Free The Lion of Justice by Leena Lehtolainen Page B

a helping of rye bread onto my plate. The frozen berries tasted pretty good on an empty stomach. I’d been too preoccupied to eat the day before. I ignored the annoyed waiters who made sure I heard them clearing dishes and took my time eating and drinking my three cups of coffee. Only then did I feel nourished enough to call Teppo Laitio, but not until I’d brushed my teeth. I realized I should have brought him a cigar or two; most of the time he worked from his apartment on Urheilu Street, smoking was not allowed at the Bureau, and Laitio’s mind was at its sharpest when shrouded in a thick cloud of smoke.
    “Ilveskero! I’ll be damned. Where are you?” he said.
    “Hotel Torni.”
    “Ha! A maiden in a tower, huh? Aren’t you being Sibelian?” Laitio laughed at his joke. It went completely over my head. “To what do I owe the pleasure of this call?”
    “A dead body.”
    “What? Where?”
    “I can’t tell you over the phone. You’re tapped for sure. Can we meet?”
    “Bullshit. My phones aren’t tapped. Maybe you should see a shrink for your paranoia.”
    “Can we just meet at your place?”
    I heard the lighter click. Laitio needed a smoke. “Come over around one thirty. Rytkönen should be gone by then.”
    I didn’t ask who this Rytkönen was; I wasn’t interested. Laitio drew a deep breath, and I could almost smell the cigar smoke. His employer had offered to pay for a class and hypnotist to help him quit smoking, but Laitio declined; he wasn’t the one with a smoking problem—society had a problem with it. I could imagine what Mike Virtue would’ve said about Laitio’s attitude. “Remember that those who protect others must set their own needs aside while on a mission. Sleepiness, thirst, and full bladders do not exist. And the only way you can forget about them is to practice your concentration skills.” The academy in Queens had offered classes in meditation and sitting in complete silence, which had seemed weird to most of us. These classes on emptying your mind were easy for me; meditation seemed to be a distant relative to the ice fishing trips with Uncle Jari, where we’d sit in silence for hours.
    I was supposed to be checking out of the hotel, but I wanted to try reaching the mysterious Kassi first. I didn’t want to wait to get a phone card, so I’d call from another room in the hotel. I pulled on a pair of gloves, slipped into the hallway, and checked for any maids with their carts. There were none on my floor. I walked down the stairs to the floor below. No carts there, either, but the door to one of the rooms was open. I went inside, closed the door, picked up the phone, and dialed Kassi—an immediate answer: “The number you have dialed cannot be reached. Please try again later.” I called the national number service and was informed that there was no information attached to Kassi’s number. I should’ve guessed that.
    My annoyance was quickly interrupted by the jangling of keys at the door. It must have been the maid. I went into the bathroom and closed the door. If she came into the bathroom, I could always try to act like an idiot who had wandered in, wanting to know what the other rooms looked like.
    I heard a door open, then some glass clinking. To my relief the room door was opened again and closed, but I didn’t leave right away; the maid might have still been in the hallway. I counted to five hundred and left. I went back to my room to get my stuff and left it with the front desk. I’d forgotten to get a key from Monika, so I couldn’t move in yet.
    I needed to get out and do something besides sit at the computer, so I took a stroll to Töölö. Along the way, I read tabloid headlines about the ash cloud and travel in chaos. As I passed the parliament building, a politician was being interviewed about the event. I thought I’d met him when I worked for Representative Helena Lehmusvuo as a bodyguard and temporary assistant. That short stint made me realize that