Jarkko Sipila - Cold Trail

“Garlic’s hard on my stomach,” Repo replied. “It got used to cabbage in the pen.”

“Seriously, though,” Takamäki shifted into a more sober tone. “I think we’ve been making progress. I’ve promised that we’ll investigate the old case. We’ve established that the actions of all civil servants involved in your case will be thoroughly scrutinized. That we agree on, right?”

“Sure. You did promise that,” Repo said.

“Good. Your old case will also be re-opened. By the way, we sent the clothes from the old murder scene in for DNA analysis. So you can be sure that if anything new turns up, we’ll do everything we can. We probably agree on that, too, right?”

“Yeah,” Repo said.

“Well, so help me out a little, too. What’s still standing in the way of us ending this whole stupid siege? What’s eating at you here?”

“The fact that the authorities destroyed my life with their sloppiness. I could’ve still…”

”Could’ve what?”

“Even though Arja was killed, I could’ve continued my life with Joel,” Repo said. Takamäki could sense the emotion in his voice.

“You said your wife was killed,” Takamäki interjected. “Who killed her?”

“I know who did it. He told me himself.”

“Your father?”

Repo was silent for a second before continuing. “A couple of years after the incident, he came to visit me in prison. We hadn’t ever talked about it before, but he wanted to come tell me. I had passed out, and he and Arja had had some massive fight that had ended in a single knife-slash. They had been standing across from each other and Arja had challenged him, told him he wouldn’t dare. Well, he dared to do the slashing, but he didn’t dare to take responsibility. Afterwards he panicked, put the knife in my hand, and left. He called the police from some phone booth,” Repo chuckled. “That’s back when there still used to be phone booths.”

“Did you tell this to anyone?”

“No. And after that, I stopped all my appeals, too.”

“Why?”

“I couldn’t. Okay, so he was a shitty dad and played a shitty trick on me, but I couldn’t do it to him. Besides, I had already been labeled a habitual complainer, so it wouldn’t have mattered. Who would’ve believed me? You?”

Takamäki didn’t answer. If Repo wanted to talk, let him talk.

“Somehow it all bubbled up that weekend when Dad’s funeral was coming up, and I read in the paper that Fredberg had become the chief justice. I had really trusted the appeals court and overall system. I thought, OK, district court sentences can be sort of be based on whim, but I thought the appeals courts actually had better judges. But there was just this goddamn asshole who doesn’t even know how to do his job,” Repo said. “See, the only thing you learn in prison is how to hate.”

“Why did your dad kill your wife?”

“I don’t know. He never told me the exact reason. Some argument,” Repo said.

“And your father didn’t want to take responsibility later either, even though he knew he was dying?”

“He didn’t want to die. According to the hospital papers, he demanded the best care. He was probably afraid he’d be left in a prison cell to rot. Like what happened to me. After Arja died, I had two paths ahead of me: life with my son or prison. The authorities chose prison for me. Thanks a fucking lot.”

Takamäki was mildly horrified. It was good that Repo told him his story, because it brought them closer together. Takamäki had a better chance of influencing Repo’s choices. There was also something troubling about the way things were headed, though. Repo was telling him things he hadn’t ever told anyone before, and was up in the red zone of his emotional barometer again.

“You said in your last phone call that judges were supposed to ensure that justice is served, not be an extension of the state bureaucracy. I agree with you.”

Repo laughed drily. “You’re telling me. My case is a perfect example, and hopefully it will be remembered. But listen, Takamäki, I’ll be watching you on TV at six. After that, I’ll decide what I’m going to do.”

“Follow your head, not your feelings,” Takamäki said. “And call me first. Do you have my number?”

“Yeah, I can see it here on the phone.”

“You’re a unique case who can do some good for the system.”

“Bullshit, I’m not unique in any way. Open your eyes and ears, man.”

Takamäki feinted once again. “You promise to call?”

“Ha! I promise to look into whether I can call,” Repo retorted. “Oh yeah, one more thing. I didn’t kill Karppi. I was there, but he fell and hit his head by himself,” Repo said and hung up.

Takamäki reflected on the call. Good or bad?

THURSDAY, 6:00 A.M.

LAUTTASAARI, HELSINKI

The morning TV broadcast began with the show’s soothing theme music. Takamäki couldn’t hear the sound, but he could see the show’s intro graphics on the monitor that had been set up next to the satellite van.

Wearing a black leather jacket, the reporter Sanna Römpötti was holding a large umbrella at Takamäki’s side. In front of them stood cameraman Ike Karhunen, his large camera wrapped in plastic and trained on them. Karhunen had also set up lights, which initially made Takamäki squint. The lights would of course be visible from the besieged house, but Takamäki had allowed their use.

Römpötti had explained beforehand how the beginning of the broadcast would go. The anchor would kick things off at the studio, but the broadcast would quickly shift to Lauttasaari, with Römpötti answering a few of the anchor’s questions. Takamäki’s turn would come a few minutes later.

Takamäki gazed silently at the monitor-the host was talking. The text “Supreme Court Chief Justice Held Hostage” appeared on the screen. That made the incident major news. If Repo had kidnapped, say, his former lawyer, that also would have been news, but nothing on this scale.

Römpötti appeared on the screen and answered the first question that she’d heard through her ear mic.

“The situation here at Lauttasaari is very serious. Timo Repo, a convicted murderer who escaped from prison a few days ago, has barricaded himself in that house there behind me,” Römpötti reported, gesturing toward the stand of trees. “He is holding the chief justice of the Supreme Court hostage. Let’s take a look at some footage of how the situation developed here over the early-morning hours.”

Material that had been shot earlier that night was shown on the monitors. Römpötti had presumably edited the clip in the satellite van.

Römpötti turned toward Takamäki. “This will take a good sixty seconds. Then you’re on.”

“So you’ll ask and I’ll answer.”

“That’s usually the way it goes,” Römpötti smiled. “Shitty weather, huh?”

“At least we have an umbrella. Those guys on the front line don’t.”

Takamäki watched the footage of the siege. Pictures of the armored cars arriving and the medic copter waiting on the field were being shown when the cameraman announced that they would be continuing the live broadcast in ten seconds.

Takamäki thought once more about Repo in the house. He was definitely watching the broadcast, because five minutes ago the radar man had announced that there was movement in the living room. After that, the sounds of the TV had been heard coming from the room. What would the hook be that would convince Repo to give in?

“We’re back broadcasting live from Lauttasaari,” Römpötti announced into the mic, “where convicted murderer Timo Repo, who escaped last week, is holding Aarno Fredberg, the chief justice of the Supreme Court, hostage. The police operation here is being led by Detective Lieutenant Kari Takamäki of the Helsinki Police Department’s Violent Crimes Unit. Lieutenant Takamäki, what’s the latest status?”