“No. Nothing. I’m done talking.”
“So you won’t even claim that you’re innocent?”
“I’m done talking.”
Joutsamo stopped the recorder and rose without a word. Outside the interrogation room she turned to the guard, “Take him to his cell. Don’t let him talk to anyone.”
* * *
It was nearing eight o’clock when Kannas came into Takamäki’s office. The lieutenant was slaving away at his computer.
“Hey,” Kannas growled.
“Hey.”
Takamäki noticed the large plastic bag in the forensic investigator’s hand. “Well?”
“Right. Interesting place,” said Kannas, as he stepped inside and sat down. “Where to begin…”
“Hold on a sec.” Takamäki got up and shouted down the hallway, “Joutsamo! My office!”
Joutsamo came in shortly.
“OK, go ahead,” said Takamäki.
“Well, let’s start with the car. Pretty shitty set of wheels at any rate, but preliminary evidence strongly links it to Korpi and Nyberg. Both of their fingerprints were found inside. We also found a third set of prints belonging to Jere Siikala, aka Guerrilla, who was arrested today. Found plenty of fibers, too, but since these guys are such fans of jeans, I doubt they’ll get us anywhere. Too common.”
“The fingerprints are a good thing. Jibes with our other evidence,” said Joutsamo.
Takamäki wasn’t so convinced. “Obviously the car has been in Korpi’s possession for some time, so the significance of the prints to the murder case is questionable. What about the house?”
“Our investigation is still ongoing, but we found the same prints there, needless to say. We also turned up their arms stash.” Kannas reached into the plastic bag and drew two smaller transparent bags. In one was a sawed-off shotgun while the other held a large caliber handgun. “The pistol’s an interesting old classic. A Russian Stechkin M1951. Capable of firing on full automatic. I saw some of these for sale at the Hietalahti flea market in the early nineties, so one of the undercover boys and I picked one up. Not a bad piece. On full automatic you can’t hit a damn thing, though. Recoil kicks the barrel up…”
“Ahem,” Takamäki cut in. “What else?”
“Right. What I was getting to is that we don’t know the history on these weapons. Yet. But we found a couple other interesting things. On the wall above one of the wardrobes was a sort of secret compartment where we found these.” He held up two plastic bags. In one of them was a large quantity of cigarette butts, and in the other were several small Ziploc bags, each containing some dark flakes.
“What are those?” asked Joutsamo.
“Well, these are cigarette butts. But that there in the little bags is dried blood.”
“Huh?”
“We haven’t analyzed it yet, but I’d bet this stuff was intended to throw us off at some point when the time was right. In other words, Korpi or one of his goons has been collecting butts at the bars so they can muddle up the DNA trail. Same thing with this dried blood.”
Takamäki shook his head. “He’s pretty paranoid.”
“Pretty clever, too. If DNA from fifty random people is found at the crime scene, then it’s pretty easy to claim yours was intentionally planted too.”
“And what about the laptop?” asked Joutsamo.
“Haven’t looked at it yet. The IT guys get it tomorrow morning. But it only had Korpi’s prints.”
Takamäki thought for a moment. “So the only thing we have pertaining to the case is a blue Mazda and some fingerprints. Whose name is the car in?”
“Registered to the same Marjatta Saarnikangas that owned the house. She’s dead and her son Juha is doing a four-year stint on drug charges,” Joutsamo explained.
“We’re taking it to a Mazda dealership to have them plug into the on-board computer and see how it’s been driven the last few days,” said Kannas. “At least it’s new enough that we can get that.”
Takamäki stroked his chin. “Good. We’ll have to put together a lineup for Mari Lehtonen tomorrow. Then we can decide whether to hold onto Korpi.”
“What about this Siikala?” asked Joutsamo.
“Did you interview him?”
“Couldn’t get anything out of him. Said he was home all day Sunday watching TV.”
“Did he say anything about Korpi’s whereabouts?”
“Couldn’t remember if he was there or not. So he’s playing the same game as the rest of them.”
“Right. Obviously we won’t crack the case on interviews,” said Takamäki, “The witness is our key. Let’s meet with the prosecutor tomorrow. You round up the fillers for the lineup-plenty of bald cops to choose from.”
* * *
Mari Lehtonen and twelve-year-old Laura Lehtonen were strolling along West Brahe Street toward Sture Street around nightfall. The rain was coming down hard enough that Mari had taken out her umbrella. Laura flipped up the hood of her raincoat.
The wind had stripped the wet leaves from the trees and scattered them on the sidewalk. A soccer team was practicing under the lights on the artificial turf at Brahe Field. The 3T streetcar rattled past, but otherwise, traffic was light.
Mari had been watching TV, but something had told her she should pick up Laura from theater rehearsals herself tonight. She couldn’t quite place what it was, she just went. Probably just on edge after her visit to the police station.
Laura had been surprised when her mother appeared.
“Wanna stop for tea somewhere?” she asked hopefully.
Mari didn’t hear the question. Her eyes were fixed on a couple of men in leather jackets approaching from the opposite direction. Now about fifty yards off, the men said nothing to one another, just stared at mother and daughter as they drew nearer.
Mari felt her pulse race as she considered her options. Should they cross the street?
“Did you hear what I said?” asked Laura, annoyed. “I wanted to tell you about the production-we got the framework ready today.”
The gap had closed to thirty yards, close enough to make out the men’s faces. The one on the left had a long ugly scar across his cheek. The other kept his hands in his jacket pockets.
The men were coming straight for them, and fast. Mari pulled her daughter to the edge of the sidewalk.
“What’s this?”
She didn’t answer. Ten yards now, and the men were looking straight at them. It occurred to Mari that she could jab them with the umbrella, and maybe shout for help from the soccer players.
They came within arm’s reach when one of them turned to Mari and said, “Boo!”
Both roared with laughter as they continued on their way.
Idiots, she thought, suppressing her urge to cuss them out. She glanced back. The men were still walking.
She took a deep breath.
“What was that about?” asked Laura.
“I dunno. Couple idiots.”
“Can we get some tea somewhere?”
Before Mari had the chance to respond, her cell phone rang. The caller was Anna Joutsamo.
TUESDAY, SEPTEMBER 19
CHAPTER 9
TUESDAY, 10:30 A.M.
PASILA POLICE HEADQUARTERS
Mari Lehtonen was standing behind a mirrored window. On the opposite side stood six men with shaved heads.
“Number one, could you please step forward to the line,” said Lieutenant Ariel Kafka into the intercom. Takamäki had asked his colleague to conduct the proceedings. The protocol for police lineups explicitly stated that the officer conducting the proceedings must not know which of the subjects was the actual suspect.