This is what Raija had been nagging him about over the phone earlier. In return, Suhonen had suggested that she could get a late-night shift at McDonald’s, and then they’d work the same hours. Raija had hung up on him.
Suhonen grabbed the phone from the seat and pressed the green headset twice. The phone dialed a number that Suhonen had already tried a few times. A woman’s voice announced in a cool tone, “The number you have dialed is currently unavailable.”
Goddamn Salmela. The guy had changed his number without telling Suhonen. They’d have to have a talk about that.
Suhonen sped past the first few exits. He was headed for Kontula, to a couple of bars where Saarnikangas was a regular. It seemed like there were an infinite number of them. Suhonen had already gone through the bars in Kallio and Hakaniemi without finding the guy.
The speed limit climbed to fifty, and Suhonen slowed down. He tried to calm himself-he should never let his emotions interfere with his work. He turned on the radio: Ari, the latest Idols winner, was singing his bubble-gum hit, and Suhonen clicked it right back off.
* * *
Joutsamo was sitting at her desk, tapping away at her computer. The portable TV on Kulta’s desk a few feet away was on. Kulta had already gone home, as had Takamäki. The only ones left in the office were Joutsamo and Kohonen.
The sports highlights program wrapped up, and a current affairs show began. On the screen, a grave-looking Sanna Römpötti was explaining that the topic of this evening’s episode of Hot Seat was justice. The guest was Aarno Fredberg, chief justice of the Supreme Court. In line with the show’s format, Römpötti got right down to business: “Chief Justice Fredberg, you said in a newspaper interview last Sunday that prison sentences don’t do any good. What would you propose as an alternative?”
The question was tough enough that Joutsamo paused to watch.
Fredberg was coming up on sixty and his appearance resembled a corporate attorney more than a Supreme Court judge, who weren’t known for always being impeccably coiffed or wearing the latest suit from Hugo Boss.
“The alternative is clear. Take fires, for example. If they started occurring with significantly greater frequency than they do today, it probably wouldn’t make sense to increase the number of fire stations, but rather to look into the causes of the fires.”
Römpötti pressed him. “But fires are very different from felonies.”
“I wouldn’t say so. In both cases, the issue is some type of a societal disruption. Fires are often a matter of technical flaws, and it’s easy to impact, say, the fire safety of TVs. And although a lot of research has been conducted on it, the human mind is a more complex phenomenon.”
“What would you like to change?”
“Criminal justice policy needs to be opened up to broad-based discussion. Nowadays we apply this fire station model to crime by increasing resources for law enforcement and prosecutors, like they’re always doing in America. This leads to an increased amount of prisoners, escalating the cycle of marginalization.”
“Isn’t that a bit disingenuous? Isn’t ending up in prison one of the end points of a cycle of marginalization?”
“You’re right. As a matter of fact, you’re right at the heart of the matter. Prisons don’t rehabilitate anyone. Prison doesn’t act as a deterrent for people who commit crimes. It’s crucial to understand this. We have to change our focus now. People can’t be allowed to end up in circumstances that lead them to commit crimes in the first place.”
Joutsamo listened, her mouth agape. You could have expected this from some leftist politician, but had the country’s chief judge gone insane?
Römpötti continued her battery of questions. “So if a wino runs out of booze, and he’s about to burglarize a store to obtain more alcohol, society should provide a place where he can get booze for free.”
“For example. Although it might be preferable to try and influence matters in such a way that we don’t have winos, if that’s the word you want to use. There are a good ten thousand people caught up in a cycle of incarceration. Let’s give them a free place to live, substance abuse treatment, and, for instance, a sheltered job. Let’s anchor them in life.”
Joutsamo thought the other way around-from the victim’s point of view. People shouldn’t end up in situations where they become the victims of crimes. Evidently the permissive criminal policies of the 1960s were making a strong comeback.
“Sounds like a pretty utopic agenda,” Römpötti remarked, setting her pen down on the desk.
“Because it hasn’t been attempted yet,” Fredberg answered.
“Who will pay for it?” the reporter asked. Funding was always a critical factor.
“A day in prison costs 125 euros, a month 3,800 euros, and a year 45,500 euros. When you add the costs of law enforcement, prosecutors, and judges on top of that, you easily get to a figure that’s twice as high. And this sum multiplies exponentially when you include the other costs of crime, like damage to property and insurance payments.”
The reporter tried to interject, “But…”
“Please don’t interrupt,” Fredberg growled, giving Römpötti an angry look. “We have almost 150 prisoners serving life sentences now. With each of them doing 12–14 years, the costs of incarceration alone are 550,000–640,000 euros per prisoner. With that kind of money, you could prevent the majority of homicides from ever happening. And if someone tells you any different, they’re lying.”
Römpötti tried again, “But…”
Sitting at her screen, Joutsamo wondered how the chief justice would happen to be able to pick out in advance those particular individuals in whose lives it made sense to invest half a million euros.
“I already asked you, please don’t interrupt! Society should prevent crimes from taking place in the first place, or if we want to think realistically, decrease them significantly. An inmate is imprisoned for an average of a little under ten months, so 7,000 convicts are released from prisons every year. One in three starts off homeless, 60 percent have substance abuse problems, and one-fifth have serious mental health issues. This is the target group we should concentrate on first.”
“So commit a crime, and you’ll get money, a job, and a place to live,” Römpötti said, but she didn’t let Fredberg respond. “Let’s move on to the next topic.”
The reporter glanced at her papers. “We reviewed your twenty-six-year history at the Lahti District Court and the Kouvola Court of Appeals, as well as your last four years in the Supreme Court. Now this number may not be completely accurate, but according to our information, you’ve participated in handing down at least 36 life sentences for murder. Do you believe that those people could live normally as part of our society as well?”
“Perhaps you’ve misunderstood me. The majority of our homicides take place among alcoholic men. If we could get to the point that violent situations didn’t arise among them, the number of murderers would decrease. As a matter of fact, the model that I presented earlier came to me when I was thinking about this specific group of convicted individuals. Now, it’s the role of the judge to ensure equal protection for everyone under the law. But whenever a crime takes place, society has failed.”
“So no one needs to take responsibility for themselves? Society will take care of everyone’s problems?”
“Yes, it would be to everyone’s advantage. There wouldn’t be criminals or victims of crimes. Of course I understand that we also have the mentally ill, but they belong in mental hospitals. For professional criminals, we would of course still need the heavy machinery at society’s disposal, but not as extensively as we use it today.”