Jarkko Sipila - Nothing but the Truth

“She was six. She didn’t understand, and I didn’t explain. I lied to her face, actually. I mean, she knows about the divorce, but I’ve kept the details under wraps. We don’t have a single picture of him anywhere.”

“That’s understandable, in a way.”

“Did I tell you why we had to meet here?”

Joutsamo shook her head.

“Laura has theater practice next door. Over there at the Theater Academy. She’s really excited about acting. One of the instructors at the academy actually started the group to research how twelve- to sixteen-year-old kids learn acting. She’s worked with school kids before and now she’s writing a dissertation about the play. Doing interviews and such. Getting kids to memorize the lines from some random play can be tough, but the idea here is for the kids to write the play themselves and kind of internalize their lines that way. Opening night is in December.”

“Sounds good,” said Joutsamo, though it didn’t much interest her.

“I know. But the problem is that the project started at the beginning of August, and before this police thing, Laura used to walk home from here every night. Now I feel like I have to come meet her.”

Before Joutsamo could respond, Lehtonen stood up, “Can I get you a beer?”

Joutsamo shook her head. “No. I’m driving.”

“I’ll just get one for myself.”

A minute later, Lehtonen returned with a beer and a glass. She sat back down and continued before Joutsamo could say anything. “Well, I was honest with you about my story. Now you can be honest with me…so do Laura and I have anything to be afraid of?”

Joutsamo looked her keenly in the eye. She was glad they had gotten back to official business. “To be honest, I don’t know.”

“Would you tell me if there was?”

“If I really wanted to lie, I’d just say there wasn’t. But you’re a key witness in the case and this Risto Korpi is a professional criminal. That’s not a good combination, but from experience I can tell you that these types go after informants first. Then of course the cops, the prosecutors and the judges. It’s extremely rare for someone to target an ordinary citizen.”

“Rare…” said Lehtonen. “How rare?”

“I’ll be honest with you. At this point, neither Korpi nor anybody else knows anything about you, but the defense will get the case files once they’re ready. That might take a couple months. At that point, they’ll have your name, but since your address and other personal information are confidential, finding you would be difficult. Not impossible, but difficult, and at that point, Korpi will still be in jail.”

“Okay. At least you’re being honest.”

“And once they finally get your name, the bitterness has usually lost its edge.”

“Usually?”

“Usually. I couldn’t put it more frankly.”

“You seem pretty serious about this.”

“You better believe I’m serious about these things. You saw the mugshots when you were down at the station the first time. If you remember, there were about twenty of them. From what we know, that’s Korpi’s entire gang. Except for the upper ranks, none of them even know they’re working for him. In his outfit, the only person anybody knows is their direct boss. With the biker gangs and other street gangs it’s different, of course.”

“But twenty guys is quite a few.”

“And you’ve got a good ten thousand police officers on your side,” said Joutsamo. She took a sip of tea to let her words sink in before continuing, “We have specific procedures in place for just your kind of situation. I gave you my card, and of course you can call my cell at any time of day, but we’re also going to mark you down as a high-risk target.”

“High-risk target?”

“That means that if you call the police for any reason, they’ll immediately send out a fleet of cruisers.”

“And that’s supposed to comfort me?”

“Well, that’s the intention. We’re on your side. There’s no reason to be afraid.”

Mari Lehtonen glanced at the clock: a quarter after eight. “Oh, Laura’s probably waiting already.”

“I can give you a ride home.”

“Why? Is that necessary?”

“No, but I have a car and it’s raining.” Joutsamo smiled. The wind-driven raindrops were just beginning to beat against the restaurant windows.

“Alright. But only because of the rain. I’m not afraid.”

“You shouldn’t be,” said Joutsamo, despite a vague feeling of uncertainty that for some reason had begun to plague her.

CHAPTER 12

WEDNESDAY, 8:45 A.M.

COURTHOUSE BASEMENT, HELSINKI

At least the coffee’s hot, thought Mari Lehtonen as she sat with Joutsamo in a basement witness room of Helsinki District Court. The long, three-hundred-square-foot room, with its pale gray walls, was every bit as ascetic as the interrogation rooms at police headquarters. In the middle of the room was a long veneered table surrounded by ten chairs. A lone Christmas-themed centerpiece lay on the table: a ring of elves cut from red cardboard.

The only sound was the hum of the ventilation system.

Lehtonen picked up her paper cup, but her hand was trembling enough that she had to steady it with her left.

“Are you scared?” asked Joutsamo.

Lehtonen shook her head. “No. Nervous, yeah. Never been a witness before.”

“Just tell them what you saw. That’s all that’s expected of you.”

“I guess so,” said Lehtonen. Over the past few months, the whole September episode had been gradually fading from her memory, and a semblance of normalcy had returned to her life. But two weeks ago, a summons from the court had snapped her back to reality. Lehtonen had had to go to the post office to pick up the registered letter. Inside the envelope was a summons in cold officialese, demanding that she appear in court.

“Laura was really good in the play the other night. She was probably nervous, too,” said Joutsamo. Mari had sent her a ticket to the show.

“Well, that was a play.”

“Not to Laura. It was real to her.”

“What do you think is gonna happen?” asked Lehtonen, still clutching her paper cup with two hands.

“We’ve done our job, and we have a good prosecutor. You tell them what you know and Korpi will get life.”

“Today’s paper had a little different take.”

Joutsamo snorted. “The papers can print what they want but it won’t sway the court. The judge and jury will look at the facts and nothing more. And that’s all they’ll need to convict him.”

The door opened and in stepped District Prosecutor Helena Muuri, dressed in a dark gray pantsuit. She exchanged nods with Joutsamo then introduced herself to Lehtonen, and the two shook hands. Muuri had left the door open, and the faint sound of music drifted in from the hallway: the voice of the late Curt Cobain, “ I love you, I’m not gonna crack. ”

“Is everything alright,” Muuri said, more as a statement than a question, though her words were directed at Lehtonen.

“Uhh…sure.”

Muuri nodded. “A couple of tips for you. Please tell the court only what you know. If you don’t know something, please say so. Avoid eye contact with the suspect. Korpi’s attorney is going to ask you some questions, but please keep your eyes on him alone. A few other witnesses will come to the box before you, so it’ll take a little while.”

Muuri’s overly courteous style was irritating to Joutsamo. It only made the situation more tense.

“When…” Joutsamo began to ask.

“I don’t know. The judge on the case is the decisive type, so before lunch in all likelihood.”