Nothing but the Truth (19 page)

Suhonen sat down in the front seat of a gray Peugeot parked at the intersection of Vaasa and Fleming, and took a folded piece of office paper out of the breast pocket of his coat. It was a mug shot printout of forty-year-old Anton Teittinen, Mari Lehtonen’s ex-husband, his dark hair hanging over his forehead, eyes glowering at the camera from beneath his brows. His bloated face was serious enough without the scowl. The photo had been snapped a year ago, after Teittinen was arrested for a bar brawl. A search of his record had turned up several other petty crimes.

Suhonen was out in the field alone. He had begun his search for Teittinen at the man’s home address. No luck knocking on the apartment door. He had listened through the mail slot, but heard nothing. Back outside, Suhonen had checked to see if any lights were on. The man could be hiding out in the dark apartment, of course, but that was unlikely.

He could be at work, but that was also unlikely. The police had his phone number, so in principle, Suhonen could have called and tried to set up a meeting, but that wouldn’t have been as effective—the encounter should come as a complete surprise to Teittinen.

Suhonen started the car, drove a couple blocks and turned onto Helsinki Avenue. Not finding a single parking space, he pulled the car up to a bus stop.

He got out and walked the remaining distance to the Corner Pub. The pavement was slick and the cold seemed to be tightening its grip. It felt about ten degrees below freezing.

The stench of smoke hit him at the door, even with only a third of the seats in the pub occupied. A few tables boasted groups of three and four, while others were occupied by just one man and a beer. Suhonen’s eyes quickly took in the room. The hands on the clock showed half past three.

Teittinen was sitting alone at a corner table reading a daily. Nothing on Suhonen’s face betrayed the fact that he had found his quarry.

The bartender stood behind the bar with an inquiring look.

“Coffee,” said Suhonen.

The man didn’t say anything, just took out a cup and filled it. “One euro.”

Suhonen put the coin on the bar and took a sip. Not bad. Metallica’s “Nothing Else Matters” was playing softly in the background.

Teittinen had draped his dark, hooded jacket over the neighboring chair. He looked larger than Suhonen had expected, and was wearing jeans and a gray, paint-stained sweatshirt. His hair fell over his forehead in the same way it had in the mug shots. His skin was strikingly bad.

Suhonen took his coffee and strode over to Teittinen’s table. “Looks like you got room,” said Suhonen as he pulled up a wooden chair. The table was riddled with cigarette burns.

Teittinen sized up Suhonen. “Room over there too,” he growled, but Suhonen had already sat down.

Suhonen remained silent and Teittinen started to get edgy. “What the hell?”

Suhonen just took a sip of coffee.

“What, you wanna piece of me? Here I am minding my own business and you come butting in. Look around, asshole. Plenty of seats to be had.”

“I’m not looking for a fight.”

“Well you’re damn sure gonna get one if you don’t start explaining.”

Suhonen calmly drank his coffee. “Listen, Teittinen,” he began, then paused briefly. Mentioning the man’s name seemed to have the desired effect, as he flinched. Suhonen went on, “You’ve been harassing a friend of mine.”

“How you know my name?”

“I know your shoe size, too.”

That was no lie. He had gotten it from one of the case files, in which Teittinen had kicked a victim in

a fight.

“Size ten.”

“What the fuck? What is this?”

“Listen to me when I’m talking to you. I just said you’ve been harassing a friend of mine.”

Teittinen had apparently come to the conclusion that he shouldn’t mess with Suhonen. This was the kind of guy who could be packing, and he seemed to be in good enough shape. Teittinen didn’t even have a knife. “What friend?”

“Mari Lehtonen.”

“What, you banging that bitch?”

“No, just a friend.”

“And who are you?”

“I already told you—I’m her friend. Use your ears, idiot.” Suhonen clearly had the upper hand, and was taking full advantage of it.

“Yeah, right. So what did I supposedly do?”

“You know.”

Teittinen wrinkled up his brows. “I called her once and bitched her out for talking to the fucking cops about that shooting, and then taking it to court.”

“So?”

“What do you mean, so? You don’t talk to the cops…everyone knows that.”

“What were you doing at her apartment earlier this afternoon?”

Teittinen looked genuinely confused. “Phh. Been drinking here all day.”

“Bullshit.”

“What are you a cop? This some kinda interrogation?”

“Fuck it,” Suhonen grumbled. “You want to go outside or in here? Fists or knives?”

Teittinen sized him up once more and changed his tack. “Marko!” he shouted at the bartender. “Ain’t I been here since noon?”

Marko appraised the situation at the corner table and shouted back, “Yup, been here all day.”

Suhonen was confused. He didn’t put much in the bartender’s claim, but Teittinen’s look of genuine surprise was perplexing.

“There you have it,” said Teittinen in a triumphant voice. “Shit, tough guy, check your facts before you come hassling an innocent man.”

Suhonen wondered who had glued the lock. “Whatever the case, you stay away from Lehtonen,” he said.

“Fine. I’ve had more of her stinky ass than I care to remember.”

Suhonen stood up and left, leaving the coffee cup on the table.

“Asshole,” Teittinen stammered just loud enough for Suhonen to hear.

* * *

The corridors of the VCU were quiet tonight.

“Care for some coffee?” asked Takamäki.

Suhonen shook his head.

“Well, I’ll skip it too, then.”

The detectives were sitting in Takamäki’s office. Outside the window, all was dark, save for the yellow glow of the street lights. The temperature had dipped to ten degrees Fahrenheit, and a light snow was drifting down from the skies.

“If it wasn’t Teittinen, who was it?” said Takamäki.

“Well, he confessed to the drunken phone call, so why would he deny the glue job? It was just a little bullying.”

Takamäki went on, “Think it was one of Korpi’s guys?”

“That was my first thought.”

“But why now that the trial is over? You’d think the point of any harassment would be to scare the witness out of appearing in court.”

“It’s possible that Lehtonen has another enemy,” said Suhonen. “Or maybe her daughter’s friends were just playing a prank.”

Takamäki thought for a moment. “What do you think we should do?”

“Well, a little glue in a lock is a pretty innocent thing. And since we have no idea who did it, it’s all guesswork anyway. No point in starting anything.”

“Agreed. Korpi wouldn’t be using a glue bottle for his payback.”

“So we should just lay low?”

“Yeah. But let’s keep tabs on it,” said Takamäki.

“You want me to fill Joutsamo in?”

“No need. I’ll tell her tomorrow when she gets in. Let her have at least a half-day off.”

* * *

Laura Lehtonen was walking alone along Western Brahe Street toward home. Her face stung in the frigid air and she pulled her wool hat further down over her ears. The red of her scarf and parka was carefully matched with that of her hat. The snow creaked beneath her boots.

It was just past seven o’clock and her theater feedback session had just ended. The director had praised Laura’s performance, hence her buoyant mood. The director had also mentioned a spring project, one much more demanding than the current one. Laura would play one of the main characters.

Skaters flocked on the ice rink. Laura hoped to go skating someday soon with her best friend, Mira.

Her thoughts turned to school. Her homework was done, but she still had to study for tomorrow’s English test. Mom had said she could stay in theater as long as she kept her grades up. Her thoughts returned to theater. On Saturday, her mother was taking her to see the new musical at the Helsinki City Theater, for which they had bought tickets back in August.

The glue thing had been weird, as was Mom’s court appearance. But they had talked it over enough that neither incident bothered her anymore. The director’s positive feedback on her performance made her feel like skipping.

She didn’t notice the dark-colored car until it was nearly upon her. It slowed just abreast of her and kept pace. She glanced over, unable to tell whether anyone but the driver was inside.

Laura felt panicked and she quickened her gait. The car did the same. “Laura,” said a man’s voice. “Stop. It’s the police.”

Laura thought for a moment before stopping. The car stopped too and the driver’s window rolled down. A hand emerged with an envelope.

“I was bringing this to your mother,” said the voice. “Could you please take it to her?”

Laura stepped closer to the car and took the envelope. On the front, the words
MARI LEHTONEN
were scrawled in marker.

The window slid up and the car zoomed off.

Laura was confused, but she continued on her way home. Still ten minutes to go.

Their 1930s seven-story building was situated at what used to be the end of the number 3 streetcar line, just opposite Porvoo Street 21, the site of the murder.

Laura dashed up the stairs. The new lock was still stiff, but she got it open. “Hi,” she hollered from the door.

“Have you eaten?” asked mom from the kitchen.

“What do we have?”

“Pork sausage soup.”

It wasn’t really her favorite. She hung her parka on the entry hook and went into the kitchen with the envelope.

“Some policeman gave me this. It’s for you,” she said, handing over the envelope.

Mari stopped stirring the soup and took it.

“What policeman?”

“I dunno. I was walking home past the ice rink and this car pulled up.”

“What car? A police car?”

“No, it was smaller. I didn’t see what kind.” Her mother’s grilling was making her wonder.

“How do you know it was a policeman?”

“That’s what he said. It wasn’t?”

“I don’t know. But how many times have I told you not to talk to strangers?”

“Well, he just handed it over and took off. What is it?”

Mari was still holding the envelope. She took out a kitchen knife, neatly cut open the flap, removed the letter and began to read.

“What is it?” said Laura. “Why are you shaking?”

Mari didn’t respond. The letter was terse:
THAT’S HOW EASY IT WOULD BE
.

The paper slipped out of Mari’s hand. She felt like screaming, but no sound came. She sunk to the floor and leaned back against the kitchen cabinets, her whole body seeming to tremble. She wrapped her arms around her folded knees.

“What’s wrong, Mom?”

“Sweetie…uhh…my phone, please.”

Laura dashed back into the entryway.

CHAPTER 19

THURSDAY, 8:25 P.M.

PASILA POLICE HEADQUARTERS

Takamäki glanced around the VCU conference room where Suhonen, Kulta, Kohonen, Kannas and a couple of men from Lieutenant Kafka’s division had gathered. Kafka’s men were currently on duty, and had come to listen to the briefing in case they were called to help.

“Okay, let’s get started,” said Takamäki. The briefing was primarily intended for Kafka’s men. “I’ll run through the key points of the case first so we’re all on the same page, then we can talk about how to proceed.”

The others nodded.

“A single parent by the name of Mari Lehtonen recently testified against Risto Korpi. I’m sure everyone is familiar with Korpi’s gang?”

“Yeah,” answered Kulta, and the others nodded.

“Good,” said Takamäki. “Well, this Lehtonen testified that she saw Korpi waiting in the car while Esa Nyberg shot Tomi Salmela back in September. The trial was yesterday, and everything went smoothly. Since the verdict, we’ve had two incidents. Today, either late morning or early afternoon, somebody filled her door lock with super glue, and about an hour and a half ago, a man claiming to be a police officer gave Lehtonen’s daughter Laura a letter as she was walking home along Western Brahe Street. The letter said, ‘
that’s how easy it would be
.’ Clearly referring to kidnapping the girl. Right now, Joutsamo is at their apartment and we have a patrol posted at the entrance of the building. Last I heard, the situation was secure.”