Jarkko Sipila - Nothing but the Truth

Jere Siikala was in the house. When Suhonen arrived to survey the place around nine in the morning, the lights had been on. He hadn’t had to wait long: by nine-thirty, he had observed Siikala moving about in the kitchen. It appeared that Guerrilla had made some coffee, after which there had been no more activity.

Nobody had left the house, nor entered it. The same Mazda that was used in Tomi Salmela’s murder was parked in the driveway. In October, the police had returned the car to the executor of the estate, but apparently Siikala had reacquired it.

Suhonen thought lying around here was a bit silly, but such was necessary because the offense was too minor for the police to obtain a phone tap. Siikala had probably acquired a new phone anyway, if he even used one anymore.

Since Siikala wasn’t an official suspect yet, Suhonen’s only job was to keep an eye on him and follow him if he went anywhere. So far he hadn’t.

Time dragged on. Suhonen spotted a chickadee on a tree branch and he aimed the camera toward it, but the bird flew off.

He had already mulled over his relationship with Raija. It had gradually deepened to the point that they were considering moving in together. He wasn’t sure it was what he wanted. In a way, he did, but in another, he didn’t. At any rate, the matter was not up to him alone.

Right now, their relationship was about having fun, but Suhonen suspected that after the move, more mundane issues would emerge. He guessed that the biggest risk to their relationship would be that he’d end up working too many evenings and nights. That just might grate on her in the long run, though now she claimed it wouldn’t be a problem.

Or maybe Suhonen was just afraid of commitment. He wasn’t entirely sure.

A movement in the kitchen window interrupted his thoughts. Suhonen raised the camera and looked through the lens. Siikala was toiling at the stove. Suhonen lowered the camera. If the guy was making lunch, he wouldn’t be leaving for at least thirty minutes.

Suhonen took his phone out of his pocket and speed-dialed Takamäki’s number.

“Hello,” answered Takamäki.

“It’s Suhonen.”

“Well?”

“Nothing. He’s still in the house. Making lunch right now.”

“Hmm.”

“Kinda hungry myself, but my sandwich ended up freezing out here.” Suhonen’s voice wasn’t so much resentful as it was probing. “How long do you want me out here?”

“If you have a better idea, I’d like to hear it. Siikala’s our only lead right now. If you ask me, we ought to keep an eye on him.”

“I guess. At some point I’ll need a shift change, though. Feet are starting to go numb.”

“Okay. Kulta will be there around three. Let’s do shifts every six hours, say at three and nine.”

“Would be nice to get that phone warrant if we’re gonna sink this much time into it. At least we’d have his number then. It’d help.”

“I’ll think about it,” said Takamäki, and he hung up the phone.

Suhonen lay back down in the ditch to think about what he should think about.

* * *

Mari Lehtonen was sitting on the bed with her feet atop a coarse woolen blanket, reading a book. Laura sat in a similar position along the opposite wall of the smallish room, which resembled a hotel room in as much as it had two beds, a desk, television and a small bathroom. The décor was more barren than the average hotel room’s, though timeless: it had been out of fashion for at least thirty years. On first glance, Mari had wondered if the furnishings had been bought on clearance from some thrift store.

The window opened onto a gloomy snow-starved spruce forest.

The safe house was a largish building with rooms off of a long hallway: about twenty units with a common area and a kitchen in the middle.

Joutsamo had escorted the mother and daughter to the safe house. It was still unclear to Mari what sort of place this was; it didn’t seem like the police ran it. Rather, it appeared to be some sort of hideout for people who had found themselves targets of serious threats. As they were escorted inside, the only other person they encountered was a thickly muscled guard. Apparently such was needed to keep out any intruders. The guard sat in a booth next to the entrance, dressed in a track suit, and accompanied by a network of security cameras. He had greeted Mari and given her a printout of the house rules.

Mari put the book down-she couldn’t concentrate. For lunch, they had had sausage soup, and it was still several hours till dinner. Nothing else was happening. Just outside the door to their room was some kind of weekly schedule. Today, it included some conversation groups, a cooking class, and art and music classes for kids, but Laura was probably too old for those.

She turned to look at her daughter, now reading on her stomach with her feet kicked up. Mari felt fairly comfortable-the place was safe, at least. And, for

once she had time to read. But something still nagged at her.

She picked up her book again, but was still unable to focus. She tried to pinpoint what it was that didn’t seem right, but came up empty. Her instincts told her that something was wrong. Well, damn right something’s wrong when she and her daughter are holed up in the woods hiding from murderers. But everything would work out, she assured herself. Joutsamo and Takamäki-indeed the entire police force-were on their side and would do everything in their power to protect them. The bodybuilder downstairs would keep them safe here and have droves of cops on the place if necessary. Everything was okay. Look at it like a free vacation, she told herself. Read a few classics and relax. It’s what you’ve always wanted. Kind of like a Mediterranean vacation without the swimming pools and beaches-just a hotel room and a book.

Mari wasn’t so sure about her attempts at being positive.

An incoming text message announced itself. Laura gave a passing glance as Mari got up, walked to the coat hooks at the door and fetched her phone out of her coat pocket, but the girl’s attention soon returned to her book.

Mari read the message-it was from her boss, Essi Saari: Hi. I chatted with the police. Lay low as long as you need. It’s paid leave. Good luck!

Mari read the message over and over again. Of course she was happy that her employer was being supportive, even promising to pay her, but “lay low as long as you need?”

Lay low -the wording seemed about as appealing as these four oppressive walls. The rules stated that she could go out in the yard, but no further.

“Who was it from?” asked Laura.

“Work.”

The girl stared at her mom for a while. “You know, this is actually kind of exciting. Kinda like a movie, you know…witnesses hiding out in a hotel room. The only person that ever knocks is room service, except for the one time that the killer comes to the door.”

“Stop it,” said Mari. Just then, a knock came at the door. Both of them startled.

“Don’t open it,” whispered Laura.

The knock came again. Mari shuddered, not that there was anything to worry about-this place definitely didn’t have room service. She slipped the door chain into the slot, unlocked the door and peeked through the gap.

“Hi,” said a dark-skinned woman with a smile. She looked about forty, wore an afro and had a three-inch laceration running down her cheek. The wound was old enough that the stitches were gone. She spoke with an accent. “I make some coffee. You like some?”

Mari didn’t know how to react. Were they allowed to speak with others here? The rulebook forbade revealing any personal details. Not even your own name.

The woman smiled, though her scar made her expression rather gruesome. “I’m Agatha. Come, come. It’s okay. I been here now two months. I know rules.”