Jarkko Sipila - Nothing but the Truth

Joutsamo laughed. With the killer behind bars and the case all but closed, the mood was light. Locating the driver would only be a bonus, though a big one, of course. But that didn’t put on much additional pressure. Risto Korpi, on the other hand, was a stressful target, one that they knew would take a lot of work and time to connect to the shooting. None of Korpi’s goons would squeak, so the case would come down to phone taps or some other technological means. Provided Korpi was found, his apartment could be wired. Then it was just a matter of time before his tongue slipped. Incriminating evidence might surface by accident as well. Something significant could come up in a Narcotics operation.

“Good morning and my apologies,” said Takamäki, who had swapped yesterday’s sweater for a collared shirt and blazer. He had stashed his lightweight overcoat in his office.

A murmur of good mornings went around the room.

“Have we gotten the autopsy report from the coroner yet?”

“No,” said Joutsamo. “But I doubt there’s anything of interest there. No mystery on the cause of death.”

“I’m mainly interested in the victim’s blood alcohol level and any traces of drugs,” said Takamäki. Since not everyone had been updated yet, he recapped last night’s forensics briefing from Kannas. Takamäki had stayed on until eleven o’clock, when the officers who had gone to canvas

the neighboring buildings returned. Nothing new there. No eyewitnesses.

“If there was coke in Salmela’s system, I bet the stash in the toilet was his,” said Kulta. “Though that’s probably the case anyway.”

“I saw a little blurb in the Helsingin Sanomat ; what about the other rags?” asked Takamäki.

“Two columns each for Ilta-Sanomat and Iltalehti . No photos,” said Joutsamo. “They probably couldn’t make it out to the crime scene before deadline.”

Takamäki gave a snort. “Doubt that has anything to do with it. The top photographer from Ilta-Sanomat must be out of town. The guy gravitates to corpses like a vulture. Have we gotten any calls to the hotlines?”

“A couple callers said they saw a car but couldn’t recall the make, driver or plate. One of them thought it might have started with an X or a K,” said Joutsamo.

“So nothing, then. What about the phone taps?”

Joutsamo went on, “We stayed until midnight. Figured the numbers were probably old. Voice-activated recorder didn’t pick anything up overnight.”

“So,” Takamäki sighed. “Same cards as yesterday. And nothing new on Korpi either?”

“No,” said Suhonen. “Got all the traps and trawlers in the water, but no hits yet.”

“Alright. Doesn’t look so good right now, but we have time. Let’s focus on Korpi. Find out everything you can from the databases, and let’s get a warrant to review any cell tower records in the area of the murder. Maybe the driver had a cell phone. If we find one, we can trace it right to the guy’s hand. I want footage from any surveillance cameras in the area in case the car shows up in one of them. And let’s contact the neighboring precincts, the NBI and any informants out there to see if we can dig something up. Anything else?”

Nobody said anything.

“Let’s get to work, then. Plenty of footwork to

do here.”

* * *

Mari Lehtonen’s hand was resting on the telephone, and had been for some time now. The newspaper clipping lay in front of her on the desk of her cubicle. The clock in the lower corner of her computer screen read 10:56 A.M.

Lehtonen had finished the computer reports in about an hour, and devoted half an hour to email triage afterwards. One was from Laura’s theater instructor, who considered the girl a promising young actress and was asking for Mari’s permission for Laura to take on a larger role in the upcoming fall production. Mari couldn’t help but smile at her rather extravagant use of the word “production,” but she felt warmed by the message. Mari consented on the condition that Laura’s studies would not suffer. Rehearsals would consume three evenings a week, and opening night was in December.

Her mood, however, was unsettled. The image of a dark Mazda with its driver and license plate flitted continually through her mind. If only she could simply upload the image from her brain to a computer and send it to the authorities in an anonymous email.

She had to report it to the police, she thought. Maybe they wouldn’t find her information useful, but it said right there in the paper that it was needed. She shuddered at the thought of someone being murdered in the neighboring building. The killers should be held responsible. No point getting mixed up in these kinds of things , Essi Saari had said. But her boss was wrong. If Mari didn’t act, the criminals would win.

Mari picked up the phone and punched in the number listed in the newspaper.

* * *

The hotline phone was closest to Joutsamo’s workstation in the office she shared with Kohonen, Kulta and a couple of other officers. Suhonen also had a desk, a chair and a telephone, but had the janitors not visited daily, spiders would have surely overrun it with their webs. The topmost item on Suhonen’s desk was a year-old newspaper.

Joutsamo rolled her desk chair over to the phone and was just lifting the receiver when Kulta blurted, “Betcha three shifts of coffee-duty it’s some wacko.”

Joutsamo accepted and grinned as she flicked on the voice recorder.

“Helsinki Violent Crimes Unit, Anna Joutsamo speaking.”

“Hello,” said a hesitant female voice. “I’m calling about the incident on Porvoo Street. Is this the right number?”

“Yes, it is,” said Joutsamo in a cordial voice. “Do you have any information on it?”

“Yeah. Not sure if it’s important, but I was coming out of the convenience store and saw a Mazda parked there.”

Joutsamo snatched a pen. The woman had the make of the car right despite its lack of mention in

the press. The sergeant scribbled out, knew Mazda . “You’re sure it was a Mazda?”

“Yes. A blue 323, as I remember. Not too old. The sort of rounder-looking sedan style. Wasn’t it then?”

“Uuh,” Joutsamo stalled intentionally. “Maybe I should get your name.”

Witnesses often wished to remain anonymous. Joutsamo was confident the woman would reveal her name since her number was clearly visible on the caller ID. She had already written it down.

“Mari Lehtonen.”

“What did you see there, Mari?”

“The car, driver and license plate. Nothing more.”

“Do you recall the plate number?”

“Yes,” said Mari, and she recited the number. It started with a K .

Joutsamo was ready to celebrate. The other officers had gathered around as well. Below the plate number she scratched out another message: Kulta, put some coffee on! And tea too!!

“Was the driver the murderer, then?”

“It’s best if you don’t ask any questions. What do you remember about the driver?”

“Male. About forty. Angry-looking eyes, though he never looked directly at me. He kept his hands on the steering wheel and stared straight ahead. Maybe that’s why it stuck in my head. He was clearly waiting for someone in the store and seemed irritable.”

“Listen, Mari. We should meet up as soon as possible. Where are you now? Could I come there so we could talk?”

Mari hesitated for a moment. “Uuh, maybe it’s best if I came to the station. We have secured entry and all that, and I don’t think the management would appreciate if the police came. I can get there by bus just fine.”

“How about if I pick you up.”

“That works too. Won’t take too long, will it?”