Jarkko Sipila - Cold Trail

Takamäki kept his gaze on Römpötti. “Things are very calm at the moment, and have been for several hours now. In order to ensure the safety of the public, we have had to take precautionary measures of cordoning off a large area and rerouting Western Expressway traffic. Of course that’s going to cause a lot of headaches for commuters traveling from Espoo to downtown Helsinki.”

“Have you established contact with Timo Repo?”

“Yes,” Takamäki said, but did not elaborate.

Römpötti was caught a little off guard by the one-word response, but recovered quickly. “What are his demands?”

“Repo was sentenced to life in prison in 1999 for the murder of his wife. The Helsinki Police Department has, in conjunction with the escape investigation, conducted a preliminary review of that case, and there appear to be some anomalies in it.”

Römpötti bit. “Anomalies? What do you mean?”

Takamäki turned his gaze directly to the camera, so the words would be targeted personally to Repo.

“The Kouvola Court of Appeals upheld Repo’s life sentence, but the case definitely demands a more detailed investigation.”

“So Repo has, perhaps, been wrongly convicted?”

Takamäki’s gaze stayed on the camera. “It’s very possible. The matter must be investigated in detail as soon as this situation here has been resolved.”

“So an unprecedented situation?”

“You could say that,” Takamäki said, turning back toward Römpötti.

“Supreme Court chief justice Aarno Fredberg used to sit on the bench at the Kouvola Court of Appeals, and he was one of the judges that sentenced Repo to life in prison. Can we assume that there’s a connection here?”

Takamäki nodded. “That is the case.”

“What kinds of demands has Repo presented? How can this situation be resolved?”

“The police are approaching the situation as calmly as possible. As I said earlier, we have been in contact with Timo Repo and negotiations are ongoing. The old case will be reinvestigated at a later time, and for right now the police are, of course, working toward a peaceful resolution.” Römpötti understood Takamäki’s tone of voice: it was time to end the interview, but she wanted to ask one more thing.

“The police statement earlier read that Timo Repo was not considered particularly dangerous. Presumably that’s no longer the case?”

Takamäki didn’t care for the question. “The police are seeking to resolve this in a peaceful manner and are continuing negotiations.”

Römpötti turned toward the camera. “And so the siege that began last night here in Lauttasaari continues. Now back to the studio.”

The morning host came back on screen. Photos of the judge appeared, quickly followed by clips from Römpötti’s recent interview with Fredberg.

“Thanks,” Römpötti said to Takamäki. “Nice interview.”

The cameraman turned off the lights.

“Good,” answered Takamäki. “You might want to keep those cameras rolling and aimed at the house. Something might happen soon.”

“What?”

“If I only knew,” Takamäki said, as he strode off toward the lead van, twenty yards away. He heard Römpötti order Karhunen to keep the camera filming the house.

He ran into Joutsamo outside the van. “Good interview, maybe,” she said. “Repo’s on the line. He called as soon as you went off the air. Said he’d hold until you made it to the phone.”

Takamäki’s face was grave. “Okay, tell Turunen to get his men ready. We might be going in soon.”

“The moment of truth?” Joutsamo asked.

“The moment of doom.”

“Helmikoski also got a pretty serious barrage of calls from the other media outlets. They want to move in closer from their cordon on Lauttasaari Road. In the name of equal treatment.”

“That interview wasn’t journalism, it was a police operation. The message was intended solely for Repo.”

“I know that,” Joutsamo said, as they reached the door of the lead car. “But explain it to them.”

Takamäki’s phone rang. Blocked number. “Hello?” he answered.

“Hi there, Mary J. Juvonen from Iltalehti. ..”

Takamäki pressed the button marked with a red receiver.

“Explain it to her if she calls back,” Takamäki said, handing the phone to Joutsamo. Takamäki stepped into the van, where Kirsi Kohonen was sitting. Joutsamo followed.

“Hi,” his red-headed subordinate said. “Call for you.”

Takamäki sat down on the seat of the van, took a deep breath, and picked up the receiver. “Hello.”

“Hello, it’s Repo.”

“Hi,” said Takamäki. At least the fugitive’s voice didn’t sound overly tense.

“You did well on TV.”

“Ha,” Takamäki grunted. “Good, if that’s what you thought. I hope you understand that I’m serious about this now.”

“Yeah, I understand that, and I’d sincerely like to thank you for your empathy.”

“After that publicity, your case and the two bureaucrats will definitely be investigated with a fine-toothed comb.”

“That’s wonderful,” Repo said laconically. “Do you remember who Jorma Takala was?”

Shivers went up Takamäki’s spine. “Of course.”

“The explosion at the market square in Mikkeli twenty-one years ago changed a lot of things about the way police conduct their operations.”

Takamäki knew what Repo was referring to. Takala had robbed a bank with a shotgun and dynamite in Helsinki, then taken hostages that he drove 130 miles north to Mikkeli. In the middle of the night, the police stormed the car, freeing two of the hostages. The officer shot Takala, but he still managed to detonate explosives killing himself and one hostage and injuring ten officers. This led to the police becoming much more cautious in hostage crises. Nowadays, the police always had time to wait, and the focus was on a peaceful resolution.

“There always has to be a crisis before things change,” Repo continued. “Now that you told the country on TV how this situation came about, hopefully it will have a similar impact on the justice system that Takala had on the police. Judges should be the part of the system ensuring that justice is served, not an extension of the state bureaucracy. Maybe they’ll think a little harder about that after this.”

Takamäki gave Joutsamo and Kohonen a concerned look. “Come on, don’t say that.”

“Hey, Takamäki,” Repo said. “Listen to Johnny Cash’s song ‘Hurt’ once this is over. He’s an ex-con. After that, you’ll know how I feel.”

“I…” Takamäki tried to interrupt.

“I said, listen to the song when you get a chance. Johnny Cash, ‘Hurt.’ My English isn’t great, but the song starts off with lyrics saying that he has to hurt himself so he’ll know he’s alive. That’s the way it is in this case, too. Society needs to be hurt in order for it to function properly.”

“Timo,” Takamäki raised his voice. “Don’t do anything foolish…”

“I’m not going to do anything foolish. You have one minute to pull back all your officers. I don’t want to do them any harm. But the outcome is inevitable now.”

“Give us two minutes so we can get everyone out from around the house,” Takamäki replied.

“Okay,” Repo agreed. “And thanks.”

Takamäki sighed and ended the call. Two minutes wasn’t much time.

Turunen sprinted the fifteen-foot trip to the lead car. “Not looking good?”

“No. Pull everyone back. Immediately.”

The radio reported, “Movement in the house.”

“And we’re not even going to try to go in there?”

“No. Let’s minimize the damage. Not a single officer is going to die today. At least at Lauttasaari this morning. We have no choice.”