TH03 - To Steal Her Love (29 page)

‘How did it go?’ asked Kauranen. He was driving and Henrikson was in the passenger seat. Harjunpää was by himself in the back of the car. He liked sitting there, at a distance from the others.

‘Timo! How did it go?’

‘What?’

‘Onerva’s operation. Weren’t you just talking to her son when we arrived?’

‘Yes… she’s still in recovery. That’s why it took so long; they had to stitch her finger back on. Then they pulled the…’

Harjunpää fell silent. Onerva’s hand, her lively, warm hand… It was hard to think of it crushed, something to be put back together like a broken vase. It was difficult to talk about it the way they talked about other victims’ injuries.

‘But the operation was a success, right?’

‘Yes. It’ll be a few days before they know for sure. You know, whether there’ll be any… whether everything will work. And they told Mikko that this was only an emergency procedure and that they’ll carry out a
follow-up
operation later on.’

‘Great. Bloody good news. Who knows, her best cardigans might be yet to come.’

‘True.’

Harjunpää leaned back and shut his eyes; he didn’t want to talk about it any longer. He wanted to be sitting at the top of Pilvikallio thinking about things in peace and quiet. He wanted to let the sense of relief wash
over him, little by little, just as night filled the woods. But instead he was reclining in the backseat of a Lada on his way to Joutsentie to arrest Asko Leinonen. The chief had said it would be best to make the arrest
immediately
and Ahomäki had agreed, and when he thought of what they’d told him at the hospital, it was in Leinonen’s best interests to be apprehended sooner rather than later.

Henrikson leaned over and turned up the volume on the police radio. An agitated voice was calling Control: ‘Can you tell the fire brigade to send a patrol down here, please?’

‘What’s your situation?’ asked the duty officer.

‘He won’t come down. At this rate he’ll sit there for a week and be stone cold sober by the time we get a breathalyser in his mouth. The car smells of drink and shit.’

‘Have you been able to make contact?’

‘Yes, but it’s no use. He just maintains he was acting in an emergency.’

‘Isn’t that what every drink-driver says?’ somebody interjected. ‘They had no choice but to drive under the influence.’

‘He’s claiming someone came after him with a shotgun and all sorts. There are no gunfire marks on the car, and the bonnet got fairly mangled when he wrapped it around the pillar.’

‘Very well,’ the duty officer said dryly. ‘If it really was an emergency, he should have stopped when he saw your patrol.’

‘Right, but we were in pursuit for at least three kilometres. And he was doing 110 in a fifty limit. And what with him being a colleague and that…’

‘OK. Tell him he’s got exactly one minute to come down by himself and after that the fire brigade will turn the hose on him. If that doesn’t work we’ll cut down the tree. I’m sure we’ll hear some rustling up in the branches once the chainsaws start cutting into the trunk.’

‘Understood.’

Henrikson turned the volume down and fidgeted awkwardly. If one officer was bent, it disgraced the entire police force. It shook your belief in yourself.

‘That’s another position open…’

‘And in record time if it’s one of our lot,’ said Kauranen. ‘Tanttu loves drink-drivers.’

He turned the car into Tasankotie. Harjunpää tapped him lightly on the shoulders. It was as though he had suddenly come to, and he had a
nagging feeling that there was something important he should have understood. He was puzzled, and illogically he found himself thinking of two doors, which should have been locked, but which opened when he pulled the handle.

‘Pull over for a minute,’ said Harjunpää. Kauranen slowed down and steered the car on to a small gravelled area at the beginning of the road. ‘What is it?’

‘Just wait a minute,’ said Harjunpää and began once again going through the pile of papers in his lap. They contained all available
information
on Asko Leinonen. He had no criminal record, but their computer system had come up with a few pieces of information. They also had copies of documents pertaining to the property.

He took out the piece of paper about the property and glanced through it. It had a list of everyone that lived at Joutsentie 3, and they were quite a colourful bunch: nine persons altogether and, judging by their names, all members of the same family. Harjunpää went through the list of names one last time. He stopped for a second at the name Lasse Leinonen, then slightly longer at the names Reino and Sisko Leinonen. But no, he didn’t understand; a light bulb didn’t suddenly switch on in his mind. Perhaps Leinonen was such a common name that he was confusing matters. And it was no wonder; he was far from being on top form.

‘You’ve got something?’ Kauranen asked and turned around. Henrikson looked back, too, and Harjunpää moved uncomfortably. He couldn’t understand the hunch he’d had a moment ago; it somehow kept changing form, but still he had a vague suspicion that something wasn’t quite right. There was something threatening about that hunch; he felt that something terrible was about to happen. He almost jumped as he realised the fundamental nature of his fear: he was afraid that someone was going to die.

‘Timo. Can we, erm…?’

‘No. I mean… I don’t know… I’m just wondering whether it’s wise to go in there when there are so few of us.’

‘Few?’ Henrikson smiled. ‘There are three of us.’

‘He’s not a murderer,’ Kauranen added. ‘And there’s nothing to indicate that he might be armed. Anyway, every time we get anywhere near him he runs away.’

‘Of course,’ Harjunpää mumbled hesitantly. ‘I’m sorry lads. I’ve never believed in superstitions, but… I’ve got a rotten feeling about this.’

Kauranen leaned closer and looked at him pointedly.

‘Don’t take offence, OK?’ he said. ‘It could be to do with Onerva. I read a memo from the ministry saying that everyone involved should receive some sort of support or therapy when their partner is injured or… Think about it. You and Onerva were going to pick up this same guy, and look what happened. And now you’re in the same situation again. On the same day, too. It’s no wonder those fears start to raise their heads…’

‘I know,’ Harjunpää sighed and didn’t know whether Kauranen was right or not, but still a small warning bell continued to ring inside him.

‘We can take care of this, if you want to stay in the car,’ said Kauranen. ‘That’s absolutely fine.’

‘No, I’m coming with you,’ said Harjunpää, embarrassed that he’d even brought it up. ‘Maybe meeting him will make this feeling go away.’

‘We could call for back-up, just to be on the safe side.’

‘Let’s do that. It certainly won’t do any harm.’

‘OK,’ said Henrikson, and perhaps he, too, was relieved at the decision. He called Control and the duty officer made almost immediate contact with unit 3-5-7, a patrol only five minutes away in Malmi.

‘And 5-8-8,’ came the voice through the radio. ‘Is Harjunpää there with you?’

‘Yes. He’s in the back. He can hear you.’

‘Harjunpää, call home when you get a chance.’

Harjunpää felt suddenly ill at ease – was that what had been worrying him? He took the microphone from Henrikson.

‘Do you have anything more specific?’

‘Your eldest daughter just called in. If I understood right, their grandfather’s gone walkabout.’

‘Copy that. I’ll call her as soon as I get a chance. If she calls back, tell her I should be home in about an hour and a half.’

‘Will do.’

Harjunpää sighed heavily and lay back in the seat. That was all he needed… Pauliina was probably worried sick because, despite her difficult age, she was a very responsible girl and Elisa was out in town. She’d gone out that afternoon to help a friend finish moving house and they were planning on going out somewhere that evening to relax a little. Of course,
Harjunpää couldn’t have predicted that yet again he’d still be at work long after his shift had ended. And when he thought about Grandpa, he was sure he would be sitting beneath the giant spruce or at the foot of Pilvikallio where there was a boulder to sit on and the remnants of a campfire.

The Transit van from Malmi appeared at the end of the road and pulled in next to them on the gravel. They talked briefly about what to do, agreed to check out the area first and only then to decide who was to do what. They got back into their respective cars, drove a hundred metres up the road and parked the vehicles on the cycle path at the side of Tasankotie.

‘There shouldn’t be anything out of the ordinary here,’ said Harjunpää to the constables from the other patrol car; one of them was Lundberg and the other a young girl with blonde plaits who was clearly wearing a bullet-proof vest beneath her uniform. ‘But there are a lot of people in there and we’re not entirely sure of the layout of the property. What’s more, this Asko is one for running away. But let’s go and take a look…’

They quietly stepped across the cycle path and on towards Joutsentie. It was a narrow dirt track, just wide enough for a car, with thick patches of grass growing sporadically down the middle. Tall birch trees grew along one side of the path. They sloped across the path making it like a vault, and the evening dusk suddenly turned to almost total darkness. To the right was a black row of thick spruces rising up towards the sky. It smelled of
raspberries
and a stream rippling close by. In the distance a train rattled past.

‘This must be it,’ said Harjunpää in nothing but a whisper and stopped by an opening in the spruces. They came to a halt and the crunch of gravel suddenly stopped; the silence felt almost puzzling.

‘There are just so many buildings,’ Harjunpää added as his eyes scanned the yard. The area looked wild. There were four buildings, or cottages, all in pretty bad shape. In front of a building that looked like a workshop stood a digger and a number of old cars, of which only a blue van looked like it was still roadworthy. A large antenna jutted up from the roof of the cottage to the side and there was light in the windows. The lights were on in the middle building too, an odd-looking, two-part cabin. They could hear voices coming from inside; it sounded as though the inhabitants might be having a party.

‘Let’s go straight for the middle cottage and ask,’ said Harjunpää. ‘You two stay here so you can keep an eye on the other house. From here you should be able to see anyone making a run for it.’

Lundberg and the girl nodded, and Harjunpää, Kauranen and Henrikson started moving. They each subconsciously checked their holsters, and a pair of handcuffs jangled softly on Henrikson’s belt.

‘I don’t like our chances of finding him if we have to go through this whole area.’

‘We can’t do that without the dogs or we’ll never get home.’

‘I’m not sure there’s any point starting a search this evening,’ said Harjunpää. ‘Let’s see what this lot have got to say. And if he’s not at home, he might just have popped out somewhere.’

‘Right. We shouldn’t have any problems now we’ve got his name and address. We’ll put out a search notice and he’ll be in custody within a fortnight.’

‘Unless he’s got shed-loads of money. Then he could hide somewhere or leave the country. Still, I doubt it judging by this place…’

They stopped. The front door of the cottage was ajar. A strip of light shone out, cutting through the thickening darkness like a wedge of yellow. They could hear music and high-spirited conversation. Harjunpää stepped to one side, pushing willowherb and chrysanthemum weed out of the way, and the closer he got to the window the more clearly he could make out the conversation.

‘… still might turn up at any moment…’

‘… pointless… don’t torture yourself… just relax…’

Then an elderly woman asked something in a bitter voice, as though she were hard of hearing or didn’t understand what the others were talking about.

Harjunpää stood up on tiptoes, peered through the window and gave a start; sitting right in front of the window was a blonde-haired woman, barely half a metre away from him. Further back in the room was a table with two men, one stocky and one thin. The thin one wasn’t necessarily the one they were looking for though; even sitting down he looked rather too tall. Someone else was moving to one side. Harjunpää moved away from the wall.

‘There are at least four or five people in there,’ he said. ‘Two women, one of whom is much older. She must be their mother. Probably nothing… I couldn’t see our intruder. But there’s a window on the other side. Henrikson, go round there just in case.’

Henrikson went around the house while Harjunpää and Kauranen walked up the steps and held their badges ready. Harjunpää slipped his
hand beneath his jacket and undid the popper holding his revolver in place.

They peered through the open door into a porch. It was full of junk and old newspapers. To the left was a steep set of stairs leading up to the loft. To the back was an open door, behind that what looked like a combined kitchen and dining area where the residents were sitting. The men and a woman dressed in blue dungarees were playing cards; this wasn’t the same woman Harjunpää had seen through the window. The table was covered with bottles and glasses. Sitting on a bed placed along the far wall was a silver-haired, elderly woman holding a glass of cognac.

‘This is it,’ said Harjunpää and looked at Kauranen. He rapped his knuckles loudly against the door; a moment later they were in the porch, surrounded by the smell of rotten wood, and at the open living-room door. Everybody inside looked at them in horror.

‘Evening,’ said Harjunpää. ‘We’re with the Crime Squad. We’re looking for a…’

His sentence remained unfinished. The thinner of the two men
disappeared
behind the table like a stoat, to hide, to grab something. A moment later he stood up again holding an enormous, shining revolver: a huge magnum. The barrel was still pointed at the floor, then the man began to raise his hands. Harjunpää crouched to one side and reached for his holster. Kauranen shouted something. The stocky man grabbed the barrel of the gun and wrenched it towards the ceiling. All of a sudden the woman in dungarees was involved too, all three of them struggling and yelling, their hands flailing, sending bottles flying all around them.