“I was on Mont Blanc,” Rautis said, letting out a small laugh. “About five years ago, I went skiing in Chamonix, at the foot of Mont Blanc, and they have a lift that takes you pretty far up the mountain.”
“But now you’re down low, and without a lift pass. Why the hell did you have to rob the Siwa store?”
“How do you know about that?”
“Description.”
“I shoulda had a hot dog taped on my hand in place of the missing finger,” Rautis said with a chuckle.
“Maybe so.”
“Debt,” Rautis said. “That was the only reason.”
“And you can’t get the money anywhere else?”
“No.”
“How much do you owe?”
“Four grand.”
“Only four?” Suhonen asked. “In the old days you used to gamble ten grand on blackjack, and it didn’t even phase you.”
“It did phase me, I just couldn’t show it,” Rautis said. “We’d win occasionally, but usually we’d end up in the red. No one can take the house down.”
“How much did you get from the register in Siwa?”
“Six hundred twenty.”
“So you still owe three grand three hundred eighty,” Suhonen calculated.
“No, four. I have a feeling I won’t be using any of the money in the living room now that you guys are here. I’m pissed. Siwa and a measly six hundred. It’s fuckin’ pitiful.”
“What did he threaten you with?” Suhonen asked.
“A finger for each grand,” Rautis said, glancing at his hands. “I would’ve only had five left. I could’ve decided which ones I wanted to keep; I probably would’ve given up the pinkies, and the middle finger of the hand that still has the index finger.”
Joutsamo began to feel sorry for the guy. His motive was credible.
Suhonen pulled his wallet out of his pocket and looked in it. Joutsamo could see several five-hundred-euro bills in it.
“I’ll go have a chat with your debtor,” he said.
“Wha…You’ll take care of him?”
Joutsamo wondered where Suhonen had gotten so much cash but kept her mouth shut.
“That depends on his attitude,” Suhonen said with a tense expression. “But I doubt he’ll come collecting the debt, at least not for your fingers.”
“That would be great.”
“Who is it?”
“You know it’s a drug debt…” Rautis said, hesitantly.
“Well, I’m not stupid.”
“And you’ll go in there as a cop…”
“Who said anything about a cop?”
“Ah, Suikkanen,” Rautis said, getting the drift.
“Who is it?”
“Rantalainen.”
“The Rantalainen?” Suhonen asked. “He’s still in prison.”
“Yeah, he is. But he’s the one I owe.”
This was interesting news. The guy serving a sentence for serious drug crimes was still doing business on the outside. The drug squad would be interested in this tidbit, no doubt.
“But you didn’t hear it from me,” Rautis added quickly.
“I never remember what I’ve heard from where, with my Alzheimers and all. But before I forget about my wallet, tell me who I need to go talk to. Rantalainen isn’t getting out any time soon and won’t be chopping any fingers. So who is it?”
“You’ll help me, then?” Rautis pleaded, once again lifting his eyes.
“I’ll do my best,” Suhonen said. “Give me a name, grab your toothbrush, and we’ll go to Pasila and take care of that Siwa incident.”
CHAPTER 21
SATURDAY, 5:50 P.M.
HOTEL PASILA, HELSINKI
Nea Lind leaned forward at the restaurant table-the same posture she had taken interviewing Korpivaara a few hours earlier. The hotel bar was less bleak than the interrogation room at the police station, but it was one of the coldest and dreariest as far as hotel bars went.
A streetcar rumbled past the window. Besides Lind and Sanna Römpötti, only a handful of people were in the bar, each sitting alone or in pairs. No groups were there to create ambience or give others anything to whisper about. Sadly, the “easy listening” music designed to make up for the lack of conversation was the only sound scene in the bar.
Lind didn’t want to talk with Römpötti at the station, so she asked her to meet in the hotel bar. Lind had a short conversation with Korpivaara after the hearing, but it was one-sided. She talked and Korpivaara sat looking somber and absent, not responding to Lind’s questions or reassurances.
Lind slid the document in front of Römpötti and waited a minute while the reporter read the decision.
“Fingerprints on the coffeemaker-that’s the biggest piece of evidence they have against Korpivaara,” Lind said in disbelief.
“Your client has confessed,” Römpötti said, looking up.
“That’s another thing I don’t get.”
“Why?” Römpötti asked, taking a sip of her Bacardi coke. “What if he killed the girl?”
“Did the police brainwash you? I don’t get it.”
Römpötti didn’t say anything. The police had brainwashed many a reporter, but she didn’t feel she was one of them. She’d done plenty of stories about infractions by police officers. Besides, the police were just one source.
“Why is Jorma Korpivaara’s case suddenly so important to you?”
“I know the police are mistaken in this case.”
“Stop shitting me and tell me the real reason,” Römpötti said.
“I want to be on the side of justice; I want to know what really happened,” Lind said, looking at Römpötti.
“Yeah, sure,” Römpötti said. “It’s the defense attorney’s job to side with the version of truth that will benefit the client. My job as a reporter is a little different: my truth is the truth, not the truth according to someone’s angle. And the more I listen to your version of the truth, the more skeptical I become.”
“So you’ve talked with Takamäki or Joutsamo?”
“No, with you.”
Lind cast a curious glance at Römpötti, who emptied her rum glass.
“One of my most important criteria in assessing someone’s credibility is their willingness to be open about their past and their motives. You haven’t been honest with me, not even just now when I gave you ample opportunity.”
“What?”
“Remember the three rules about dealing with the media-don’t lie, don’t lie, don’t lie. You broke all three.”
Römpötti looked at Lind sternly, gulped down the rest of her drink, and stood up.
“Don’t lie,” Lind said, weighing the words. “What are you, the holy defender of truth? You think freedom of the press gives you the right to stick your nose in everyone’s business?”
“We don’t stick our noses in everyone’s business,” Römpötti said, standing by the table. “We only do it when it affects the general public.”
“But you decide that threshold,” Lind said laughing. “That’s the same thing.”
“Not really,” Römpötti began, but Lind interrupted her.
“Don’t you understand that freedom of speech isn’t some godly right? Your television channel exists to make money for its owners, sometimes at the cost of other people’s suffering.”
“You could see it like that, but you should consider what society would be like if we didn’t have freedom of the press,” Römpötti said soberly. “Freedom of speech is one of the most important basic human rights. How would equality before the law be possible without it?” the reporter asked, but didn’t stick around for the answer.
* * *
Takamäki sat alone in the Spanish-style Restaurant Sevilla in the Hotel Pasila and had noticed Römpötti and Lind at the bar. He had ordered a Frutti di Mare pizza and a mineral water. If he wasn’t driving, he would’ve had a beer.
He had plenty of time to enjoy his meal, since Joutsamo would be tied up with Rautis’s arrest and its paperwork for a while. They agreed to meet at the police station around seven or eight.