her. A troubling thought occurred to her: Had she transferred her anxiety to Jimmy? Not once during the entire account did he interrupt her. His one visible eye did not waver from her face. But his comment when she was done calmed her.
“What luck that you were the one who was awake and not me! I was always lousy at throwing balls. My best events have always been the high jump and the hundred meters. Those wouldn’t have helped us much!”
He laughed heartily again and offered her some of the candy from the bag. Mentally he seemed unscathed, but his physical damage was much worse.
“A crack in one of the bones in my forearm. Do you know what it’s called? You don’t? Radius fissure. You learn a bunch of useful stuff when you’re in the hospital. Although you have to be healthy to deal with it. Today I spent two hours on my back in Radiology waiting for a skull X ray. To check that there’s no bleeding between the brain membranes. Then you get a . . . what was it called? Wait, I wrote it down.”
He got up and shuffled over to his bedside table. With a shock Irene realized that his injuries were even worse than she’d thought.
“Jimmy, what happened to your legs?”
He turned and grimaced. “Violent blows or kicks to my lower back. I have to get it X-rayed tomorrow. They suspect a fracture of one of the tail vertebrae. It hurts like hell to walk or sit. That’s why I’m going to lie down now. You have to come over here. Ah, here’s the note!”
Triumphantly he waved a little scrap of paper torn from a notepad.
“Computer tomography. No, that’s the examination! A machine they stuff you inside. But you don’t feel anything. What they’re afraid I might contract is called subdural hematoma. It can appear several years later, say the doctors. That’s why I can’t go home before Friday. Damn it!”
He said the last when he had to lift his legs onto the bed. With a sigh he went on, “Then I’ll probably be on the disabled list for a while. Although I’ll try to get home care.”
The last he said with a wink and a knowing look toward the door. A young nurse with a waist-long blond braid came in. She nodded to Irene and gave Jimmy a gleaming smile. There was a light blush on her cheeks, and her eyes indicated that she wouldn’t be particularly hard to convince. She chirped at Jimmy, “X-ray preparations. Just a little micro-enema. I’ll come back in a while and help you with the enema, if you want.”
“Now you’re talking, baby,” Jimmy said in English. “No, all kidding aside, I can handle it myself.”
She laughed and left a little yellow plastic tube with a long nozzle on his nightstand. With another bright smile she vanished into the corridor.
Irene stood up and said, “Well, I’ll leave you to your anal orgies. If I can’t stop by tomorrow, I’ll call you.”
“Calling is good enough. Although it’s more fun when you come by.”
He waved with his good hand.
Chapter Fifteen
AT SIX O’CLOCK ON the dot, Tommy Persson rang the doorbell of the Huss residence. Sammie was the first in line to bid him welcome. Since Tommy was one of his favorite guests, it took a while before all the jumping and licking were over.
Conspiratorially, Irene whispered, “The twins are in their room. I said that you’re a grass widower today and that I invited you to dinner. They bought it without comment.”
“Good. How’s Jimmy Olsson doing?”
She gave him a detailed description of the young officer’s health status; Tommy thought it didn’t sound good. If you’re married to a nurse, you’re always learning something about diseases and their treatment.
Since they never talked shop when they were around their families, Irene wanted to know the latest news from HQ before dinner. “How did the interview with Shorty go today?”
Tommy hesitated before he replied. “Not so great. But Jonny actually managed to annoy him so much that he got mad and said something interesting. Jonny finally yelled, ‘Don’t you get it? You’re under suspicion for taking part in everything that happened, as long as you refuse to speak! We’re looking for your cousin’s murderer!’ Then Shorty leaned toward him and snarled, ‘I don’t have to look. That fuck’ll be sorry!’ And then he went back to imitating a clam. We pressured him like mad for several hours. But he’s used to it and it