“Because of what happened back then.”
“We never really talked about it, so it’s hard to say. You never asked him?”
Karppi dodged the question. “Erik was a reticent man.” He took a sip of coffee before continuing. “Why did you kill your wife?”
Repo didn’t answer, and Karppi backed off.
“I was just asking. That photo on top of the TV always made me wonder.” Karppi stood. “Why the hell did your dad keep it out? If you want to forget something, you don’t keep a photo that reminds you of it in a prominent spot.”
“He may have had his reasons.”
“I suppose he did,” Karppi said. He walked over to the kitchen cabinets and pulled out a folder. “I wasn’t blessed with children, so maybe that’s why I found it so intriguing. I don’t think I would have been capable of that sort of hatred myself.” He set the green folder down in front of Repo. “Here.”
“What’s that?” Repo asked, without touching it.
“I gathered a few papers that looked important from your father’s home a few days after his death. Just in case burglars came to call.”
Repo opened the folder. The documents that had once belonged to his father were neatly organized in plastic sleeves. The bank statements were on top. Repo skipped past them and browsed through documents regarding the house, paid bills, a passport, and other important-looking papers. There were about fifteen plastic sleeves. The second-to-last one contained cash, maybe three hundred euros, at an eyeball estimate.
“Take it. You must need money.”
Repo fished the bills out and placed them in his breast pocket.
The final sleeve, clearly the fattest, contained letters. Repo pulled them all out and glanced at Karppi.
“I haven’t read them.”
Topmost were postcards printed in a child’s hand. Someone else had written Erik Repo’s address on them. One was from the Canary Islands. “Hi Grandpa! We’re in the Canary Islands. It’s nice and warm here. I’ve been swimming every day. Love, Joel.” The postmark was January 2003; Joel would have been eight years old.
The coffee was cooling. Karppi watched closely as Repo scanned through the mail.
There were several vacation and Christmas cards. There was also a letter from Joel. Timo read it quickly. In it, the boy thanked his grandpa for the Christmas money. He had used it to buy a computer game. It also contained a photograph of a boy, about ten, smiling broadly in front of a Christmas tree.
Karppi caught Repo wiping a tear from the corner of his eye.
Timo stared at the photo for a long time. He hadn’t seen his son in eight years because the child had been taken into custody and placed with a foster family, and Repo wasn’t allowed any information about them.
“You can sleep on the sofa.”
“I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”
“Where else are you going to go? It’s comfortable enough.”
Repo took a sandwich and reflected. In a lot of ways, running into Karppi was a stroke of luck-and would definitely make things easier.
TUESDAY MORNING
CHAPTER 6
TUESDAY, 8:30 A.M.
HELSINKI POLICE HEADQUARTERS, PASILA
Joutsamo yawned. They had searched for Repo until after eleven the previous night, after which she had biked home to Töölö. She hadn’t slept properly, and a few hours later she had cycled back to Pasila.
“Good morning,” Takamäki called from the doorway.
Joutsamo turned around. “Good morning. How’s Jonas?”
“Broken arm and mild concussion. Kaarina’s staying at home with him.”
“Thank God it wasn’t worse. Who was the driver?”
“Don’t know. Took off.”
“Hit-and-run, huh?” Joutsamo said.
“The Espoo Police Department is investigating.”
“In that case, you’ll never know,” laughed the sergeant. She had worked in the Espoo PD Narcotics division before transferring to Helsinki Homicide.
“I don’t know. It’s not such a tough case. Happened near Sello. There are a ton of surveillance cameras around there.”
“The Sello shopping mall, huh?” Joutsamo turned back to her computer. Takamäki walked over behind her to follow along as she looked up data from Homicide’s list of surveillance cameras.
“There,” Joutsamo said. “They’ve got two kinds of recordings. Some are stored for a week, but others just for twenty-four hours. Hopefully they’ve got the sense to go look at the images today.”
“Could be that some eyewitness caught the license plate and they wouldn’t even need photos,” Takamäki said, before changing the subject. “Where are we with the escaped convict?”
“Suhonen and I were out looking for him all evening. Went to the father’s house, but got nothing. Well, we did find out that relations between father and son probably weren’t the warmest. The brother indicated the same about their relationship, too. After murdering his wife, Timo Repo was shut out by his family.”
“Well, he can’t make it on his own out there. He’s going to need help. He probably doesn’t have any money,” Takamäki said.
“Suhonen and I were thinking the same thing. We agreed I’d go visit the Riihimäki police and check out those old preliminary investigation reports, see if maybe we can find some names there. Suhonen will work the prison angle.”
“Good,” said Takamäki. “Any new cases last night?”
“Nothing serious. A couple of assaults out east at Itäkeskus, but the precinct will handle them. Couple of cars disappeared, a few B amp;Es, nothing out of the ordinary.”
“You need some extra hands to help you with the Repo investigation? I could free up Kohonen and Kulta. They’ve almost got the railway station homeless case wrapped up.”
“I don’t think so. Let’s see how things start rolling here. If we find any names in the old documents or the prison, then maybe.”
Takamäki walked to the door. “Okay. Let’s have a status check at two.”
“If the rat stays in his hole and doesn’t move, it’s going to be pretty hard to find him. Should we use the media to smoke him out?”
“We’ll take a look at two.” Takamäki thought for a moment. “What do you think, should I make sure the Espoo police picked up those images from Sello?”
“I’m pretty sure they’ve got it under control.”
* * *
Takamäki deleted an email from the National Police Board reminding staff of the communication guidelines, thanks to some hapless sergeant who had given a lecture at some school. According to the new, stringent regulations, no officer was to make a public appearance without a written request detailing the purpose and message of the visit delivered in advance to the National Police Board.
Takamäki couldn’t get the Sello surveillance images out of his head; he had to call. The mall switchboard connected him to the head of security currently on duty.
A male voice grumbled into the phone, “Aho.”
“Lieutenant Takamäki here,” Takamäki said, intentionally omitting Helsinki Police.
Aho suddenly sounded like a security guard whose sights were set on the police academy: “What can I do for you, sir?”
Takamäki held a brief pause. “Something pretty simple, actually. There was an accident yesterday evening over on the side of the mall facing the railroad. A cyclist was hit by a car.”
“Really? There wasn’t anything in the papers.”
“Well, the injuries weren’t very serious, but now we’re tracking down the driver, who fled the scene.”
“So you’re looking for surveillance footage.”
“Right,” Takamäki said. “There’s a little uncertainty here as to whether someone has asked for it yet.”
“Not today, at least,” Aho said. “I’ve been here all morning, and of course I can check yesterday’s log, too.”