“Usually?”
“Usually. I couldn’t put it more frankly.”
“You seem pretty serious about this.”
“You better believe I’m serious about these things. You saw the mugshots when you were down at the station the first time. If you remember, there were about twenty of them. From what we know, that’s Korpi’s entire gang. Except for the upper ranks, none of them even know they’re working for him. In his outfit, the only person anybody knows is their direct boss. With the biker gangs and other street gangs it’s different, of course.”
“But twenty guys is quite a few.”
“And you’ve got a good ten thousand police officers on your side,” said Joutsamo. She took a sip of tea to let her words sink in before continuing, “We have specific procedures in place for just your kind of situation. I gave you my card, and of course you can call my cell at any time of day, but we’re also going to mark you down as a high-risk target.”
“High-risk target?”
“That means that if you call the police for any reason, they’ll immediately send out a fleet of cruisers.”
“And that’s supposed to comfort me?”
“Well, that’s the intention. We’re on your side. There’s no reason to be afraid.”
Mari Lehtonen glanced at the clock: a quarter after eight. “Oh, Laura’s probably waiting already.”
“I can give you a ride home.”
“Why? Is that necessary?”
“No, but I have a car and it’s raining.” Joutsamo smiled. The wind-driven raindrops were just beginning to beat against the restaurant windows.
“Alright. But only because of the rain. I’m not afraid.”
“You shouldn’t be,” said Joutsamo, despite a vague feeling of uncertainty that for some reason had begun to plague her.
WEDNESDAY, DECEMBER 13
CHAPTER 12
WEDNESDAY, 8:45 A.M.
COURTHOUSE BASEMENT, HELSINKI
At least the coffee’s hot, thought Mari Lehtonen as she sat with Joutsamo in a basement witness room of Helsinki District Court. The long, three-hundred-square-foot room, with its pale gray walls, was every bit as ascetic as the interrogation rooms at police headquarters. In the middle of the room was a long veneered table surrounded by ten chairs. A lone Christmas-themed centerpiece lay on the table: a ring of elves cut from red cardboard.
The only sound was the hum of the ventilation system.
Lehtonen picked up her paper cup, but her hand was trembling enough that she had to steady it with her left.
“Are you scared?” asked Joutsamo.
Lehtonen shook her head. “No. Nervous, yeah. Never been a witness before.”
“Just tell them what you saw. That’s all that’s expected of you.”
“I guess so,” said Lehtonen. Over the past few months, the whole September episode had been gradually fading from her memory, and a semblance of normalcy had returned to her life. But two weeks ago, a summons from the court had snapped her back to reality. Lehtonen had had to go to the post office to pick up the registered letter. Inside the envelope was a summons in cold officialese, demanding that she appear in court.
“Laura was really good in the play the other night. She was probably nervous, too,” said Joutsamo. Mari had sent her a ticket to the show.
“Well, that was a play.”
“Not to Laura. It was real to her.”
“What do you think is gonna happen?” asked Lehtonen, still clutching her paper cup with two hands.
“We’ve done our job, and we have a good prosecutor. You tell them what you know and Korpi will get life.”
“Today’s paper had a little different take.”
Joutsamo snorted. “The papers can print what they want but it won’t sway the court. The judge and jury will look at the facts and nothing more. And that’s all they’ll need to convict him.”
The door opened and in stepped District Prosecutor Helena Muuri, dressed in a dark gray pantsuit. She exchanged nods with Joutsamo then introduced herself to Lehtonen, and the two shook hands. Muuri had left the door open, and the faint sound of music drifted in from the hallway: the voice of the late Curt Cobain, “I love you, I’m not gonna crack.”
“Is everything alright,” Muuri said, more as a statement than a question, though her words were directed at Lehtonen.
“Uhh…sure.”
Muuri nodded. “A couple of tips for you. Please tell the court only what you know. If you don’t know something, please say so. Avoid eye contact with the suspect. Korpi’s attorney is going to ask you some questions, but please keep your eyes on him alone. A few other witnesses will come to the box before you, so it’ll take a little while.”
Muuri’s overly courteous style was irritating to Joutsamo. It only made the situation more tense.
“When…” Joutsamo began to ask.
“I don’t know. The judge on the case is the decisive type, so before lunch in all likelihood.”
“And you still want Mari to testify on the witness stand?” asked Joutsamo. The alternative was for Lehtonen to stay in a separate room adjoining the witness room and give her testimony from behind tinted glass.
“Yes. There’s no evidence of any credible threats. A witness who is present in the courtroom is always more believable to the jury.” Muuri looked at Mari. “Your testimony is key to the case because it links Korpi to the crime scene.”
“Do you think he’ll be convicted?” asked Lehtonen. Joutsamo hoped Muuri would say something encouraging.
“I don’t know. That’s for the court to decide.”
No such luck, thought Joutsamo.
“So he might go free?”
“It’s always a possibility,” said Muuri coldly. “Neither of the suspects have said anything to the police during the entire investigation. Today, they’ll spin some tale for the court about how events unfurled. What that tale might be, we don’t yet know.”
Lehtonen fell silent. With a nod, Muuri got up and left.
* * *
TV reporter Sanna Römpötti was seated in the waiting area of the courtroom where Korpi was about to be tried. The long, plainly furnished room had five rows of seating, each composed of five banks of airport-style seating units. Forty-year-old Römpötti was dressed in jeans, sitting with a few other crime reporters from various media outlets. A couple of uniformed officers, white-shirted guards and a few lawyers were also in the room. No photographers were present, since cameras were prohibited in the courtroom. Römpötti’s cameraman was waiting in the courthouse cafeteria.
“Did the prosecutor offer copies of the charges?” Römpötti asked a mustached Ilta-Sanomat newspaper reporter with a fox-pattern tie.
“Yeah,” he nodded. “You can get ’em from the bailiff on the first floor once they get started. I can bring some for everyone.”
“Great, thanks,” said Römpötti. The Porvoo Street murder, as it had come to be called in the newsrooms, wasn’t headline material anymore. Nobody from National Public News was even on location. In addition to Römpötti and the fellow from the Ilta-Sanomat, reporters from the Helsingin Sanomat, The Finnish News Bureau and Alibi crime magazine were on site. The usual cast.
Römpötti had been following the case since the beginning. She had done a couple of spots on it then, and as the court date drew nearer, the case began to gather attention again. Much of the interest had to do with Risto Korpi’s background and status in the underworld.
The fledgling conversation hit a lull. Nobody had anything worth saying, not even about last night’s adventures at the downtown bars. Römpötti was tired. In a way, the case seemed fairly routine. She had ordered the case files from the police, which included security camera photographs from the front of the building where the murder occurred. She could easily build her news story based on those, along with interviews from the prosecution and defense. Martin, Korpi’s attorney, was not a well-known lawyer, but Römpötti had already managed to request an interview. That had been fine with Martin, as was often the case with lawyers who liked free publicity. The key points of the case could be easily explained in a minute and a half.