Nothing but the Truth (5 page)

“I know you’ve got a good head for numbers, but…”

“But the police are asking for eyewitnesses.”

“Come on. It’s not like you saw the murder.”

“But they’re asking for information on the car. Shouldn’t I…”

This time it was Saari’s turn to interrupt. “Not a chance. No point getting mixed up in these kinds of things. The cops have their DNAs and phone taps. That’s how you solve murders. There’s really no point in getting involved. You’ve already had enough

problems
, given your ex and all. You’d wind up testifying in court, you know.”

“But shouldn’t I at least…”

“No,” said Saari. “Should we get that report done now? Getting to be crunch time here.”

“Alright, let me see it. You just tell me what you want me to run.”

* * *

Half a dozen officers had already sampled the coffee Joutsamo had made. As usual, she’d made tea for herself. Suhonen yawned while Kulta sipped his coffee.

The meeting was supposed to have started at nine o’clock sharp, but Takamäki was late.

“So did you get drafted to play in the Elite League yet?” Joutsamo asked Suhonen, as he smothered a seemingly endless yawn.

Suhonen smirked. He regretted telling his colleagues that he had begun playing hockey again.

“Yup, by the Blues after their flop last season,” Suhonen laughed.

“You played quite a bit when you were younger, didn’t you?” asked Kulta.

“In Lahti till I was sixteen.”

“Why’d you quit?”

“Uhh,” Suhonen stretched and took a sip of coffee. “If I said I just got more interested in other things, I’d be lying. Truth is, I just wasn’t good enough,” Suhonen lied.

“So why are you back on the ice now?” said Joutsamo, genuinely interested.

Suhonen smiled. “I already bought the Harley. Can’t change the wife, since I don’t have one, and I can’t complain much about my job, but I gotta do something about this imminent midlife crisis, right? I guess senior hockey is macho enough for me.”

Joutsamo laughed. With the killer behind bars and the case all but closed, the mood was light. Locating the driver would only be a bonus, though a big one, of course. But that didn’t put on much additional pressure. Risto Korpi, on the other hand, was a stressful target, one that they knew would take a lot of work and time to connect to the shooting. None of Korpi’s goons would squeak, so the case would come down to phone taps or some other technological means. Provided Korpi was found, his apartment could be wired. Then it was just a matter of time before his tongue slipped. Incriminating evidence might surface by accident as well. Something significant could come up in a Narcotics operation.

“Good morning and my apologies,” said Takamäki, who had swapped yesterday’s sweater for a collared shirt and blazer. He had stashed his lightweight overcoat in his office.

A murmur of good mornings went around the room.

“Have we gotten the autopsy report from the coroner yet?”

“No,” said Joutsamo. “But I doubt there’s anything of interest there. No mystery on the cause of death.”

“I’m mainly interested in the victim’s blood alcohol level and any traces of drugs,” said Takamäki. Since not everyone had been updated yet, he recapped last night’s forensics briefing from Kannas. Takamäki had stayed on until eleven o’clock, when the officers who had gone to canvas

the neighboring buildings returned. Nothing new there. No eyewitnesses.

“If there was coke in Salmela’s system, I bet the stash in the toilet was his,” said Kulta. “Though that’s probably the case anyway.”

“I saw a little blurb in the
Helsingin Sanomat
; what about the other rags?” asked Takamäki.

“Two columns each for
Ilta-Sanomat
and
Iltalehti
. No photos,” said Joutsamo. “They probably couldn’t make it out to the crime scene before deadline.”

Takamäki gave a snort. “Doubt that has anything to do with it. The top photographer from
Ilta-Sanomat
must be out of town. The guy gravitates to corpses like a vulture. Have we gotten any calls to the hotlines?”

“A couple callers said they saw a car but couldn’t recall the make, driver or plate. One of them thought it might have started with an X or a K,” said Joutsamo.

“So nothing, then. What about the phone taps?”

Joutsamo went on, “We stayed until midnight. Figured the numbers were probably old. Voice-activated recorder didn’t pick anything up overnight.”

“So,” Takamäki sighed. “Same cards as yesterday. And nothing new on Korpi either?”

“No,” said Suhonen. “Got all the traps and trawlers in the water, but no hits yet.”

“Alright. Doesn’t look so good right now, but we have time. Let’s focus on Korpi. Find out everything you can from the databases, and let’s get a warrant to review any cell tower records in the area of the murder. Maybe the driver had a cell phone. If we find one, we can trace it right to the guy’s hand. I want footage from any surveillance cameras in the area in case the car shows up in one of them. And let’s contact the neighboring precincts, the NBI and any informants out there to see if we can dig something up. Anything else?”

Nobody said anything.

“Let’s get to work, then. Plenty of footwork to

do here.”

* * *

Mari Lehtonen’s hand was resting on the telephone, and had been for some time now. The newspaper clipping lay in front of her on the desk of her cubicle. The clock in the lower corner of her computer screen read 10:56 A.M.

Lehtonen had finished the computer reports in about an hour, and devoted half an hour to email triage afterwards. One was from Laura’s theater instructor, who considered the girl a promising young actress and was asking for Mari’s permission for Laura to take on a larger role in the upcoming fall production. Mari couldn’t help but smile at her rather extravagant use of the word “production,” but she felt warmed by the message. Mari consented on the condition that Laura’s studies would not suffer. Rehearsals would consume three evenings a week, and opening night was in December.

Her mood, however, was unsettled. The image of a dark Mazda with its driver and license plate flitted continually through her mind. If only she could simply upload the image from her brain to a computer and send it to the authorities in an anonymous email.

She had to report it to the police, she thought. Maybe they wouldn’t find her information useful, but it said right there in the paper that it was needed. She shuddered at the thought of someone being murdered in the neighboring building. The killers should be held responsible.
No point getting mixed up in these kinds of things
, Essi Saari had said. But her boss was wrong. If Mari didn’t act, the criminals would win.

Mari picked up the phone and punched in the number listed in the newspaper.

* * *

The hotline phone was closest to Joutsamo’s workstation in the office she shared with Kohonen, Kulta and a couple of other officers. Suhonen also had a desk, a chair and a telephone, but had the janitors not visited daily, spiders would have surely overrun it with their webs. The topmost item on Suhonen’s desk was a year-old newspaper.

Joutsamo rolled her desk chair over to the phone and was just lifting the receiver when Kulta blurted, “Betcha three shifts of coffee-duty it’s some wacko.”

Joutsamo accepted and grinned as she flicked on the voice recorder.

“Helsinki Violent Crimes Unit, Anna Joutsamo speaking.”

“Hello,” said a hesitant female voice. “I’m calling about the incident on Porvoo Street. Is this the right number?”

“Yes, it is,” said Joutsamo in a cordial voice. “Do you have any information on it?”

“Yeah. Not sure if it’s important, but I was coming out of the convenience store and saw a Mazda parked there.”

Joutsamo snatched a pen. The woman had the make of the car right despite its lack of mention in

the press. The sergeant scribbled out,
knew Mazda
. “You’re sure it was a Mazda?”

“Yes. A blue 323, as I remember. Not too old. The sort of rounder-looking sedan style. Wasn’t it then?”

“Uuh,” Joutsamo stalled intentionally. “Maybe I should get your name.”

Witnesses often wished to remain anonymous. Joutsamo was confident the woman would reveal her name since her number was clearly visible on the caller ID. She had already written it down.

“Mari Lehtonen.”

“What did you see there, Mari?”

“The car, driver and license plate. Nothing more.”

“Do you recall the plate number?”

“Yes,” said Mari, and she recited the number. It started with a
K
.

Joutsamo was ready to celebrate. The other officers had gathered around as well. Below the plate number she scratched out another message:
Kulta, put some coffee on! And tea too!!

“Was the driver the murderer, then?”

“It’s best if you don’t ask any questions. What do you remember about the driver?”

“Male. About forty. Angry-looking eyes, though he never looked directly at me. He kept his hands on the steering wheel and stared straight ahead. Maybe that’s why it stuck in my head. He was clearly waiting for someone in the store and seemed irritable.”

“Listen, Mari. We should meet up as soon as possible. Where are you now? Could I come there so we could talk?”

Mari hesitated for a moment. “Uuh, maybe it’s best if I came to the station. We have secured entry and all that, and I don’t think the management would appreciate if the police came. I can get there by bus just fine.”

“How about if I pick you up.”

“That works too. Won’t take too long, will it?”

“What’s the address?”

Mari told her and Joutsamo promised to be there within fifteen minutes. She hung up the phone.

Joutsamo was beaming. “Just hit pay dirt. Almost too good to be true. Not only was she able to describe the driver, she remembered the plate number, too.” Joutsamo handed her notes to Kohonen. “Kirsi, you track down the car. Kulta, I want every photo you can find of every guy connected to Korpi, but toss in ten or so extra photos for a control group.”

* * *

Twenty minutes later, Joutsamo was returning to police headquarters with Lehtonen. She had parked her unmarked Volkswagen Golf in front of the station rather than its reserved spot in the underground garage. She didn’t want Lehtonen feeling intimidated on account of their grim, claustrophobic parking accommodations. This might be their key witness, after all, and it paid to foster a buoyant, talkative mood. On the way, Joutsamo had avoided talking about the case, opting instead to ask about Mari’s background. Mari had talked about her current job, her layoff at the Jyväskylä Savings and Loan, her alcoholic ex and her daughter, who was clearly an important figure in her life.

Mari Lehtonen seemed to Joutsamo to be a well-balanced woman and first-class eyewitness material.

Once on the third floor of the station, Joutsamo led her down a hallway and into a small interrogation room that was somewhat different from those used for suspects.

The room was plain, but not too dreary. On one wall, a map of Helsinki added a splash of color. A table, three chairs and a worn leather couch were neatly arranged about the room. If Joutsamo had had any say, she would have decorated with a bit more warmth, but perhaps a bit of barrenness helped to remind witnesses and plaintiffs of the importance of honesty. Only suspects had the right to lie without consequence.

“Would you like some coffee?”

CHAPTER 5

MONDAY, 12:05 P.M.

KAARELA, NORTH HELSINKI

Risto Korpi sat in a small, dimly lit room, browsing through electronic equipment websites on a laptop computer. Chat rooms provided a trove of valuable information on police methods along with pictures and license plates of unmarked squad cars. Korpi never posted messages; he only read them.

He stroked his head. It was smooth, freshly shaved that morning as it was every other day.

The websites contained information about surveillance microphones, their operating frequencies and how to detect them. Korpi’s hard face cracked into a smile. The post was sufficiently interesting that he copied it, signed into an anonymous French email account and pasted the text into an email draft. A friend of Korpi’s in Sweden knew the password to the same account, which allowed him to read the drafts on his own computer. This way, emails were never actually sent, which minimized the risk that the authorities could read them.