“All right, let’s talk,” Suhonen said, glancing at the blond guy, who was concentrating on his game. “But over here to the side.”
“You coulda let me hit a couple too,” Saarnikangas complained, as Suhonen dragged him away.
“You had something to tell me,” Suhonen said.
Saarnikangas was still carrying his stick. “Yeah, well about Repo. I saw him later that evening after you had left the church. We had some coffee, and he seemed a little confused. I decided to call you just so you don’t think I’m mixed up in his crazy scheme in any way.”
“What scheme?”
“Well, he was talking about some sort of revenge he was going to take on the chief justice of the Supreme Court. He had apparently unjustly sentenced him to life in prison in appeals court.”
“What do you mean, revenge?” Suhonen asked. His eyes were on Pinball Guy, who was concentrating on his game. The machine made so much noise that he wouldn’t be able to hear their conversation.
“Well, I was a little surprised too, but I’m pretty sure he’s serious.”
“How so?”
“When he went to take a leak at the café, I took a look in his bag,” Saarnikangas said.
“What was inside?”
“A knife, rope, cable ties, electric wires, and sticks of dynamite,” Saarnikangas listed, leaving out the pistol and phone he had stolen.
Suhonen looked dead-seriously at Saarnikangas. “Are you positive?”
Saarnikangas nodded. “Sure. And you know his background?”
“What background?”
“Before his wife’s murder he was in the military. Some sort of explosives expert in field ops. Probably knows how to use dynamite.”
* * *
Suhonen turned off the Western Expressway at the Lauttasaari interchange, where the road rose up to an overpass and circled southward across the expressway. The car’s tires hadn’t been changed for winter yet; Suhonen drove slowly down the snow-covered street. The sleet continued to fall.
Once he passed the apartment buildings, Suhonen turned the car westwards onto Lauttasaari Road. He recalled that this was the spot, where Soviet army captain Ivan Belov had been shot in November 1944. Finland had by then exited World War II, and was being supervised by the Allied Control Commission. Belov was shot by a sniper, who was never caught, and the Soviets threatened military action. The Finnish government responded by setting up one of the largest manhunts in its history. That incident had been explosive at the time, and so, apparently, was the present one.
It had taken one phone call for Suhonen to get the address of the chief justice of the Supreme Court, and he had headed straight from the bar the couple miles west to Lauttasaari. He thought it was better to go check things out first rather than send over a patrol. Suhonen hoped he’d make it to the house before Repo.
An elementary school stood on the left, with a park behind it, where a monument, a 76mm anti-aircraft cannon from WW II era, rose up from the bedrock. Suhonen had staked out this place from the nearby woods in the ’90s, when one drug gang had used the cannon’s base as a cache.
Suhonen had wondered whether he should call Joutsamo and tell her about the visit to Lauttasaari. The tip was worth checking out, of course, but Suhonen felt that at this point it was enough that he’d go have a look. Joutsamo might easily overreact, and if Saarnikangas’s tip was nothing more than a lure for Subu, a quieter approach was better, since they were looking at the chief justice of the Supreme Court. In any case, he’d have to call in a patrol to watch the place for the night-and probably for the next days, too. But it was still better to check things out first.
Suhonen turned the Peugeot right and drove under the expressway into a graffiti-scrawled tunnel. The marina brought back good memories. On one summer night in the mid-eighties, Suhonen and Salmela had been on the shore hucking rocks at an empty buoy thirty yards out. The bet had been that the one who didn’t hit the buoy had to swim around it. Fifty throws later, both found themselves in the water. The shore was so full of boulders that they had scraped their legs and sides raw.
Suhonen passed a complex of low-slung townhouses. Fredberg’s house was twenty or so yards away. In between there were woods and some sort of hedge. Suhonen drove past the house and turned into the soccer field parking lot.
After pulling on a black ski cap, he walked back down past the house and to its far end. The streetlamp illuminated the relatively small front yard. No footprints could be seen in the snow. The place looked silent and peaceful. For a second Suhonen wondered whether he should ring the doorbell. Maybe it would be best to circle the house first.
There was no point trying to peek in any of the windows, because there were curtains drawn across all of them, and he found the same on the left side of the brick house. He found no footprints, but the snow was coming down pretty hard.
Suhonen made it to the edge of the back yard. Part of the yard was covered in stone pavers; the centerpiece was a large brick grill and a wooden table set. The other side of the yard looked like it was filled with berry bushes.
Suhonen tried the back door, but it was locked. Shivers ran up and down his spine when he noticed the hole that had been cut into the window.
The curtain on this side of the house was drawn too, so Suhonen couldn’t see inside. For a second he wondered what to do, but then decided to stick his hand through the hole and open the back door. But first he opened his leather jacket so his Glock would be easily accessible. The gun stayed in its holster for now.
Suhonen was careful not to cut his hand on the sharp edge of the glass. He got a grip on the door handle and twisted down. The door opened outwards. Suhonen slowly drew the curtain to the side. The living room was dark, but it looked enormous. Suhonen immediately noticed the woman lying on the sofa. The position she was in was somehow unnaturaclass="underline" her hands and legs were together. It only took Suhonen a second to realize she was bound, but was she alive? What had happened in the house?
Even though the soft carpet muffled Suhonen’s footfalls, he crept over to the sofa. The woman watched him approach, and Suhonen hoped she wouldn’t scream. Her eyes were full of terror. Suhonen raised a finger to his lips.
She didn’t make a sound.
Suhonen made it over to her and whispered, “Police. Shhh.”
Despite his instructions, the woman immediately spoke, luckily at a whisper, “That crazy man has my husband. He’s going to kill us.”
“Stay calm,” Suhonen said, pulling his switchblade out of his pocket. He cut the ropes from the woman’s hands and legs.
“Out,” Suhonen ordered. “And quietly.”
He slipped his knife back into his pocket and took his pistol. The woman had made it to door when the living room lights blazed on. The sudden brightness momentarily dazed Suhonen. He noticed the woman pause.
“Go!” he ordered.
“Stop!” a man yelled inside the house, but the woman ran out the back door.
Suhonen saw two men of approximately the same build, both dressed in black. One was wearing a suit, the other pajamas. Suhonen recognized the one in front as Fredberg, chief justice of the Supreme Court, and the one in back as the escaped convict Repo.
“Police,” Suhonen announced loudly, aiming his weapon at Repo. “Stay calm.”
“Kiss my ass!” Repo shouted.
Only now did Suhonen notice the harness wrapped around Fredberg; it had been strung with light-brown tubes bearing red triangles. Explosives, probably dynamite. Electric wires led from the sticks to a detonator in Repo’s hand.
“Stay calm!” Suhonen shouted back. At least he had played for enough time to get the woman out of the house. “Everything’s all right.”
“I’m going to blow him up!”