Jarkko Sipila - Nothing but the Truth

At this point, all the lieutenant cared about was the verdict. The case was out of his hands. Joutsamo’s coaching of the key witness had been an apparent success. Naturally, hearing that the verdict would be delivered today made him feel a little anxious. In the end, verdicts were the only real measure of police performance.

No homicides had crossed Takamäki’s desk since the Korpi case. Just as well. It was good to get a break every once in a while. Various assaults were abundant, of course, but recently they had had none of the tumult that came with a murder case.

On his desk were the case files for a few robberies. Some gangs that had been active around the Helsinki Central Train Station a year back had re-energized with the expanding nightfall of winter. Takamäki’s team had joined in the investigation.

As cases came, they were comparatively insignificant. None involved violence-the wave of a knife was all that was required to relieve a drunk of his wallet or laptop.

But the spate of incidents had captured the attention of the Helsinki media, at which point police brass started yet another collaborative task force. Takamäki had gotten involved against his own wishes. Several suspects had been taken into custody. The interrogations were all through and the case files had to be forwarded to the prosecutor, though some of the DNA evidence was still pending.

A knock came at the door and Takamäki looked up. Suhonen had grown a full beard, and with his leather jacket he looked more like a biker thug than a policeman.

“Heard we’ll get a verdict on that Korpi case today,” said Suhonen, raking his fingers through his beard.

Takamäki nodded. “That’s right.”

“What do you think?” asked Suhonen, lingering at the door. Takamäki took that as an indication that Suhonen had no pressing business, at least nothing relating to an open investigation.

“Hard to say. These types of trials can be unpredictable. I suppose the speed of the verdict would indicate the evidence is pretty convincing one way or the other.”

“So for the court, the case is cut and dried.”

“Yup. You coming tonight?”

“Of course,” Suhonen grinned. “High point of

the year.”

“Really.”

“You don’t think so?”

“Well, we’ve had a lot of fun. At least in the past. How’s things with the future Mrs. Suhonen?” Takamäki asked with a smirk.

Suhonen shifted his weight to the other foot. “Like I said before, ‘Mrs. Suhonen’ is a bit of a stretch. No talk of that with Raija yet. You eaten?”

“No. Let’s go grab something.”

The lieutenant stood up, unable to suppress his smile, for one word in Suhonen’s rebuttal had revealed a lot: yet.

WEDNESDAY, 6:45 P.M.

CANTINA WEST RESTAURANT, DOWNTOWN HELSINKI

“One more round before we move on?” said Suhonen.

Seven cops were crowded into the private dining room of a Mexican restaurant. On one side of the table were Suhonen, Takamäki and Joutsamo. On the other were Kohonen, Kannas from Forensics, Kulta the rookie, and as a special guest, the bushy-whiskered Nykänen, now with the NBI. Homicide also organized a larger Christmas party for the entire unit, but a few years back, Takamäki had started this tradition with a smaller group.

“I could be talked into one more,” grunted Kannas. The table was littered with empty plates and a couple of wine bottles amongst the fajita toppings and baskets of tortillas.

“Fine with me,” said Joutsamo, and she pushed a button on the wall to signal the wait staff. Joutsamo ordered a cider, Kulta a gin and tonic, and the others ordered more beer.

Once the waitress left, there was a brief lull in the conversation and Suhonen took the opportunity. “Those white-collar crime detectives might actually make something of themselves one day.”

“Yeah,” croaked Nykänen in his gravelly voice. “Heard you were giving them seminars on undercover work.”

The others pricked up their ears. Suhonen hadn’t mentioned teaching any classes. “Yep, instead of pushing paper, the financial crimes guys are actually out there actively looking for cases. Makes sense to me. They were pretty interested in tailing and infiltration.”

“Ha!” said Kulta. “What’d you teach ’em? How to infiltrate the fat cats on the rooftop bar of the Palace Hotel?”

Suhonen laughed. “Sure, we touched on that too. But also how to get a job, say, on a construction site. Those guys actually have some interesting stories. Apparently, the gray market is really booming. You know, wages paid off the books, hidden revenue…that sort of thing. They say things will only get worse till our eastern neighbors start getting their affairs in order.”

“Well, at least they’re starting to catch up with the rest of the police force,” said Joutsamo. “Actually, they use kind of an interesting tactic in their surveillance. First they set up all their wire taps, then they take the suspects in for questioning. But instead of arresting them, the suspects are released and then start calling each other, all on tape. Something for us to try, too, at least with some of our cold cases.”

Takamäki drank the last of his beer and smiled. “Don’t go getting too interested in this white-collar stuff. I don’t want you going anywhere.”

Suhonen smirked. “Might just be me, but I’d rather be posted on a stool in the Corner Pub than some swanky place like Savoy. You find a more honest crowd in the Corner Pub. Those financial guys were telling me about Morgan Stanley…”

“Morgan Stanley is a New York investment bank,” Joutsamo cut in.

Suhonen grinned. “Right, that’s the one. Anyhow, they were telling me the bank gives psychological tests as a part of their job interview process. Turns out that if the test shows a tendency toward dishonesty, you might want to consider a career on Wall Street.”

“Doesn’t sound much different from here in Finland,” said Joutsamo.

“Business is global,” said Takamäki.

“But seriously. We all need to cooperate on the big cases regardless of which unit or floor of the police station we find ourselves on,” said Nykänen. “We have no other choice.”

“Maybe so. Provided all units have the same objective,” Takamäki hedged. His experiences collaborating with other units had been awful, and everyone knew it.

The waitress broke the tension at an opportune time as she breezed in with the drinks.

Kannas spoke up. “I ever tell you about the time way back when I was standing guard at the presidential palace and saw two people going at it in the Supreme Court building?”

“Yes!” was the unanimous response followed by chuckles.

Kannas grinned. “Well, this one I know you haven’t heard. True story. A Helsinki rookie is out riding shotgun with a twenty-year veteran and he wants to show off what he’s got. So they’re driving around and the rookie spots a crowd of people standing on the corner. He cranks down the window and yells, ‘Let’s get off the corner, people.’ They just kind of glance around, so he yells again, ‘Get off the corner… Now!’ So they kind of shuffle off and he turns to his partner and says, ‘How’d I do?’ ‘Not bad,’ says the vet, ‘That’ll teach ’em to wait at the bus stop.’”

The others chuckled, though the joke had been told a hundred times before. Even the waitress laughed as she served up the last round of beers.

“We’ll take the check, please,” said Nykänen. He turned back to his colleagues. “But here’s an actual true story from Espoo. So a patrol car was kind of creeping along through this neighborhood, right? A cat runs out of the bushes, and the squad runs it over. So the officer stops the car and goes with his partner to take a look.”