Cold Trail hh-4 Page 12

  Goddamn Salmela. The guy had changed his number without telling Suhonen. They’d have to have a talk about that.

  Suhonen sped past the first few exits. He was headed for Kontula, to a couple of bars where Saarnikangas was a regular. It seemed like there were an infinite number of them. Suhonen had already gone through the bars in Kallio and Hakaniemi without finding the guy.

  The speed limit climbed to fifty, and Suhonen slowed down. He tried to calm himself-he should never let his emotions interfere with his work. He turned on the radio: Ari, the latest Idols winner, was singing his bubble-gum hit, and Suhonen clicked it right back off.

  * * *

  Joutsamo was sitting at her desk, tapping away at her computer. The portable TV on Kulta’s desk a few feet away was on. Kulta had already gone home, as had Takamäki. The only ones left in the office were Joutsamo and Kohonen.

  The sports highlights program wrapped up, and a current affairs show began. On the screen, a grave-looking Sanna Römpötti was explaining that the topic of this evening’s episode of Hot Seat was justice. The guest was Aarno Fredberg, chief justice of the Supreme Court. In line with the show’s format, Römpötti got right down to business: “Chief Justice Fredberg, you said in a newspaper interview last Sunday that prison sentences don’t do any good. What would you propose as an alternative?”

  The question was tough enough that Joutsamo paused to watch.

  Fredberg was coming up on sixty and his appearance resembled a corporate attorney more than a Supreme Court judge, who weren’t known for always being impeccably coiffed or wearing the latest suit from Hugo Boss.

  “The alternative is clear. Take fires, for example. If they started occurring with significantly greater frequency than they do today, it probably wouldn’t make sense to increase the number of fire stations, but rather to look into the causes of the fires.”

  Römpötti pressed him. “But fires are very different from felonies.”

  “I wouldn’t say so. In both cases, the issue is some type of a societal disruption. Fires are often a matter of technical flaws, and it’s easy to impact, say, the fire safety of TVs. And although a lot of research has been conducted on it, the human mind is a more complex phenomenon.”

  “What would you like to change?”

  “Criminal justice policy needs to be opened up to broad-based discussion. Nowadays we apply this fire station model to crime by increasing resources for law enforcement and prosecutors, like they’re always doing in America. This leads to an increased amount of prisoners, escalating the cycle of marginalization.”

  “Isn’t that a bit disingenuous? Isn’t ending up in prison one of the end points of a cycle of marginalization?”

  “You’re right. As a matter of fact, you’re right at the heart of the matter. Prisons don’t rehabilitate anyone. Prison doesn’t act as a deterrent for people who commit crimes. It’s crucial to understand this. We have to change our focus now. People can’t be allowed to end up in circumstances that lead them to commit crimes in the first place.”

  Joutsamo listened, her mouth agape. You could have expected this from some leftist politician, but had the country’s chief judge gone insane?

  Römpötti continued her battery of questions. “So if a wino runs out of booze, and he’s about to burglarize a store to obtain more alcohol, society should provide a place where he can get booze for free.”

  “For example. Although it might be preferable to try and influence matters in such a way that we don’t have winos, if that’s the word you want to use. There are a good ten thousand people caught up in a cycle of incarceration. Let’s give them a free place to live, substance abuse treatment, and, for instance, a sheltered job. Let’s anchor them in life.”

  Joutsamo thought the other way around-from the victim’s point of view. People shouldn’t end up in situations where they become the victims of crimes. Evidently the permissive criminal policies of the 1960s were making a strong comeback.

  “Sounds like a pretty utopic agenda,” Römpötti remarked, setting her pen down on the desk.

  “Because it hasn’t been attempted yet,” Fredberg answered.

  “Who will pay for it?” the reporter asked. Funding was always a critical factor.

  “A day in prison costs 125 euros, a month 3,800 euros, and a year 45,500 euros. When you add the costs of law enforcement, prosecutors, and judges on top of that, you easily get to a figure that’s twice as high. And this sum multiplies exponentially when you include the other costs of crime, like damage to property and insurance payments.”

  The reporter tried to interject, “But…”

  “Please don’t interrupt,” Fredberg growled, giving Römpötti an angry look. “We have almost 150 prisoners serving life sentences now. With each of them doing 12–14 years, the costs of incarceration alone are 550,000–640,000 euros per prisoner. With that kind of money, you could prevent the majority of homicides from ever happening. And if someone tells you any different, they’re lying.”

  Römpötti tried again, “But…”

  Sitting at her screen, Joutsamo wondered how the chief justice would happen to be able to pick out in advance those particular individuals in whose lives it made sense to invest half a million euros.

  “I already asked you, please don’t interrupt! Society should prevent crimes from taking place in the first place, or if we want to think realistically, decrease them significantly. An inmate is imprisoned for an average of a little under ten months, so 7,000 convicts are released from prisons every year. One in three starts off homeless, 60 percent have substance abuse problems, and one-fifth have serious mental health issues. This is the target group we should concentrate on first.”

  “So commit a crime, and you’ll get money, a job, and a place to live,” Römpötti said, but she didn’t let Fredberg respond. “Let’s move on to the next topic.”

  The reporter glanced at her papers. “We reviewed your twenty-six-year history at the Lahti District Court and the Kouvola Court of Appeals, as well as your last four years in the Supreme Court. Now this number may not be completely accurate, but according to our information, you’ve participated in handing down at least 36 life sentences for murder. Do you believe that those people could live normally as part of our society as well?”

  “Perhaps you’ve misunderstood me. The majority of our homicides take place among alcoholic men. If we could get to the point that violent situations didn’t arise among them, the number of murderers would decrease. As a matter of fact, the model that I presented earlier came to me when I was thinking about this specific group of convicted individuals. Now, it’s the role of the judge to ensure equal protection for everyone under the law. But whenever a crime takes place, society has failed.”

  “So no one needs to take responsibility for themselves? Society will take care of everyone’s problems?”

  “Yes, it would be to everyone’s advantage. There wouldn’t be criminals or victims of crimes. Of course I understand that we also have the mentally ill, but they belong in mental hospitals. For professional criminals, we would of course still need the heavy machinery at society’s disposal, but not as extensively as we use it today.”

  “So we’ll basically turn these people into aquarium fish,” Römpötti said.

  “We need to think about how we want to use our money. Parking enforcement is being privatized at a rapid rate. Why couldn’t traffic enforcement also be privatized? Do we need to train police officers for two years so they learn how to read vehicle speeds from a radar? I don’t think so. A private company would do it more efficiently, saving the police resources for more serious problems.”

  To Joutsamo, Fredberg’s proposals seemed dangerous. As a judge, the guy obviously had experience in criminal cases, so what he was saying couldn’t be considered complete hogwash. But privatizing traffic enforcement? Joutsamo’s thoughts were interrupted by the sound of her desk phone ringing. The judge and the reporter kept talking as Joutsamo answered.

 
“Helsinki Police Department, Anna Joutsamo.”

  “Hi, this is Mauri Tiainen, attorney at law.”

  “Hello,” Joutsamo said. She couldn’t immediately place the name, but it did ring a bell. Before the attorney could continue, Joutsamo remembered. Tiainen had been Repo’s district court representation.

  “Yes, I don’t think we’ve met, but I represented Repo, this escaped convict, in district court.”

  “I know,” Joutsamo rapidly responded. The guy sounded like he was about fifty, even if the agitation in his voice made it difficult to judge.

  “So why wasn’t I informed?” the attorney demanded.

  Joutsamo was stunned. “About what?”

  “The escape, of course.”

  “Umm…and why would we have informed you about that?”

  “Because that was what was agreed with the Riihimäki Police. Wasn’t it in your records?”

  “You’re speaking with the Helsinki Police Department. We don’t know anything about any such arrangement.”

  “Goddammit!” Tiainen snapped. “That’s just wonderful!”

  Joutsamo lightened her voice a touch. “It’s unfortunate that the arrangement wasn’t communicated to us, but why should the police have informed you about this incident?”

  “Because he vowed to kill me.”

  “Timo Repo?”

  “Of course. After the murder conviction in district court, he was really upset and said he’d kill me the first chance he got. From my perspective, that chance is now.”

  “Hasn’t it been eight years since then?”

  “That guy’s so nuts he definitely won’t forget. In the early years of his incarceration, he sent me repeated letters about his threat. I took them to the Riihimäki Police, but they just said they couldn’t do anything about it, because Repo was already doing life. A life sentence isn’t going to get any longer because of a few death threats.”

  “Why would he want to kill his own lawyer?”

  “Well,” Tiainen squirmed. “His wife’s homicide was a completely unambiguous case, but Repo didn’t remember anything about it because he was so drunk. I suggested to him that he confess, and we’d try to get it lowered to manslaughter. In that case, Repo might have gotten a six-year sentence, maybe. But the district court viewed it as murder and slapped Repo with life. That sent him over the edge.”

  “Okay,” Joutsamo replied.

  “Then the Court of Appeals upheld the murder conviction, so in that sense no injustice took place at district court.”

  “But he was upset with you for advising him…”

  Tiainen interrupted. “Upset is putting it mildly, but you’ve got the picture.”

  “So he didn’t want to confess?”

  “Hard to say. Repo was pretty messed up back then. He didn’t know what to do, and I thought it was the smartest decision in that situation. There was no reason to contest the case. He would have been convicted regardless.”

  “So it was a clear case?”

  “Absolutely clear-cut,” Tiainen said. “I’ve handled about thirty homicides over my career and in this instance there was no uncertainty about the perpetrator. The only open issue was that Repo didn’t remember anything about the act.”

  “Why did Repo kill his wife?”

  “Agh, I don’t remember. Or as far as I remember there was no reason. Maybe they had an argument,” the lawyer guessed. “Which is exactly why I’m going to take a weeklong vacation somewhere! Preferably abroad.”

  “Do you have any idea where he might be?” Joutsamo asked quickly.

  “Haven’t the foggiest.”

  “You don’t know or remember who he was hanging out with back then?”

  “Not a clue. He was being held as a suspect at the Riihimäki jail, and that’s where we met. We didn’t discuss friends, and hopefully we don’t have anymutual ones.”

  “Well, just so you know, according to our information, Repo settled down after a couple of years, and neither the guards nor the other prisoners had heard about any vendettas.”

  “Well, why did he escape then?” Tiainen asked.

  “We don’t know.”

  “Exactly. That’s not going to get me to cancel my vacation plans,” the lawyer huffed.

  Joutsamo asked Tiainen to be in touch if Repo tried to contact him, and he promised he would. The call ended right as Kohonen walked into the room.

  “I think I’m going to head out. These thirteen-hour days are killing me.”

  “Go ahead. I was also thinking I’d leave pretty soon, as soon as I get a chance to talk to the lieutenant on duty about Repo.”

  Kohonen put on her blue parka. “Did you notice the report in the system? A car was stolen in Töölö in a pretty unusual way.”

  “Nope. How?”

  “Someone broke into a locker at the swimming pool and took the keys from the coat pocket. The car disappeared from in front of the pool, but the wallet was left untouched in the locker.”

  “My first instinct is insurance fraud. The owner’s behind on the payments and had to get rid of his wheels.”

  “I don’t know, but it’s a new approach, anyway.”

  Joutsamo thought for a moment. Of course the MO would fit Repo. He was not an expert at stealing cars, so it would be easier to take the key than to look for a car without an ignition block and try to hotwire it. “When did this happen?”

  “I don’t remember exactly, this afternoon or evening.”

  Joutsamo nodded. Probably wasn’t Repo, but if it was, he already had an hours-long head start. Plus, the car’s license plate and description had already been sent out to all units, so Joutsamo didn’t need to take any action. Of course tomorrow she could ask the responding patrol if they had gone to the swimming pool and retrieved a surveillance camera image of the thief.

  “Hey,” Joutsamo said to Kohonen. “You wanna go grab a drink at the Hotel Pasila bar?”

  “I thought you were never going to ask. As long as we don’t talk shop or get pony-faced.”

  Joutsamo’s curiosity was piqued. “Pony-faced?”

  “Well, right after I had turned eighteen, I was at the disco with a bunch of my friends from the stables. We had been there drinking all night, and then I noticed this really familiar-looking person standing in front of me. I tried to walk around her, and bam! — I slammed into the mirror face first and shattered it to bits,” Kohonen grinned.

  “Okay,” Joutsamo laughed. “No getting pony-faced. I want to get your views on this old murder conviction of Repo’s.”

  CHAPTER 11

  WEDNESDAY, 12:45 A.M.

  TUOMARILA, ESPOO

  Takamäki drove his Toyota station wagon into the small, empty, tree-ringed parking lot in the Helsinki suburb of Espoo. There were no houses nearby, but several dumpsters of various colors stood in the clearing. Not everyone had bothered to throw their trash inside; some lay on the ground, too.

  The thermometer read 35° F, and the sleet had eased off. Takamäki turned off the engine. He hadn’t been able to sleep; the Sello surveillance camera images had been eating at him. He had to see if he could find the car based on the address.

  Takamäki turned on the Toyota’s dome light and examined the images of Jonas’s accident in the weak glow. He made a note of the point of contact between the gray car and the bicycle, in front of the front left tire.

  Takamäki climbed out of the car and locked it. Other than the sounds of his car locks clicking, Tuomarila was completely quiet.

  Takamäki looked around again. Tahko Lane began across the street from the parking lot. He crossed the street and started climbing up the dirt road.

  Tuomarila was a residential area located between downtown Espoo and Finland’s wealthiest municipality, Kauniainen. Takamäki remembered having come to look at an apartment here years ago, but his family had ended up a few miles closer to Helsinki, in the Espoo neighborhood of Leppävaara.

  According to the address info, Manner, who had the lease on the car that h
it Jonas, lived on Tahko Lane. The online maps showed his house as being located just below the crest of the hill. The neighborhood was a mix of single family houses and townhouses. Takamäki assumed that Manner lived in a single family house, because the address didn’t include any letters or apartment numbers.

  At its foot, the slope rose steeply. Takamäki remembered the area as having been much more forested and sparsely populated, but it had since been built up into a townhouse slum. Takamäki grunted as he passed a posh brick complex that sloped back along the contours of the terrain. Okay, so maybe the neighborhood wasn’t a total ghetto after all.

  After a hundred yards, the grade eased off. Good jogging terrain, Takamäki thought. Over in Leppävaara they didn’t have such long, steep climbs.

  The address Takamäki was looking for gleamed from a cube-shaped lamp on the corner of a brick-red garage. The brick house had two stories and three big windows on the street side-they were dark. The streetlamp in front of the house illuminated the front yard, which consisted of the driveway and a handful of bushes. The acre-sized backyard looked like it was undeveloped and forested.

  Takamäki continued past the house as if he were a local resident coming home on the late bus. He noted a blue BMW in the garage. Takamäki was disappointed, but a few more steps revealed another car on the far side of the beemer: a gray Toyota. The street light wasn’t strong enough to illuminate the license plate.

  Takamäki’s pulse quickened. He walked far enough past the house that he couldn’t be seen from the windows and glanced back once more. There was no one around. Takamäki slipped into the woods. He crouched down and listened for a moment. He was out of breath, but it wasn’t the climb that had winded the habitual jogger.

  Still crouching, Takamäki carefully edged past a large spruce. He saw the Toyota between the trees, about ten yards ahead. It was parked nose first in the garage, and Takamäki was to its right. He’d have to circle between the brick house and the garage in order to get a look at the left side.