The Boy in the Suitcase - By Lene Kaaberbol Page 0,10

the top floor of the building. As soon as she stepped out of the narrow steel box, the odor of food overwhelmed her—roasted pork, hot grease from the deep-fryer, and the pervasive aroma of coffee. She scanned the cafeteria and finally caught sight of Karin’s blond head. She was seated at a table by the window, in a sleeveless white dress that struck Nina as an off-duty version of her nurse’s uniform. Instead of one of the chic little handbags she normally sported, one hand rested possessively on the black briefcase on the chair next to her, while the other nervously rotated her coffee cup, back and forth, back and forth.

“Hi,” said Nina. “What is it, then?”

Karin looked up. Her eyes were bright and tense with an emotion Nina couldn’t quite identify.

“You have to fetch something for me,” she said, slapping a small round plastic circle onto the table. A token with a number on it, Nina observed, like the ones used for public lockers.

Nina was starting to feel annoyed.

“Don’t be so damned cryptic. What exactly is it I’m supposed to fetch?”

Karin hesitated.

“A suitcase,” she finally said. “From a locker at the Central Station. Don’t open it until you are out of the place. Don’t let anyone see you when you do open it. And hurry!”

“Bloody hell, Karin, you make it sound as if it’s stuffed full of cocaine, or something!”

Karin shook her head.

“No. It’s not like that. It’s… .” She stopped short, and Nina could see the barely suppressed panic in her. “This wasn’t the deal,” she said feverishly. “I can’t do this. I don’t know how. But you do.”

Karin got to her feet as if she meant to leave. Nina felt like grabbing her and forcing her to stay, much like she had with Natasha. But she didn’t. She looked down at the token on the table between them. 37-43, read the white numbers against the black plastic.

“You’re always so keen on saving people, aren’t you?” said Karin with a bitter twist to her mouth. “Well, here’s your chance. But you have to hurry.”

“Where are you going?”

“I’m going home to quit my job,” said Karin tightly. “And then I’m going away for a while.”

She zigzagged her way to the exit, skirting the other tables. She clutched the briefcase under her arm rather than carry it by the handle. It looked wrong, somehow.

Nina watched her go. Then she looked at the small shiny token. A suitcase. A locker. You’re always so keen on saving people, aren’t you?

“What the hell have you gotten yourself into, Karin?” she muttered to herself. She had a strong feeling that the wisest thing to do would be to leave number 37-43 there on the sticky cafeteria table and just walk away.

“Oh hell,” she hissed, and picked up the token.

MRS. MAŽEKIENĖ? IT’S Sigita.”

There was a moment’s silence before Mrs. Mažekienė answered.

“Sigita. Thank the Lord. How are you?”

“Much better now. But they won’t let me out of here until tomorrow. Is Mikas with you?”

“Oh no, dear. He is with his father.”

“With Darius?”

“Yes, of course. He picked him up even before your accident. Don’t you remember, dearie?”

“No. They say I’m concussed. There is so much I don’t remember.”

But … Darius was in Germany, working. Or was he? He didn’t always tell her when he came home. Officially, they were still only separated, but the only thing they had in common now was Mikas. Might Darius take Mikas back to Germany with him? Or to his mother’s house in Tauragė? He didn’t have a place of his own in Vilnius, and she very much doubted that the party-crowd friends he occasionally stayed with would welcome a three-yearold boy.

Her head hurt furiously. She couldn’t think things through with any clarity, and she didn’t feel very reassured by the knowledge that Darius had Mikas, but at least she knew where her son was. Or with whom, at any rate.

“It looked so awful, dearie. I thought you were dead! And to think you had been lying on those stairs all night! Now, you just have a good rest at that fine hospital, and let them look after you until you’re better.”

“Yes. Thank you, Mrs. Mažekienė.”

Sigita snapped her mobile shut. Getting hold of it at all had been a challenge, and smuggling it into the loo with her even more difficult. The use of mobile phones was prohibited inside the hospital, except for a certain area in the lobby, which might as well have been the moon as far as she was