike’s easy. Insurance will take care of that,” Takamäki said, trying to formulate his answer. Salmela had told him that Skoda Sakke had gotten his ass kicked and been forced to pay him back for the burnt car. “Let’s just say that the guy knows he did wrong and was made to pay.”

  “Did someone ice him?” Jonas asked gravely.

  Takamäki laughed. “No, it wasn’t that bad. But I can’t tell you the details.”

  Father and son looked at each other. Jonas was the first to talk. “So do you think that’s a good thing?”

  “Good question,” Takamäki answered diplomatically, buying time to frame his thoughts. As a police officer the answer was easy; of course it was. But as a father and parent, this wasn’t the way things should go. He should be able to tell his son that justice is carried out in society. Lying wasn’t Takamäki’s style, though. “Your hit-and-run not ending up in court will let us protect one of Suhonen’s sources.”

  “Oh, Suhonen’s informant?” Jonas said. During his visits, Suhonen had taught Takamäki’s boys that snitch was a forbidden word, informant was better.

  “Is that okay?”

  Jonas shru
gged his healthy shoulder. “Fine by me. Is Suhonen coming over for Christmas again?”

  “I don’t know yet,” Takamäki said, lying back down on the couch. “Of course we’ll invite him.”

  “That would be cool.”

  Takamäki closed his eyes again. “Wake me up at one o’clock at the latest. I don’t want to sleep too long, because then I won’t be able to fall asleep tonight,” he said. “Oh yeah, one more thing: find Johnny Cash’s song ‘Hurt’ and play it for me.”

  SIX WEEKS LATER

  CHAPTER 23

  TUESDAY, 2:20 P.M.

  HELSINKI POLICE HEADQUARTERS, PASILA

  Joutsamo stepped into the room, and Takamäki raised his eyes from the computer.

  “Got a sec?” Joutsamo asked. Without waiting for an answer, she entered and closed the door behind her. She was wearing a gray sweater. November was coming to an end, and it was already growing dark outside. The temperature was teetering above and below freezing.

  “Well?” Takamäki asked, as Joutsamo sat down in the chair across from him. Takamäki was still wearing a white shirt and tie, because that morning they had had to attend some pointless meeting at the Ministry of the Interior. His sport coat was hanging from the back of his chair.

  “I have a theory.”

  “About what?”

  “Everything, of course,” Joutsamo smiled. “But especially about this Repo case.”

  Takamäki nodded. It had been six weeks since the explosion. The incident had been in the media for a few days, but had then been overshadowed by other news. The Office of the Attorney General had started investigating the matter, but nothing much had been heard from there. This came as no surprise to Takamäki—the office was known for its glacial pace.

  “Lay it on me,” Takamäki said.

  “I got the final DNA reports this morning, and I’ve been thinking about them. Of course they found Timo Repo’s and his wife Arja’s DNA on the belongings. But in addition, they were also able to pick up DNA from Arja’s shirt that belonged to Erik Repo.”