Takamäki registered a movement out of the corner of his eye. Suhonen had walked past the door.
“Suhonen,” Takamäki called after him.
Suhonen returned to the door with a smile. “Look who actually made it in.”
“Well, I’m supposed to be here. You have the day off, so what’s your excuse?”
“Just figured I’d go to the gym and check some emails. Those finance detectives invited me to play
on their hockey team, and I couldn’t remember when the game started.”
“You taking up hockey?”
“Sure. Back in Lahti I played till I was sixteen. Haven’t skated much since, but it’ll be interesting to see how it goes.”
“Pads and everything?”
“Seniors’ rules. No checking and no slap shots. Otherwise, everything’s the same. But I figured if I wore Kevlar under my pads I could be a bit more aggressive.”
Takamäki was a bit surprised. Had the man’s new relationship taken its toll? Takamäki had also played hockey as a kid. Maybe he could give it a shot again too. “How was Salmela?”
“Drunk as a skunk. We chatted and one of us cried. He was still taking it pretty hard, so it was good I went to see him. Ended up just crashing on the couch. What about you guys?”
“I hung it up at around midnight, but some people don’t know when to stop. Once Kannas and Nykänen got to reminiscing there was no end to the chase stories.”
Suhonen chuckled. The team had once rented a cabin for the weekend, and Kannas had brought a handful of Matchbox cars in order to better illustrate his best pursuits from the last twenty years.
* * *
Counselor Martin was sitting on the opposite side of a wooden table from Korpi. Between the two men stood a glass partition about sixteen inches high to prevent visitors from smuggling contraband to the inmates. The prison also had separate rooms partitioned off with thick plexi-glass walls and telephones for communication.
With the exception of a lone guard, nobody else was in the room. The guard kept his distance, since conversations between lawyers and clients were confidential. Martin had known of a case in which the police had illegally eavesdropped on prison conversations between a lawyer and his client, who had been convicted of financial crimes. But today, he considered the risk of audio surveillance to be insignificant. The NBI agents at fault had gotten a slap on the wrist from the parliamentary ombudsman, whose job it was to ensure that public officials observed the law. A repeat performance would undoubtedly lead to formal charges.
Martin and Korpi had been conversing for nearly half an hour.
“You’re sure this is what you want,” said Martin, his voice tense and worried. He felt reluctant to get mixed up in Korpi’s affairs.
“You’ll do just as I tell you.”
“It could influence the handling of your case in appeals court.”
“Appeals ain’t gonna change anything, didn’t I just tell you that? The cops got ’em in their pocket just like district. The more I think about it, the more sure I am I got convicted on my record. Had nothin’ to do with this case.”
“That’s what I’ve been saying all along.”
Korpi leveled a piercing gaze at his lawyer. He had seen glimpses of the man’s weakness before, and now it was showing again.
“You said your piece yesterday in court. Now you’ll do what I say. You get in touch with Guerrilla and tell him what he has to do.”
Martin nodded. Maybe this once, he thought. He was only delivering a message, nothing criminal, just a bit unsettling. In a way, he understood Korpi, understood his anger. But he had to get something in return.
“Alright, it’s a deal. I’ll do it. But then this
is over.”
“What?”
“Using the old coke thing to blackmail me.”
Korpi laughed. He hadn’t even begun yet, but there was little point in telling Martin that. “Sure. It’s a deal.”
“Deal?”
“Yup. Oh yeah…and if you happen to need a little pick-me-up, just ask Guerrilla. But no phones. Same goes for the meeting-make sure the cops don’t find out.” He lowered his voice a little. “Shoot him an anonymous text saying, ‘Wanna catch a hockey game?’ An hour after he texts back, he’ll be at the McDonald’s by the ice arena.”
Martin didn’t respond. His face was expressionless. Obviously, the police were on the right track if Korpi’s gang used these kinds of spy tactics to throw them off the trail. “Okay,” he said finally.
“Good. The cops were probably out celebrating their victory last night, but at least one of them will be clearheaded enough to notice if someone’s talking openly about the case.”
“Right. So…you still want to go over this appeals form?”
“No,” said Korpi as he stood up. He gestured to the guard, and as the man shuffled over, he said to Martin, “Send it straight to the court once you get it ready.”
The guard approached. Korpi looked up, “I’d like some lunch now.”
“Fine,” said the guard. “Cabbage rolls today.”
“My favorite.”
Martin watched his client being escorted from the room. A steak dinner would hit the spot, he decided. With a couple of cold beers. But before he did anything else he would send that text. As soon as he got his phone back at the gate, anyhow. Yeah, and a new SIM card would be a good idea.
CHAPTER 17
THURSDAY, 1:50 P.M.
JOUTSAMO’S APARTMENT, HELSINKI
Joutsamo lay idly on the sofa of her two-room apartment. She had on an extra-large green T-shirt, baggy black shorts and a blanket draped over her legs. It was almost two in the afternoon. The worst of her headache had succumbed to ibuprofen, a sandwich and a soft drink, but her mood was still listless. Her only consolation was that she hadn’t planned to get anything done today anyway, since it was the day after the Christmas party. So there was no reason to feel bad about being idle.
But there was one thing she had managed to do. She had sent a happy-name-day text to a friend of hers who had moved to London. A very cute friend by the name of Jouko.
The television was off-nothing of interest was on in the afternoon anyway. Something from Madonna was playing on the radio in the background. On top of the bookcase was a picture of Joutsamo’s parents. With the two of them seeming to stare at her, she didn’t care to look in that direction at the moment.
The evening had gone on right up until the last call at 3:30 at the Zetor Bar. Luckily, Nykänen and Kannas had been in the mood to dance. The more she danced, the less she drank.
She wondered if she should force herself to get up and clean. A fitting punishment for such overindulgence. Cleaning was too much to ask, but she got up nonetheless-if only because she was bored of lying down-and padded into the kitchen nook. She poured some water into the teapot and rubbed her weary face. She didn’t need to look in the mirror to see how terrible she looked. Maybe she should take a shower and force herself outdoors. All she could see from the kitchen window was the greenish flank of the neighboring building, but at least it wasn’t raining. According to the thermometer, it was twenty-five degrees. That would perk her up.
The tea water was just beginning to hiss when Joutsamo heard the phone ring. But where in the hell was it? She followed the ringing to the left-hand pocket of her overcoat, which still reeked of cigarette smoke, peeked at the caller ID, and answered with a smile.
“Well, hi,” she said before clearing her throat. The deepness of her own voice startled her.
“Hi,” said a perky woman’s voice on the other end. The caller was Sanna Römpötti. “How’s it going? By your voice I’d say not so well.”