Cold Trail (18 page)

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.

“T
he 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.”

“W
hat 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?”

“Y
ou’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?

Römpö
tti 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.”

“F
or 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.

“S
ounds like a pretty utopic agenda,” Römpötti remarked, setting her pen down on the desk.

“B
ecause it hasn’t been attempted yet,” Fredberg answered.

“W
ho 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...”

“P
lease 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.”

Römpö
tti 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.”

“S
o 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?”

“P
erhaps 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.”

“S
o 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.”

“S
o we’ll basically turn these people into aquarium fish,” Römpötti said.

“W
e need to think about how we want to use our money. Parking enforcement is being privatized at a rapid rate. Why couldn’t traffic enforcement also be privatized? Do we need to train police officers for two years so they learn how to read vehicle speeds from a radar? I don’t think so. A private company would do it more efficiently, saving the police resources for more serious problems.”

To Joutsamo,
Fredberg’s proposals seemed dangerous. As a judge, the guy obviously had experience in criminal cases, so what he was saying couldn’t be considered complete hogwash. But privatizing traffic enforcement? Joutsamo’s thoughts were interrupted by the sound of her desk phone ringing. The judge and the reporter kept talking as Joutsamo answered.

“
Helsinki Police Department,
Anna Joutsamo.”

“H
i, this is Mauri Tiainen, attorney at law.”

“H
ello,” Joutsamo said. She couldn’t immediately place the name, but it did ring a bell. Before the attorney could continue, Joutsamo remembered. Tiainen had been Repo’s district court representation.

“Y
es, I don’t think we’ve met, but I represented Repo, this escaped convict, in district court.”

“I
know,” Joutsamo rapidly responded. The guy sounded like he was about fifty, even if the agitation in his voice made it difficult to judge.

“S
o why wasn’t I informed?” the attorney demanded.

Joutsamo
was stunned. “About what?”

“T
he escape, of course.”

“U
mm...and why would we have informed you about that?”

“B
ecause that was what was agreed with the Riihimäki Police. Wasn’t it in your records?”

“Y
ou’re speaking with the Helsinki Police Department. We don’t know anything about any such arrangement.”

“G
oddammit!” Tiainen snapped. “That’s just wonderful!”

Joutsamo
lightened her voice a touch. “It’s unfortunate that the arrangement wasn’t communicated to us, but why should the police have informed you about this incident?”

“B
ecause he vowed to kill me.”

“T
imo Repo?”

“O
f course. After the murder conviction in district court, he was really upset and said he’d kill me the first chance he got. From my perspective, that chance is now.”

“H
asn’t it been eight years since then?”

“T
hat guy’s so nuts he definitely won’t forget. In the early years of his incarceration, he sent me repeated letters about his threat. I took them to the Riihimäki Police, but they just said they couldn’t do anything about it, because Repo was already doing life. A life sentence isn’t going to get any longer because of a few death threats.”

“W
hy would he want to kill his own lawyer?”

“W
ell,” Tiainen squirmed. “His wife’s homicide was a completely unambiguous case, but Repo didn’t remember anything about it because he was so drunk. I suggested to him that he confess, and we’d try to get it lowered to manslaughter. In that case, Repo might have gotten a six-year sentence, maybe. But the district court viewed it as murder and slapped Repo with life
.
That sent him over the edge.”

“O
kay,” Joutsamo replied.

“
Then the Court of Appeals upheld the murder conviction, so in that sense no injustice took place at district court.”

“B
ut he was upset with you for advising him...”

Tiainen
interrupted. “Upset is putting it mildly, but you’ve got the picture.”

“S
o he didn’t want to confess?”

“H
ard to say. Repo was pretty messed up back then. He didn’t know what to do, and I thought it was the smartest decision in that situation. There was no reason to contest the case. He would have been convicted regardless.”

“S
o it was a clear case?”

“A
bsolutely clear-cut,” Tiainen said. “I’ve handled about thirty homicides over my career and in this instance there was no uncertainty about the perpetrator. The only open issue was that Repo didn’t remember anything about the act.”

“W
hy did Repo kill his wife?”

“A
gh, I don’t remember. Or as far as I remember there was no reason. Maybe they had an argument,” the lawyer guessed. “Which is exactly why I’m going to take a weeklong vacation somewhere! Preferably abroad.”

“D
o you have any idea where he might be?” Joutsamo asked quickly.

“H
aven’t the foggiest.”

“Y
ou don’t know or remember who he was hanging out with back then?”

“N
ot a clue. He was being held as a suspect at the Riihimäki jail, and that’s where we met. We didn’t discuss friends, and hopefully we don’t have anymutual ones.”

“W
ell, just so you know, according to our information, Repo settled down after a couple of years, and neither the guards nor the other prisoners had heard about any vendettas.”

“W
ell, why did he escape then?” Tiainen asked.

“W
e don’t know.”

“E
xactly. That’s not going to get me to cancel my vacation plans,” the lawyer huffed.

Joutsamo
asked Tiainen to be in touch if Repo tried to contact him, and he promised he would. The call ended right as Kohonen walked into the room.

“I
think I’m going to head out. These thirteen-hour days are killing me.”

“G
o ahead. I was also thinking I’d leave pretty soon, as soon as I get a chance to talk to the lieutenant on duty about Repo.”

Kohonen
put on her blue parka. “Did you notice the report in the system? A car was stolen in Töölö in a pretty unusual way.”

“N
ope. How?”

“S
omeone broke into a locker at the swimming pool and took the keys from the coat pocket. The car disappeared from in front of the pool, but the wallet was left untouched in the locker.”

“M
y first instinct is insurance fraud. The owner’s behind on the payments and had to get rid of his wheels.”

“I
don’t know, but it’s a new approach, anyway.”

Joutsamo
thought for a moment. Of course the MO would fit Repo. He was not an expert at stealing cars, so it would be easier to take the key than to look for a car without an ignition block and try to hotwire it. “When did this happen?”

“I
don’t remember exactly, this afternoon or evening.”