Takamäki saw Römpötti walking toward the front door, looking stern. When she stopped to put her coat on, Takamäki greeted her.
“Howdy.”
Römpötti turned and said hello, her voice obviously chilled from the previous conversation.
“What’s up?” the detective asked.
“Not much,” the reporter replied. “It’s been a long day and I thought I’d go home.”
“Good decision.”
Römpötti seemed to ponder something and turned to Takamäki.
“Listen, Kari.”
“Yes?”
“You should probably be aware of something concerning the Korpivaara case.”
“What?” Takamäki asked, with piqued interest. Sometimes it worked this way-the reporters knew something the police weren’t aware of.
“Lind over there,” Römpötti said, nodding toward the bar. “She was Korpivaara’s girlfriend when they were teenagers. And her father once beat Korpivaara to a pulp because of the relationship.”
“Wow.”
“The incident was never reported to the police; it was reported to the hospital as a motorcycle accident.”
“That’s pretty interesting.”
“I think so, too. The statute of limitations has passed, but in case you’re wondering about Lind’s motive to defend the case, well, there you have it. Korpivaara never quite recovered from the incident, either.”
Takamäki thought back to a moment during the hearing when Lind had denied that her client was guilty, and Korpivaara made her change her mind.
“So that’s what’s up today,” Römpötti said and left.
The reporter walked out the door, wondering if she had given out her information too easily. She could’ve used it get some tidbit in return. On the other hand, she had lost interest in the case after she realized Lind was concealing essential information about her past. She could no longer trust anything Lind had to say.
After Römpötti left, Nea Lind came to Takamӓki’s table and asked if she could sit down.
“Why not,” Takamäki replied.
“So, do you come here often?” Lind joked.
“As a matter of fact, yes,” Takamäki said with a smile. “Our police station doesn’t have a cafeteria, so we usually eat at one of the canteens nearby.”
“The word ‘canteen’ cheapens this place.”
“As far as the police are concerned, Restaurant Kӓmp is one, too.”
“What did Römpötti want?” Lind asked.
Takamäki figured Lind would be curious after she saw him talking to Römpötti.
“She said she’d had a long day and was going home.”
“I could say the same,” Lind said, relief in her eyes.
Takamäki kept his face stern. The waitress came with his pizza, and he waited for her to get out of earshot before continuing, “She also told me that you and Korpivaara have a past. Is that true?” Takamäki asked. He purposely left out the details.
“What did she say?” Lind pressed.
“That you and Korpivaara have a past.”
“What do you mean?” Lind asked nervously.
The woman’s reaction told Takamäki that Römpötti’s information was accurate.
“You used to date.”
While Lind pondered the comment, Takamäki grabbed his fork and knife.
“Well,” Lind began reluctantly. “We knew each other when we were young, but dating is too strong a term. We were teenagers.”
She hadn’t told Römpötti this shared past, but maybe she should have. Somehow she had thought the reporter would chase an interesting story without asking too many questions. On the other hand, if the past relationship didn’t keep her from defending Korpivaara, it didn’t keep her from talking about it in the media.
Takamäki recalled the anonymous phone call from Lind’s former colleague, who considered Lind dishonest and manipulating. He cut a piece of the pizza and stuffed it in his mouth. He wanted Lind to continue without having to ask questions. And she did.
“But it doesn’t disqualify me from the case, if that’s what you’re wondering. Defending someone you know, or used to know, doesn’t violate any professional ethics or laws.”
“Your motive makes no difference to me,” Takamäki said, swallowing the pizza. “Go right ahead and defend Korpivaara to the best of your ability. I’m just wondering if the relationship might’ve blurred your view of the case. Römpötti told me about the beating. You trying to make up for what your father did?”
“I’m not…” Lind said tensely. “If the police are trying to prevent…” She was interrupted by the phone ringing in her pocket. She pulled it out and answered.
Takamäki ate his pizza in silence. The attorney listened to the person on the phone, asking quick questions and making short comments: “Who? Where? Are you telling me the truth? Yes, I want to meet right away… Okay.”
Lind hung up. “Sorry, I have to go do your job,” she said with a smirk as she stood up.
Takamäki nodded and cut himself another piece of pizza. He especially enjoyed the crisp, thin crust.
CHAPTER 22
SATURDAY, 7:55 P.M.
HӒMEENLINNA FREEWAY, HELSINKI
Driving on the freeway, Suhonen called to ask his Narcotics buddy Toukola for background information on Sergei Makarov because he didn’t recognize the name. When Toukola told him Makarov used to be called Pekka Pispala, Suhonen remembered the guy and his face. That wasn’t his real name, either; his given name was Mikael Mehtola.
Changing aliases was common in the world of criminals. Under a fresh name you could at least attempt to start over-and hopefully trick your debtors and the authorities. Sometimes crooks would change nationalities, but Makarov was still a Finn, despite the Russian name. According to rumors from prison, Mehtola-Pispala-Makarov’s name choice was inspired by a YouTube video where Soviet national hockey team’s trio Makarov-Krutov-Larionov had their opponents spinning.
The Narcotics officer also confirmed what Rautis had said: Makarov was connected to Rantalainen, who was after Rautis’s money. Suhonen was about to hang up the phone, when Toukola told him that Makarov also was connected to another guy that Suhonen had asked about recently, Jaakko Niskala. Suhonen recalled that he’d met Niskala at the Alamo Bar in North Haaga and that Niskala’s fingerprints were found on Laura Vatanen’s doorframe.
Suhonen found out that Makarov lived on Kanteletar Street in the Kannelmӓki neighborhood. Toukola wanted Suhonen to let him know if he got anything out of Makarov, and especially Rantalainen. Narcotics wanted to know about anything that would help keep the latter in prison longer.
Suhonen drove north on the Hämeenlinna Freeway and passed under the Ring I Beltway bridge. It would’ve been quicker to take Ring I, but Suhonen wanted to check on the Kannelmӓki strip mall situation. He wondered why Niskala’s name would reappear so unexpectedly but decided it was just a coincidence. It made sense that the two-bit criminals of the Alamo Bar in Haaga would have connections to Makarov, who lived in nearby Kannelmӓki.
Joutsamo was at the station interrogating Rautis, who’d confess to the Siwa store robbery. The money was found in his apartment, along with a replica gun used in the robbery.
Suhonen had left his unmarked police car at the station and taken an old Peugeot from the garage. The license plates would connect the car to a leasing company, unlike his other vehicle, which had plates connecting them to the police. He’d left the Twins baseball cap in the locker at the station.
Suhonen had promised to help Rautis-not out of pity, but because in the past the guy had given him good leads in a few cocaine deals. The bitter Rautis wanted to get back at his old buddies for kicking him out of their circle.
Suhonen got Makarov’s phone number from Rautis, and Toukola said he’d get permissions to track the location of the phone. It would take a few hours. They didn’t have enough to go on yet to get a warrant for a phone tap.