Jarkko Sipila - Nothing but the Truth

“Uhh…” Kulta cleared his throat, knowing he’d already lost. Everything from this point forward would just end up sounding like an excuse, but he explained the events at the safe house and the problems at the station.

“Well, shit,” Joutsamo barked. “Get the footage, then.”

“And how do you suggest I do that?” he barked back. “I don’t even know who the station manager is.”

Joutsamo was quiet for a moment. “Come on Kulta… I’m in Helsinki, for god’s sake. You’re in Kirkkonummi. Gee, I wonder where the station manager might be? Quit fucking around and do

your job.”

“Fine,” said Kulta.

He hung up the phone and cursed, drew his Glock and searched the door for a pane of glass with a break sensor on it. Once he located it, he smacked the glass with the butt of his gun and it shattered. Inside, the alarm began to sound. Damn right, that’s more like it. Security guards, a cruiser and some stiffs from the railway would be crawling all over the place in no time. Kulta stepped back with a smile and slipped out a pack of cigarettes.

* * *

Joutsamo came into Takamäki’s office with a stack of papers.

“What did you hear from Kulta?” said Takamäki. “He find anything?”

“He’s at the Kirkkonummi train station complaining that it’s closed and he can’t get any footage.”

“You’re shitting me.”

Joutsamo smiled. “That’s what I said. I’m sure he’ll figure it out.”

“Let’s hope so. We need that footage ASAP. The million-euro question is whether they’re travelling alone or if someone has abducted them… Still nothing from their phones?”

“Nope, still off. But I did get Jere Siikala’s call data. I found a prepaid extension that made and received a few calls in the Kaarela area after the verdict. And a couple texts too.”

“So it might be Guerrilla’s new phone.”

“Possible, but we don’t know for sure. The phone has definitely been in the area the whole time.”

“Where’s it been calling?”

Joutsamo paused. “Other prepaid numbers in the metro area: Pakila, Töölö, Kallio, Lauttasaari, Itäkeskus…”

“So a fair amount of traffic.”

“But we got nothing on the content or the recipients. Is he still holed up in that house?” asked Joutsamo.

“Yep.”

“Must have quite the food stash in there-he never has to go for groceries? It also occurred to me that the house had a broadband connection when we raided it back in September. We don’t have access to that, so he might be communicating over the internet.”

“I know,” said Takamäki, and he thought for a while. “With our only charge being threatening a witness, we’ll have a hard time getting a warrant for a full phone tap, much less emails.”

“Yeah. Same old story. What’s the plan, by the way, if we actually find the Lehtonens?”

“You have any suggestions?” he said, looking helpless.

Joutsamo shook her head. “Give them an earful? Scare the shit out of them?”

Takamäki didn’t reply.

* * *

A small white security vehicle swerved up to the curb in front of the train station and a large broad-shouldered man in a gray uniform stepped out. Both the car and the uniform looked ridiculously small in comparison to the man. He walked up to the door where Kulta was waiting and promptly noticed the shattered windowpane.

“What’s this?” he barked, one thumb hooked on his utility belt, where a canister of tear gas was at the ready. “What happened?”

Kulta had already taken out his badge and he held it up. “Mikko Kulta, Helsinki VCU. Sorry, little accident here. I yanked on the door a bit too hard and the glass busted.”

“Really. Let’s see that badge.”

Kulta handed him the badge, and the man stood there examining it without so much as an upward glance. Bad idea, thought Kulta. The guard should have taken a few steps back. If Kulta had had any bad intentions, he could have easily surprised the big man.

“Okay, I guess this looks legit. I’ll just call the glass company.”

“Listen,” said Kulta. “You wouldn’t happen to have the key would you?”

“Sure. Why?”

“Well, actually I’m working on a pretty serious case, and I need to see the CCTV footage. That’s why I’m here.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yes,” said Kulta in a serious tone of voice. The guard seemed a bit slow on the uptake, but Kulta was glad the guy hadn’t asked about the case. Few rent-a-cops could resist prying about anything related to real police work.

The lout nodded and took out his key ring. “CCTV footage, huh?”

“Yeah, you know where the monitoring station is?”

“Sure…follow me,” said the guard, and he opened the door.

Kulta fell in behind him with a smug smile.

* * *

Rauli Salo, prison guard, was sitting alone at a table in Parnell’s Pub drinking beer from a mug. His navy blue parka was draped over the back of the chair. The Pub, in Kallio, was furnished in the traditional British style-dominated by dark-toned woods. Salo glanced at his watch: a quarter after two. Fifteen minutes late already.

A blond-haired man came in and Salo followed him with his eyes. He wasn’t sure what sort of man he was here to meet. This one stopped just inside the entrance and scanned the bar. He looked about fifty and wore a black Burberry overcoat, which he left on as he made his way for Salo’s table. The man’s face was tanned.

“You waiting for somebody?” the man asked from six feet off.

The prison guard nodded, and the man sat down at the table. “Hello,” he said. “I had to find a parking spot.”

Salo guessed the man had parked a Mercedes, or at least he seemed to have expensive tastes. The guy would fit in better at some trendy bistro downtown than this poor man’s pub in Kallio. Salo had expected something between a straggly-bearded junkie and a tough-looking torpedo, but you never knew with these criminals. This was actually better-at least he’d get paid. Salo slowly sipped his beer.

“Well?” Martin said impatiently. The lawyer didn’t feel quite at home, and he didn’t care much for this sort of impromptu meeting. On the phone, the man had said he had a message from a certain inmate. Of course that meant Korpi. But who was this guy across the table? Martin didn’t know and didn’t really

want to, either. He didn’t look like someone on parole, anyhow. More like a prison staffer.

“Your inmate had a message.”

“You already told me that.”

“Money first. He said five hundred.”

Martin gave the man a hard stare. “Five hundred?” He couldn’t possibly know how much Korpi had actually said, and wondered to what extent this guy was padding his own pockets. Martin dug out his wallet and slipped five green bills into the man’s hand. “So?”

“He says tighten the screw.”

“Tighten the screw?”

“That’s right,” said Salo.

“I see,” said Martin, and he got up to leave.

After he left, Salo stayed to finish his beer. He thought about what the message meant. Five hundred for that was easy money. Tighten the screw…must have something to do with Korpi’s debts. Whatever it was, he knew he shouldn’t be conveying messages from a prisoner in solitary, but what harm could it do? Especially when it was so vague, and not really even a threat.

Salo was actually glad that Korpi owed him one now. In the long run, it would make his life easier. There was one major difference between the work of police and prison guards: the former encountered criminals in fleeting moments of danger, but the latter had to live with them for years. It called for a different kind of touch that involved cooperation. And easy money.

* * *