Jarkko Sipila - Cold Trail

The men stood across from each other in silence.

“You didn’t get a chance to finish your coffee back at the restaurant. Would you care to now?”

Repo shrugged. “Maybe. But not here.”

“Of course not. Those cops might come back. I meant over at my house. Might be a better place for you, anyway.”

* * *

Karppi poured the coffee. The cups were delicate and old fashioned, not mugs.

“Cream or milk?”

“No thanks,” Repo answered. He was sitting at the dining table in his black suit. He had loosened his tie.

“You take it bald, huh?”

“What?”

“Up north they used to say if you drank your coffee black, you liked it bald,” the old man explained.

Karppi’s house was the same size as his neighbor’s, but the decor was a touch more genteel. The difference lay in the dark furniture and the massive bookshelf that took up a whole wall.

Karppi sat down across from Repo. There were also sandwiches and mineral water on the table.

“You and your dad have some of the same features. He’d always sit the same way, a little hunched over with his arms across his chest.”

The remark prompted Repo to sit up straighter and uncross his arms. Karppi laughed and tasted his hot coffee.

Repo glanced at Karppi’s old-fashioned cell phone on the kitchen table. “Why didn’t you call the cops?”

“How do you know I’m not about to?”

Repo didn’t respond.

“Why did he hate you so much?”

Repo turned his gaze to his black coffee. “Why do you think?”

“Because of what happened back then.”

“We never really talked about it, so it’s hard to say. You never asked him?”

Karppi dodged the question. “Erik was a reticent man.” He took a sip of coffee before continuing. “Why did you kill your wife?”

Repo didn’t answer, and Karppi backed off.

“I was just asking. That photo on top of the TV always made me wonder.” Karppi stood. “Why the hell did your dad keep it out? If you want to forget something, you don’t keep a photo that reminds you of it in a prominent spot.”

“He may have had his reasons.”

“I suppose he did,” Karppi said. He walked over to the kitchen cabinets and pulled out a folder. “I wasn’t blessed with children, so maybe that’s why I found it so intriguing. I don’t think I would have been capable of that sort of hatred myself.” He set the green folder down in front of Repo. “Here.”

“What’s that?” Repo asked, without touching it.

“I gathered a few papers that looked important from your father’s home a few days after his death. Just in case burglars came to call.”

Repo opened the folder. The documents that had once belonged to his father were neatly organized in plastic sleeves. The bank statements were on top. Repo skipped past them and browsed through documents regarding the house, paid bills, a passport, and other important-looking papers. There were about fifteen plastic sleeves. The second-to-last one contained cash, maybe three hundred euros, at an eyeball estimate.

“Take it. You must need money.”

Repo fished the bills out and placed them in his breast pocket.

The final sleeve, clearly the fattest, contained letters. Repo pulled them all out and glanced at Karppi.

“I haven’t read them.”

Topmost were postcards printed in a child’s hand. Someone else had written Erik Repo’s address on them. One was from the Canary Islands. “Hi Grandpa! We’re in the Canary Islands. It’s nice and warm here. I’ve been swimming every day. Love, Joel.” The postmark was January 2003; Joel would have been eight years old.

The coffee was cooling. Karppi watched closely as Repo scanned through the mail.

There were several vacation and Christmas cards. There was also a letter from Joel. Timo read it quickly. In it, the boy thanked his grandpa for the Christmas money. He had used it to buy a computer game. It also contained a photograph of a boy, about ten, smiling broadly in front of a Christmas tree.

Karppi caught Repo wiping a tear from the corner of his eye.

Timo stared at the photo for a long time. He hadn’t seen his son in eight years because the child had been taken into custody and placed with a foster family, and Repo wasn’t allowed any information about them.

“You can sleep on the sofa.”

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”

“Where else are you going to go? It’s comfortable enough.”

Repo took a sandwich and reflected. In a lot of ways, running into Karppi was a stroke of luck-and would definitely make things easier.

TUESDAY, 8:30 A.M.

HELSINKI POLICE HEADQUARTERS, PASILA

Joutsamo yawned. They had searched for Repo until after eleven the previous night, after which she had biked home to Töölö. She hadn’t slept properly, and a few hours later she had cycled back to Pasila.

“Good morning,” Takamäki called from the doorway.

Joutsamo turned around. “Good morning. How’s Jonas?”

“Broken arm and mild concussion. Kaarina’s staying at home with him.”

“Thank God it wasn’t worse. Who was the driver?”

“Don’t know. Took off.”

“Hit-and-run, huh?” Joutsamo said.

“The Espoo Police Department is investigating.”

“In that case, you’ll never know,” laughed the sergeant. She had worked in the Espoo PD Narcotics division before transferring to Helsinki Homicide.

“I don’t know. It’s not such a tough case. Happened near Sello. There are a ton of surveillance cameras around there.”

“The Sello shopping mall, huh?” Joutsamo turned back to her computer. Takamäki walked over behind her to follow along as she looked up data from Homicide’s list of surveillance cameras.

“There,” Joutsamo said. “They’ve got two kinds of recordings. Some are stored for a week, but others just for twenty-four hours. Hopefully they’ve got the sense to go look at the images today.”

“Could be that some eyewitness caught the license plate and they wouldn’t even need photos,” Takamäki said, before changing the subject. “Where are we with the escaped convict?”

“Suhonen and I were out looking for him all evening. Went to the father’s house, but got nothing. Well, we did find out that relations between father and son probably weren’t the warmest. The brother indicated the same about their relationship, too. After murdering his wife, Timo Repo was shut out by his family.”

“Well, he can’t make it on his own out there. He’s going to need help. He probably doesn’t have any money,” Takamäki said.

“Suhonen and I were thinking the same thing. We agreed I’d go visit the Riihimäki police and check out those old preliminary investigation reports, see if maybe we can find some names there. Suhonen will work the prison angle.”

“Good,” said Takamäki. “Any new cases last night?”

“Nothing serious. A couple of assaults out east at Itäkeskus, but the precinct will handle them. Couple of cars disappeared, a few B amp;Es, nothing out of the ordinary.”

“You need some extra hands to help you with the Repo investigation? I could free up Kohonen and Kulta. They’ve almost got the railway station homeless case wrapped up.”

“I don’t think so. Let’s see how things start rolling here. If we find any names in the old documents or the prison, then maybe.”

Takamäki walked to the door. “Okay. Let’s have a status check at two.”

“If the rat stays in his hole and doesn’t move, it’s going to be pretty hard to find him. Should we use the media to smoke him out?”

“We’ll take a look at two.” Takamäki thought for a moment. “What do you think, should I make sure the Espoo police picked up those images from Sello?”