Jarkko Sipila - Cold Trail

Takamäki looked thoughtful. “That old Riihimäki case is definitely going to surface. What are we going to say about it?”

“I had a brief word with the attorney general about it,” Skoog said. “It clearly falls under the area of due process, and they promised to reopen Repo’s old case for review.”

“So it’ll be transferred there?”

“I agreed that you’ll drop by within the next few weeks to brief them as to what you feel the problem is.”

“Fine,” Takamäki said. “Maybe it’s better that the AG’s office looks into it, because it’s a difficult spot for the police to be in. The wrongly convicted and the potential perpetrator are both dead, so from that perspective we have no interest in the case, since there is no one to prosecute.”

Takamäki doubted they would find strong enough evidence to overturn Repo’s conviction. The clothes that Joutsamo had sent in for DNA analysis might reveal that Erik Repo had been in the apartment, but that didn’t make him a killer. In all likelihood the case would remain open. Without the Repos’ testimony, finding out the truth was nearly impossible. In any case not a single police officer or judge would be charged with misconduct, even if there were cause.

“Repo told me his father’s account of events over the phone. It’s on tape. Should we turn it over to the attorney general’s office?” Takamäki asked.

Skoog thought for a second. “Yes, if they think to ask for it, but we’re not going to actively mention it. It is, of course, nothing more than his version of events, and it’s not of great importance. But back to the matter at hand: the plan now is to stress Repo’s mental health problems. And that’ll be our theme at the press conference, too.”

“Did he have any?”

“Of course he did, if the guy was capable of resorting to a solution like that. We don’t want the media making him into some sort of martyr, victim of the system, or innocent murderer. We’re not going to speculate about his innocence, we’re just going to say that the attorney general is going to investigate. In the end, what we’re talking about are the unlawful actions of a mentally unstable man. We’ll also raise the fact that we’re investigating the Karppi incident as murder, and that Repo is-or, I mean, was-the prime suspect. In other words, before taking a hostage, Repo is suspected of murdering his father’s closest friend. We’ll knock him off that pedestal he wanted raise himself up on. Repo’s nothing more than a common criminal.”

So this is how the system works, Takamäki thought.

* * *

Takamäki turned his Toyota station wagon into his townhouse lot. He drove into his parking space under the garage, stepped out, and locked the doors.

The day was extremely gray, and the rain continued to drizzle down. Takamäki strode to his front door and stepped in. The lights were on, and Jonas was downstairs, sitting at the computer with one arm in a cast. Some black girl was shaking her booty on the music channel on TV.

“Hey,” Takamäki said, and Jonas turned the TV down.

“Pretty intense day, huh?”

“Yeah.”

“I watched you on TV this morning and during that press conference just now.”

“Well, what did you think?”

Jonas gave a little smile. “That was a really cool explosion, even the reporter went totally speechless.”

Takamäki sat down on the sofa. “A person died there.”

Jonas looked at his father. “He was one weird dude, killing his dad’s friend and all. Must have been pretty messed up. Was he innocent in that old case, by the way?”

“That’s what he told me on the phone.”

“Do you believe him?”

Takamäki thought for a second. “In a way I almost want to, but I don’t know for sure.”

“No, seriously. Tell me,” Jonas insisted.

“I really don’t know. Seriously. Someone’s going to look into it, I guess, but it’s pretty hard to get new evidence in an old case like that. The clothes are being analyzed for DNA. Maybe something will come out of it. Maybe not.”

“There you go with the cop talk again,” Jonas laughed. “You should have just said ‘No comment’ like that Skoog dude did on TV.”

Takamäki changed the subject. “How’s the arm?”

“Still attached to my shoulder. A little hard to surf the web with one hand. With the mouse it’s fine, but typing’s tough. How do one-handed people turn on their computers? For me at least that Control+Alt+Del you have to do at the start was pretty tricky.”

Takamäki lay down on the sofa. “I need to sleep for a couple of hours, but feel free to hang out on the computer. It doesn’t bother me.”

“Okay,” Jonas said, looking at his dad. Takamäki fluffed up the pillow and put his hands behind his neck.

“Hey, Dad?”

“Yeah?”

“That accident I was in. Did you guys find out who the driver was?”

Takamäki answered without opening his eyes. “Yes. This one criminal.”

“Is it going to go to court?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Why not?”

Takamäki thought for a second and rose up on his side. How could he explain this? Suhonen had found out from Salmela that a guy called Skoda Sakke had hit Jonas. They couldn’t use the information, though, because it would have immediately let the criminal league know that someone from the gang had talked to the cops. They couldn’t investigate the hit-and-run unless someone confessed to it, and that was extremely unlikely. Takamäki regretted having told his son that that they knew who the driver was.

“Why not?” Jonas repeated.

Takamäki sat up on the sofa to explain. “Is it enough if I tell you ‘No comment’?”

“I guess, but I don’t get it. If you guys know who the driver is, why doesn’t he have to go to court? It was his fault. And who’s going to pay for my bike?”

“The bike’s easy. Insurance will take care of that,” Takamäki said, trying to formulate his answer. Salmela had told him that Skoda Sakke had gotten his ass kicked and been forced to pay him back for the burnt car. “Let’s just say that the guy knows he did wrong and was made to pay.”

“Did someone ice him?” Jonas asked gravely.

Takamäki laughed. “No, it wasn’t that bad. But I can’t tell you the details.”

Father and son looked at each other. Jonas was the first to talk. “So do you think that’s a good thing?”

“Good question,” Takamäki answered diplomatically, buying time to frame his thoughts. As a police officer the answer was easy; of course it was. But as a father and parent, this wasn’t the way things should go. He should be able to tell his son that justice is carried out in society. Lying wasn’t Takamäki’s style, though. “Your hit-and-run not ending up in court will let us protect one of Suhonen’s sources.”

“Oh, Suhonen’s informant?” Jonas said. During his visits, Suhonen had taught Takamäki’s boys that snitch was a forbidden word, informant was better.

“Is that okay?”

Jonas shrugged his healthy shoulder. “Fine by me. Is Suhonen coming over for Christmas again?”

“I don’t know yet,” Takamäki said, lying back down on the couch. “Of course we’ll invite him.”

“That would be cool.”

Takamäki closed his eyes again. “Wake me up at one o’clock at the latest. I don’t want to sleep too long, because then I won’t be able to fall asleep tonight,” he said. “Oh yeah, one more thing: find Johnny Cash’s song ‘Hurt’ and play it for me.”

TUESDAY, 2:20 P.M.

HELSINKI POLICE HEADQUARTERS, PASILA

Joutsamo stepped into the room, and Takamäki raised his eyes from the computer.