Jarkko Sipila - Nothing but the Truth

Korpi reeled back and crashed to the floor before Dahlman flung him onto his stomach, drove his shoulders into the floor with his knees and slapped the cuffs round his right wrist first, then his left, the backs of his hands trapped against one another.

Just as quickly, the wing man cuffed Siikala, while the shield bearer and the fourth man in the stack covered the stairs leading to the second level.

“Anyone else in the house?” Dahlman asked the men, but neither responded.

He repeated the question, but when silence prevailed, he reached into his pocket, pulled out a black hood, and pulled it over Korpi’s head. The others hooded Siikala in the same way.

“Two suspects in custody in the kitchen,” Dahlman said over the radio. “We’re going upstairs.”

Dahlman signaled for the fourth man in the stack to stand watch over the two suspects on the floor. The others would continue on up the stairs.

* * *

Korpi could feel the pitted hardwood floors through the coarse hood against his cheek. His wrists were throbbing. The pig had slammed the cuffs on him so hard that his fingers were beginning to tingle from lack of circulation.

The awkward position compelled him to relax, as tensing up only made him more uncomfortable.

He knew Siikala was lying on the other side of the table, though he couldn’t see a thing. From the sounds in the room, he could tell one of the officers had stayed back to stand guard while the others went upstairs with that shield-wielding shithead.

Korpi had little appreciation for cops, but he felt a certain respect for the SWAT team’s approach: cold and professional. He had no doubt they would have shot him at the first sudden movement. Their protocol was utterly controlled and predictable. Every man knew his task. Nothing like the bungled jobs of strung-out criminals that only ended in needless corpses and life sentences. Korpi decided he’d need a hit squad just like the SWAT team. One capable of the most demanding jobs. Maybe he could even piggyback on their reputation, their uniforms, their sinister presence. It would shock his rivals, at least.

But how in the hell had they found him so quickly? Not that it was much of a surprise. His working assumption, after all, was that he was under constant surveillance. Had the cops rented the house next door? Was there a bug in the wall? But that was an issue for another time. Korpi was more interested in why, and he couldn’t think of any other reason than Nyberg’s hit job.

He worried briefly about it, but the worry faded quickly. Either someone had talked, or the cops knew about his connection to Nyberg from previous surveillance.

“Jesus,” he groaned. “Getting gangrene over here. Your boss put these cuffs on too tight. Can’t you loosen ’em up a bit?”

His wrists were throbbing and drool was spilling out of the corner of his mouth onto the hood.

The cop in black didn’t react in the slightest. No compassion, thought Korpi. Just like the TV images of American soldiers with Iraqi POWs.

“Relax a little, will ya?” said Korpi. The cop didn’t. Korpi pictured the barrel of the MP5 sweeping back and forth between Siikala and himself before deciding to take his own advice.

* * *

Suhonen and Turunen were still lying low in the woods. “Nobody upstairs,” came Dahlman’s voice over the radio. “House is clear.”

As he stood up, Turunen nodded at Suhonen. “We can go in now.”

Suhonen struggled to his feet, his right arm now numb. His pants and jacket were soaked. “Good, but I think I’ve had enough fun.”

“You’re not coming in?”

“Nah,” said Suhonen, wiping the mud and leaves off his jacket. “Gotta go find you guys some more work.”

Joutsamo caught up to the two. “Should we

go in?”

“Let’s go.”

Turunen noticed the gentle way Joutsamo patted Suhonen on the shoulder. He could have used a pat too.

Joutsamo and Turunen covered the distance to the house quickly. On the way, Joutsamo notified Takamäki of the arrests and requested that Forensics inspect the house.

A few SWAT officers had filtered out of the woods toward the house. “I want the whole place taped off along the property lines,” shouted Turunen. Kannas and the Forensics team would have to comb the lot for footprints. If the rain didn’t get any heavier, they might still be able to find some around the Mazda.

Joutsamo considered whether she should go in. Inside, there was the possibility of tarnishing any potential prints, but a quick breeze-through could also turn up something to go on. In the end, curiosity prevailed and she asked Turunen to wait outside. Joutsamo mounted the short flight of stairs to the front door, drew a pair of blue plastic booties from her pocket and slipped them over her shoes. Once inside, the smell of smoke mingled with a stuffy odor. Either the house had mold issues or it hadn’t been cleaned or ventilated properly.

The narrow entryway led into the living room, where Korpi and Siikala had been moved. Four SWAT officers were standing guard.

“What should we do?” asked Dahlman as Joutsamo came into the room.

“Let’s take ’em in.”

Korpi protested from beneath his hood. “Uhh…on what grounds?”

“You’re suspected of murdering Tomi Salmela.”

“Who’s that? And who killed him?”

Joutsamo stopped in front of Korpi. A sharp kick in the ribs would do the scumbag some good, but the sergeant let him be. “We’ll talk about it at the station,” she said.

When Korpi launched into a whistled rendition of Leevi and the Leavings’ “Would you shed tears of joy,” Joutsamo recognized the verse.

“Would you shed tears of joy, if I banged you right and proper?”

With a smirk, she made up the next verse, “The whole damn town surrounded, the culprits in the hopper.”

The SWAT guys were amused.

“Let’s take these leavings downtown in separate cars,” ordered Joutsamo.

Dahlman nodded to the others and they dragged the suspects to their feet. “You searched ’em, right?”

One of the SWAT officers who’d been standing guard the entire time nodded. “When we moved ’em out of the kitchen.”

Joutsamo glanced into the fireplace where the flames from a couple of logs were dying down. Nothing else of interest in the living room.

She continued on into the kitchen. It wasn’t very big. There were dirty dishes piled in the sink. A faded photograph of what was perhaps a ten-year-old boy fishing off the dock on a sunny summer day was taped to the window. Judging by the boy’s clothing, the photo was taken sometime in the eighties. He didn’t look like Korpi, so apparently the photo was part of the old woman’s estate. Strange sense of humor for Korpi to just leave the pusher’s picture there. Or maybe it just never occurred to him to

move it.

Joutsamo looked out the window toward Suhonen’s stakeout spot. It was far enough away that she wouldn’t be able to make out anyone from here. Nice spot, she thought.

She inspected the downstairs bathroom, but nothing in particular caught her attention. She continued up the stairs to find a couple of bedrooms and a small chamber lined with bookshelves. The bedrooms proved uninteresting and the only remarkable item in the chamber was the computer, but Joutsamo left it alone. That was for the pros.

Hmm, thought Joutsamo. No bodies, no dope, nothing. She hadn’t expected to find much, but of course there was some disappointment in raiding what appeared to be an empty house. Perhaps Kannas’ men could turn up something.

MONDAY, 4:00 P.M.

PASILA POLICE HEADQUARTERS

Korpi sat dressed in green coveralls in a bare, windowless interrogation room. The vents hummed. A computer and recording equipment rested on a worn veneer table. There were four chairs, two of which were empty. Joutsamo was seated opposite Korpi. Mikko Kulta was standing behind Joutsamo puffing on a cigarette.