* * *
Takamäki was sitting at his desk. His phone rang as soon as he ended the previous call. The female crime reporter from Ilta-Sanomat had been the first to call, but Sanna Römpötti from Channel 3 TV News came in second. It had only been four minutes since the release had been sent out.
“Hello,” he said in an official tone.
“Hey there, Takamäki,” said Römpötti. She had been a crime reporter for about twenty years, and had made the leap to TV news from Helsingin Sanomat newspaper a few years ago. “Römpötti here.”
“Hi,” Takamäki changing to a friendly tone.
“Prison escape, huh?”
“Yeah, but it’s not that fascinating. We’ve been looking for him for a couple of days, just can’t find him anywhere. That’s why we’re going to the media with it, see if the public can help us out,” Takamäki explained. He didn’t think an escapee no one had ever heard of would break the TV news threshold.
“Okay,” Römpötti said. “I’ll check back.”
“Sounds good,” the lieutenant replied, and the call ended.
Takamäki’s phone rang again. “Hello.”
“Juvonen from Iltalehti. It’s Takamäki, right?”
“Good guess.”
“Great,” Juvonen said. “About Repo. Who is he?”
Takamäki thought for a second. Römpötti may have been recording the call, but Juvonen definitely was. Every word he said could and probably would appear in tomorrow’s paper, or probably on their website yet that evening. “Timo Repo is a prisoner serving life who has escaped. He was convicted of murdering his wife.”
“So it’s a real escape, not some unauthorized leave?”
“Yes. The incident has been recorded as prisoner escape, per Chapter 16 of the Penal Code. Penalties include a fine or at most a year’s prison sentence. The Prison Department requested the assistance of the police.”
Juvonen paused for a moment, and Takamäki guessed she was taking notes.
“At most a year’s imprisonment, so it doesn’t meet the criteria for a wire-tap warrant?”
“No, but we don’t have a phone number to listen in on either. Otherwise we’d give Repo a call and ask him to come on down to the station.”
“How dangerous is he?” Juvonen asked.
“We don’t consider him to be particularly dangerous.”
“What does that mean?”
Here we go, Takamäki thought. “He was convicted of murder, so in principle he can be considered dangerous. But we’re not aware of any factors that would make him particularly dangerous.”
“Why did he flee?”
Goddammit, Takamäki thought, trying to keep his voice steady. “We haven’t had the opportunity to question him, so we don’t know. Yet.”
“Does this Repo belong to a criminal gang?”
“According to our information, no, he does not.”
Juvonen quizzed Takamäki further about the escape. Takamäki told her about the funeral, the coffee and sandwiches afterwards, and Repo’s flight.
“Huh. Doesn’t it annoy the police when the prison authorities let prisoners escape like that?”
“Well,” Takamäki measured his words. “The prison authorities do their job and we do ours. It’s not any more complicated than that.”
Juvonen laughed. “Okay, so the search is on, then?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“I’m not going to reveal that now.”
“But raids are taking place?”
“Of course we continuously conduct searches of residences in cases like these,” Takamäki said, a little tiredly.
“The SWAT team is on the move?”
“We haven’t called them.”
“But you will if necessary?”
Takamäki considered how he could answer this one. If he said no, he’d be lying, because of course the SWAT team would be used if a dangerous situation arose. If he answered yes, the following sentence would appear in the paper: “The police are ready to call in the SWAT units,” which was an overstatement. But Takamäki didn’t want to lie.
“If necessary, of course, they’ll be called in.”
“Could we come along and get some footage of a SWAT operation?” Juvonen tossed out.
“No.”
“Just thought I’d ask.”
“Was there anything else?” Takamäki asked.
“Yes,” Juvonen answered. “A photo of this Repo? Just email it over.”
“No can do,” Takamäki said. “We decided we’re not going to distribute it yet.”
Juvonen was irritated. “What the hell? Why not?”
Takamäki paused for a moment. “If I say no, it means no.”
“Are you serious? You don’t want to catch him even just a little bit?”
“This is the decision I made in this case. I don’t need to justify it to you.”
“Who do you think you are?” Juvonen continued. She was upset that there would be a huge gap in the photos now. “We’d print it in the paper for free. Next time you guys can buy ad space when you want us to help you find someone.”
Takamäki smiled. Mary J. Juvonen hadn’t changed a bit. “All right, talk to you later,” he said, and hung up.
CHAPTER 9
TUESDAY, 5:10 P.M.
TOPELIUS STREET, TÖÖLÖ, HELSINKI
Repo was standing at a bus stop on Topelius Street, watching the traffic headed toward the Women’s Hospital. He was still wearing the black suit and the gray coat he had stolen from the restaurant. He had taken an old-fashioned cap from Karppi’s house and pulled it down over his forehead.
Darkness had already fallen. Half a dozen people were waiting at the bus stop. None of them appeared interested in him. His father’s documents were in a plastic bag, as was the Luger, now wrapped in newspaper.
Bus number fourteen thundered up and everyone else boarded, but Repo just kept waiting. He wasn’t interested in buses. What he needed was a car.
Karppi didn’t have one, so Repo was going to have to get one by other means. He had concluded that he didn’t have the know-how to steal any of the cars parked near Karppi’s place, so he needed not only a car but the key to it as well. Repo knew how to jack an old-fashioned Saab 99, because all you needed to do to start them was to yank off the lock mechanism and stick a screwdriver into the exposed screw. Saab 99s, popular in the ’70s, were extremely rare these days, though.
Repo had left Karppi’s house an hour ago and travelled to Töölö by bus and tram. He had been standing at the stop for about ten minutes, but not a single suitable person had shown up yet.
One of the cars headed in the direction of the Women’s Hospital braked, and the driver smoothly backed his Nissan into a parking spot. A man of about sixty in a blue peacoat stepped out and took a gym bag from the trunk. This guy might work, Repo thought, and started following him.
The man in the peacoat walked across the street toward the Töölö swimming pool, which was located in the basement of the Occupational Health Institute. It was ten yards or so to the door. Repo noted the sticker indicating surveillance cameras and held his head down so the brim of his cap shaded his face. A dozen or so stairs led downwards.
The man in the peacoat was about five yards ahead of him and was standing at the cashier by the time Repo made it through the lower-level door. He felt the pool’s warm, chlorine-laden air, but he kept his coat on, and didn’t even remove his cap.
The entrance to the cashier was perched on a little balcony, and Repo could see the swimming pools down below him. The cashier gave the man in the peacoat some sort of card.
Repo stepped up to the counter. “Hi. I’d like to go for a swim.”
“Well, you came to the right place. Four-sixty, please,” said the cashier, a brunette with a long face.