Vengeance (10 page)

    
“I no thief,” the woman muttered in a broken accent.

    
“We’ll just clear that up.”

    
“No, I have to…”

    
“This won’t take long,” the cop continued. “We can check out your bag and clothes in the back of the police van there.”

    
The female officer opened the doors and hopped inside. “This way,” she said firmly. The big cop steered her in through the back doors, then stayed outside to stand guard.

    
Suhonen and Toukola headed for their car, which they had left in the terminal parking lot. The orders for the uniformed officers had been simple: If the woman was packing dope, bring her to Pasila. If she was clean, let her go.

FRIDAY,

OCTOBER 23

CHAPTER 7

FRIDAY, 8:30 A.M.

PASILA POLICE HEADQUARTERS, HELSINKI

Suhonen descended the stairs to the Narcotics department. Toukola had called to ask if he’d like to observe Marju Mägi’s interrogation. Of course he would.

    
The previous evening, Toukola had dropped Suhonen off at his apartment in Kallio on the way back from the harbor. Then he had continued on to the station to take care of some paperwork connected to the case. The uniformed officers had found two ten-ounce packets of amphetamines taped to her ribs.

    
Once the amount of amphetamines surpassed four ounces, it became felony drug possession. Lieutenant Ristola had arrested Marju Mägi the same night. Toomas Indres had talked about four pounds, but they hadn’t found nearly that much. Perhaps Toomas’ intel was inaccurate, or maybe his informant had exaggerated to make the scoop seem more important.

    
Except in extraordinary situations, interrogations had to be conducted before 10 P.M., so the police had waited till morning. Twenty ounces of amphetamines didn’t qualify as extraordinary.

    
Suhonen strode down the hallway to Toukola’s office, the same type of smallish open office the VCU used.

    
He had showered before work and left his long black hair over his shoulders to dry. A few gray hairs had already taken root.

    
“Morning. Go late last night?” Suhonen asked.

    
“I got outta here about midnight,” Toukola said, a baggy white T-shirt hanging off his shoulders.

    
“She say anything?”

    
“I tried to soften her up, but she’s clammed up pretty tight. We’ll see what happens today. You want to be in the room or watch behind the glass?”

    
“Behind the glass is fine.”

    
The preparations took another ten minutes. Toukola directed Suhonen into a room off a long hallway, and continued to the next door.

    
Through the mirrored glass, Suhonen watched Marju Mägi adjust her green coveralls. Her dark hair was tousled and her delicate face seemed paler. Her first night in the brig didn’t look like it had gone well.

    
Behind her, the jailer kept watch.

    
Toukola stepped in and took a seat opposite her at a gray table with a computer.

    
Suhonen heard the voice through the microphone. “Good morning,” said Toukola.

    
She glanced up, but said nothing.

    
The guard left.

    
“How are you?” He went on.

    
She shrugged. Good, Suhonen thought. At least it was a reaction. In recent years, so-called “mummy-interviews” had become more common. In these, the suspect would not even agree to leave the cell, so the guards had to roll them out in a wheelchair. During the questioning, the mummy wouldn’t respond to anything, not one word. Sometimes, they wouldn’t even open their eyes.

    
“Just want to confirm your identification. Marju Mägi?”

    
“Yeah.”

    
Toukola went on with her date of birth, address and other information needed for the record, and was also sure to remind her that the interview would be recorded. Then he informed her of what crime she was suspected and asked if she would need a lawyer present. She didn’t—in Northern Europe, requesting a lawyer for the first interview was rare, and some thought of it as an admission of guilt. The woman had suddenly learned to speak fluent Finnish.

    
“Tell me about the incident,” Toukola began.

    
To Suhonen, Toukola’s tone of voice seemed tired, almost bored. Was it fatigue or strategy, he wondered.

    
Marju kept her eyes on the table. “Not much to say. I came from Tallinn by ship. The police claimed I was a thief, took me into the van, and found the packets.”

    
Good, Suhonen thought.

    
“The amphetamines were in your possession?”

    
“What, you stupid? If the stuff was taped to my side, doesn’t that mean it was in my possession?”

    
Toukola was quiet for a moment. “Yes, you’re right. It was a stupid question.”

    
Suhonen didn’t think it was stupid, and of course, neither did Toukola. She had just confessed to possessing twenty ounces of amphetamines. That would earn her two-and-a-half years behind bars.

    
“Where did you get the drugs?”

    
The woman stiffened.

    
“Can you tell me where you got the drugs?”

    
Mägi thought for a moment. “No.”

    
“Why not?”

    
“I don’t want to answer.”

    
“Why not?”

    
She didn’t respond.

    
Suhonen thought about Toukola’s strategy. With this approach, the interviewer was able to determine that she had acquired the drugs from someone.

    
“Who were you supposed to bring the drugs to?”

    
The woman remained silent.

    
“Can you tell me who you were bringing the drugs to?”

    
Again, a silence preceded her response. “No.”

    
“Why not?”

    
“I’d rather not answer.”

    
“Why not?”

    
Silence.

    
At least it was now clear that she was a mule, Suhonen thought. He guessed correctly what Toukola would do next.

    
“Interview concluded at 8:53 A.M.,” Toukola said into the microphone.

    
He stopped the recording on the computer. “Marju, the interview is over,” he said softly.

    
The microphones to the observation room were still live and Suhonen heard them continue to talk.

    
“You were in possession of twenty ounces of amphetamines. If it’s the usual 20-40 percent grade, it will mean two-and-a-half years in prison. If it’s 80 percent, you’ll get four to five years.”

    
Her expression was dour.

    
“If you tell us where you got it and where it was going, it’s possible you could get a suspended sentence. I can’t promise anything, but we can speak with the prosecutor on your behalf,” Toukola said, pausing to let his words sink in.

    
“I can’t.”

    
“Why not?”

    
“Don’t be stupid again. You’re a cop—you know how these things work. ”

    
“Yes, I know,” Toukola said. “But you’ll have some time to think about it in your cell.”

    
“Can I take a shower?” Mägi asked.

    
“Don’t know. You’ll have to ask the guards. They’ll put you on the list. Usually you’re allowed two to three showers a week.”

    
“I didn’t take one yesterday.”

    
“And you might not tomorrow, either. Yard time is one hour a day on the roof of the station.”

    
“Do I get my things back?”

    
“Nope.”

    
“Not even books?”

    
“At least not your own,” Toukola said. A couple of Estonian books had been among her things. “Ask the guards if they have anything.”

    
“Can’t you help?”

    
“If you help me,” he answered, and rose without waiting for a response. She’d have time to think it over in her cell. Here, time was on the cops’ side. Toukola pressed a button on the wall, summoning the guard in. “The interview is over. Take her back to her cell.”

    
Marju Mägi stood up and the guard escorted her out. Toukola let them go first, then swung in behind.

    
She asked the guard about the shower. “The list is full. Maybe day after tomorrow,” he said.

    
The suspect was led to the right and Toukola turned left into the observation room.

    
“Well, what’d you think?” Toukola asked.

    
“Doesn’t know anything. A clean mule.”

    
“My thoughts exactly. She might be able to tell us

where she got it and where it was going, but nothing more.”

    
Suhonen shrugged. “We should’ve followed her further, but I get it. No sense getting all hysterical over twenty ounces.”

    
“Well, I’ll let her wilt in her cell a couple days and then we’ll see what she has to say. Jail is a grim place for a young woman. She’ll say something just to get her books back, at least off the record. Hours are a lot longer in jail.”