Jarkko Sipila - Nothing but the Truth

Martin didn’t respond. His face was expressionless. Obviously, the police were on the right track if Korpi’s gang used these kinds of spy tactics to throw them off the trail. “Okay,” he said finally.

“Good. The cops were probably out celebrating their victory last night, but at least one of them will be clearheaded enough to notice if someone’s talking openly about the case.”

“Right. So…you still want to go over this appeals form?”

“No,” said Korpi as he stood up. He gestured to the guard, and as the man shuffled over, he said to Martin, “Send it straight to the court once you get it ready.”

The guard approached. Korpi looked up, “I’d like some lunch now.”

“Fine,” said the guard. “Cabbage rolls today.”

“My favorite.”

Martin watched his client being escorted from the room. A steak dinner would hit the spot, he decided. With a couple of cold beers. But before he did anything else he would send that text. As soon as he got his phone back at the gate, anyhow. Yeah, and a new SIM card would be a good idea.

THURSDAY, 1:50 P.M.

JOUTSAMO’S APARTMENT, HELSINKI

Joutsamo lay idly on the sofa of her two-room apartment. She had on an extra-large green T-shirt, baggy black shorts and a blanket draped over her legs. It was almost two in the afternoon. The worst of her headache had succumbed to ibuprofen, a sandwich and a soft drink, but her mood was still listless. Her only consolation was that she hadn’t planned to get anything done today anyway, since it was the day after the Christmas party. So there was no reason to feel bad about being idle.

But there was one thing she had managed to do. She had sent a happy-name-day text to a friend of hers who had moved to London. A very cute friend by the name of Jouko.

The television was off-nothing of interest was on in the afternoon anyway. Something from Madonna was playing on the radio in the background. On top of the bookcase was a picture of Joutsamo’s parents. With the two of them seeming to stare at her, she didn’t care to look in that direction at the moment.

The evening had gone on right up until the last call at 3:30 at the Zetor Bar. Luckily, Nykänen and Kannas had been in the mood to dance. The more she danced, the less she drank.

She wondered if she should force herself to get up and clean. A fitting punishment for such overindulgence. Cleaning was too much to ask, but she got up nonetheless-if only because she was bored of lying down-and padded into the kitchen nook. She poured some water into the teapot and rubbed her weary face. She didn’t need to look in the mirror to see how terrible she looked. Maybe she should take a shower and force herself outdoors. All she could see from the kitchen window was the greenish flank of the neighboring building, but at least it wasn’t raining. According to the thermometer, it was twenty-five degrees. That would perk her up.

The tea water was just beginning to hiss when Joutsamo heard the phone ring. But where in the hell was it? She followed the ringing to the left-hand pocket of her overcoat, which still reeked of cigarette smoke, peeked at the caller ID, and answered with a smile.

“Well, hi,” she said before clearing her throat. The deepness of her own voice startled her.

“Hi,” said a perky woman’s voice on the other end. The caller was Sanna Römpötti. “How’s it going? By your voice I’d say not so well.”

“Well, I’m fine now. The team had a Christmas party.”

“I hope I didn’t wake you?”

“No,” said Joutsamo. The teapot began to whistle and she returned to the kitchen with the phone on

her ear.

“Quiet day at the press room here. I thought I’d lure you out for a beer…er… lunch.”

“I’m thinking probably not…” said Joutsamo, perhaps a bit too emphatically.

“Just wanted to congratulate you on the Korpi case. Well done.”

“Well, it wasn’t really all that complicated. Muuri did a good job on the prosecution.”

Römpötti paused for a moment. “What else

is new?”

Joutsamo looked at her bubbling teapot. “Figured I’d have a cup of tea.”

The reporter laughed on the other end. “OK, get better. We’ll talk later.”

“Bye,” said Joutsamo. She set the phone down on the table and took a packet of tea out of the cupboard, and a teacup from the drying rack. Her apartment didn’t have a dishwasher.

Joutsamo was pouring steaming water into the cup when the phone rang again. She paid no attention to the screen, assuming Römpötti had thought of some hangover joke.

“Yeah?” she answered.

A second’s pause passed. “Is this Joutsamo?” asked a woman’s voice. Joutsamo recognized Mari immediately, and her fear.

“Yeah, it’s me. Sorry, I thought you were someone else.”

“OK, uhh…” said Lehtonen, trailing off.

“What’s wrong?”

“It’s really not that serious, but I thought maybe you could help.”

“Of course. How?”

“Well, yesterday my ex-husband called to harass me out about that court case, and now this afternoon when Laura came home from school, the lock was all gummed up with some kind of glue.”

“I see,” said Joutsamo. She felt sharper already. “What did he say on the phone?”

“Called me stupid for talking to the police. You know, the kind of things exes say when they’re drunk.”

Joutsamo knew the type. “Are you at home now?”

“Yes. The locksmith changed the lock, so we’re okay on that front, but I just wondered if you could do something about Anton so he doesn’t start with his harassment again.”

“Can’t really take him to jail for it, but I can sure look into it. How’d Laura react?”

“Kind of confused. She didn’t really understand because I haven’t told her everything.”

Joutsamo gazed out the window. Her head was already beginning to clear. “We’ll try to do something about it.”

“Just try. That’s all I ask.”

Immediately after hanging up the phone, Joutsamo dialed Takamäki’s number.

THURSDAY, 3:30 P.M.

KALLIO NEIGHBORHOOD, HELSINKI

Suhonen sat down in the front seat of a gray Peugeot parked at the intersection of Vaasa and Fleming, and took a folded piece of office paper out of the breast pocket of his coat. It was a mug shot printout of forty-year-old Anton Teittinen, Mari Lehtonen’s ex-husband, his dark hair hanging over his forehead, eyes glowering at the camera from beneath his brows. His bloated face was serious enough without the scowl. The photo had been snapped a year ago, after Teittinen was arrested for a bar brawl. A search of his record had turned up several other petty crimes.

Suhonen was out in the field alone. He had begun his search for Teittinen at the man’s home address. No luck knocking on the apartment door. He had listened through the mail slot, but heard nothing. Back outside, Suhonen had checked to see if any lights were on. The man could be hiding out in the dark apartment, of course, but that was unlikely.

He could be at work, but that was also unlikely. The police had his phone number, so in principle, Suhonen could have called and tried to set up a meeting, but that wouldn’t have been as effective-the encounter should come as a complete surprise to Teittinen.

Suhonen started the car, drove a couple blocks and turned onto Helsinki Avenue. Not finding a single parking space, he pulled the car up to a bus stop.

He got out and walked the remaining distance to the Corner Pub. The pavement was slick and the cold seemed to be tightening its grip. It felt about ten degrees below freezing.