Free The Lion of Justice by Leena Lehtolainen

multipronged business ventures and had seen it in news coverage of election funding scandals. The logo belonged to Uskon Asia Inc. and portrayed a building resembling a temple, sketched with three lines. The owner, Usko Syrjänen, had been Boris Vasiliev’s business partner. Vasiliev had died aboard Syrjänen’s boat when David had blown it and its crew into smithereens. Syrjänen had denied involvement or knowledge of Vasiliev’s activities to sabotage the oil pipe in the Baltic Sea; he claimed their only connection was planning to build an international recreation center into Kotka’s Hiidenniemi. So what was Syrjänen planning to do to the campgrounds in Kopparnäs, and why did David have these papers?

6
    I woke up around four in the morning and looked outside. I felt David near me, and it seemed like he had something to say. I checked my phone and e-mail, but there was nothing. I kept watching the sleeping, quiet city. Only a couple of cars buzzed on the street, and a lone pedestrian took unsteady steps near the Old Church Park. Although I didn’t believe in anything that couldn’t be logically explained, such as telepathy, I tried opening myself up to David and his messages. The only message I felt coming through was a clear command: “Call Laitio and tell him about Carlo Dolfini’s body.”
    Bummer. I was planning on doing it anyway, although I knew it would cause problems. Chief Constable Teppo Laitio and I had a strange love-hate relationship. I think he liked me more than I liked him, and he had been visibly annoyed when he’d guessed my feelings for David. I couldn’t stand people who could see through me like that.
    Unable to fall asleep again, I turned on the computer. I hadn’t requested a password for the hotel network, but there were plenty of unprotected Wi-Fi connections. Using them was risky, but searching for information about a businessman named Usko Syrjänen should be harmless; his face was constantly plastered on the covers of tabloid magazines and newspapers.
    Syrjänen had made his fortune by selling cars in the 1980s and expanded his business to real estate during the recession of the early 1990s. He’d taken huge risks buying a bankrupt estate, empty office spaces, and small-town schools that had been closed. Somehow he lucked out. As soon as the recession was over, he was able to sell some of his property and turn a large profit. He used some of the land to build holiday rental villas, nursing homes, and karaoke bars. He’d successfully snatched the villa in Hiidenniemi from my former employer Anita Nuutinen, and he was planning to build more structures on the land of a heavily guarded private club. Unfortunately for him, neighbors didn’t want to sell any of their land. In an interview for a local newspaper, Syrjänen complained about a lack of an all-inclusive holiday resort where international superstars and Finnish celebrities could spend their free time without running into curious “regular people.” Syrjänen claimed that wealthy people would prefer vacations in Provence or the Caribbean over staying in Finland if they could leave behind the everyday annoyance of being recognized. He knew what he was talking about.
    The decks of his swimming pool were frequented by a variety of beautiful women, intent on getting money out of him. It looked like Syrjänen had learned from his mistakes and was now seeking privacy after his divorce the previous fall. Websites time stamped a couple of weeks ago indicated that there was a new love in his life: a twenty-eight-year-old Russian model named Julia.
    Syrjänen hadn’t uttered a word about the events that had led to the destruction of his boat, the I Believe , and the death of his Russian business partner and his minions. He was buddies with a number of leading politicians, such as the Finnish prime minister, and had provided funding for multiple campaigns. They may have convinced Syrjänen to keep quiet in the name of the country’s