Kohonen and Joutsamo had sat for a couple of hours in the half-empty bar at the Hotel Pasila, sipped three ciders apiece, and talked about the old Repo murder case without reaching any conclusions. Something about it bothered her, and Joutsamo couldn’t put her finger on it. But now she couldn’t sleep.
She got up and walked into her kitchenette without turning on the lights. She wet her hands under the faucet and splashed water onto her face in the dark. It refreshed her, even though she had only intended on rinsing away the clammy sweat. She grabbed the electric kettle, ran some water into it, and put it on to boil. She found a mug in the cupboard and picked out a teabag from the package next to the kettle.
Joutsamo sat down at her two-person table. There was a laptop at the other spot and old newspapers on the chair. The three-foot-wide window had a view of the neighboring building, now dark. It had about a hundred windows, and only two of them had lights on. Everything looked so peaceful.
Suddenly Joutsamo realized what had been bothering her about the Repo case. It was a question to which there had been no answer. Joutsamo was irritated that the problem was so elementary-she should have seen it right away at the Riihimäki police station while she was reviewing the reports.
The wife had been lying in the kitchen with her throat slit, and Repo had been passed out in the bedroom. So who had called the police? The preliminary investigation reports didn’t contain the answer.
WEDNESDAY MORNING
CHAPTER 12
WEDNESDAY, 8:05 A.M.
HELSINKI POLICE HEADQUARTERS, PASILA
Takamäki walked down the VCU corridor toward his office. He yawned and thought that the whole building could use a thorough renovation. Sure, police stations were supposed to be uninviting, but not this cold.
Joutsamo recognized the rhythm of his gait and stepped out of the team room to greet him.
“We need to talk,” she said. “Now.”
“Good morning to you, too,” Takamäki replied, continuing past her toward his office. Joutsamo fell in behind him. “We catch our escaped convict yet?” he asked, without looking back.
“No,” Joutsamo answered.
Takamäki made it to his office door. “Any hot tips?”
Joutsamo followed her boss. She was carrying a stack of papers. “Nope.”
Takamäki hung his overcoat on a hanger next to the door. A dress shirt, tie, and sport coat for impromptu appearances hung on another. Takamäki was wearing the blue Norwegian fisherman’s sweater his wife had given him the Christmas before last. He sat down at his desk. Joutsamo was still standing in the doorway.
“Well?” Takamäki gestured for his sergeant to sit.
“Let’s start from the tip.”
“So we have something?” Takamäki said, reaching down to turn on his computer.
“Well, sort of. A car was stolen from the Töölö swimming pool yesterday evening.”
“A car was stolen from the pool?” he looked up at Joutsamo.
Joutsamo grunted. “The keys from the locker and the car from outside. An intriguing method, and Kohonen went over this morning to get the surveillance camera image.” She handed the print to Takamäki. “Take a look at the clothes.”
Takamäki examined the image shot at the pool cashier. The camera was at the ceiling, and the brim of an old-fashioned cap shaded the man’s lowered face. His clothing, on the other hand, was clearly visible in the color photo. He was wearing a gray trench coat, and a dark suit was discernible underneath. He was carrying a plastic bag. Takamäki nodded. “That’s our man. At least possibly.”
“This guy entered the building right after the man whose keys were stolen and exited more or less immediately. The lock had been broken.”
“What else did he take?”
“Nothing. Just the car key. According to the victim, the car key had been on the same ring as his other keys, but they were still intact.”
Takamäki took another look at the surveillance camera image.
“So he wanted a car. Are there any other cameras on Topelius Street? Did he know this man, or why that specific car?”
“Doesn’t appear to have any connection. The victim doesn’t have a criminal background, just youraverage joe.”
The computer demanded a user ID and password from Takamäki; he complied.
“Two conclusions that would point toward it possibly being Repo. One: he doesn’t know how to steal a car. Two: he doesn’t have friends who’d steal one for him. So he’s on his own.”
Joutsamo nodded. “That’s what I was thinking, too.”
“Why the Töölö pool? Is it the best place in terms of where he’s staying now, or just somewhere he’s been before? Somehow it seems an MO like that would demand a familiar milieu, at least familiar enough that he had used the lockers at some point and realized that it would be possible to pull off there.”
“Hmm,” Joutsamo said. “I don’t know. Those locks aren’t exactly theft-proof at any pool.”
Takamäki handed the photo back. “In any case, we’re a good twelve hours behind. Car hasn’t been found?”
“No. Of course an APB was sent out immediately, but no reports yet. Too bad that the victim’s phone was in his coat pocket, not the glove compartment. It would’ve been easy to position it.”
Joutsamo was right. A car theft was grand larceny, and they had reason to suspect Repo. Now they could use more stringent measures, like wiretapping, if they only had a potential target to apply them to.
Takamäki kept thinking out loud: “But he’s in Töölö? If you draw a one-mile radius around that pool, it contains tens of thousands of residents.”
“Not one of whom seems to know Repo,” Joutsamo added.
“Why would he want a car?” Takamäki said.
Joutsamo shrugged. “Had to move. Is it possible he had some hideaway somewhere nearby where he holed up right after the escape for twenty-four hours? And now he had to get moving.”
“In any case, he might be anywhere now. The car indicates a longer trip.”
“Exactly. The Border Guard has been alerted about the car, but let’s see what we can do here in town.”
“If he’s driving out of the country, I’d guess he’d head north and cross over into Sweden. Did he ever work there? Does he have any other connections to Sweden?”
Joutsamo shook her head. “No foreign contacts have come up, Finnish ones either. We don’t know. This is one nasty manhunt.”
“We’ve definitely had some easier ones,” Takamäki admitted, opening up his email.
“Kulta and I dropped by his father’s neighbor’s place, and something’s going on there. We’ll probably swing by again today,” Joutsamo said.
“Heard anything from Suhonen yet?
“Sleeping. He sent a text message that he was out chasing Saarnikangas down all night, but no luck. Promised to come in this afternoon.”
“Okay,” Takamäki said.
Joutsamo tossed the day’s Iltalehti onto Takamäki’s desk. “Which takes us to item number two, which is also the number of the page where you’ll find the article-in addition to the front page, of course.”
The lieutenant looked at the front page. The lead headline was about some TV celebrity’s drunken shenanigans. He didn’t recognize the name, but he was sure that his wife and sons would. Takamäki wasn’t interested unless the guy committed a violent crime or ended up the victim of one. According to the headline, all he was guilty of was being a sloppy drunk. At the bottom of the page, in clearly smaller print, it read “Murderer Escapes.” The lieutenant turned the page and was blasted by huge letters stretching across the spread: “SWAT Team Hunts Down Dangerous Convict.”