The Boy in the Suitcase - By Lene Kaaberbol Page 0,7
were white roses from the garden in the blue vase on her desk. Outside Ellen’s Place the sun was shining on dusty lawns and white benches. Some of the children from the A Block were playing soccer. One team was yelling in Urdu and the other mostly in Romanian, but they seemed to understand each other all the same. Recess, thought Nina with a small, detached part of her brain. Her colleagues Magnus and Pernille had deserted her in favor of the cafeteria ages ago, and she could see the psychologist Susanne Marcussen having lunch with the new district nurse in the outside picnic area. It was 11:55, and except for the soccer game, a heavy siesta-like tranquility had descended on Danish Red Cross Center Furesø, a.k.a. the Coal-House Camp. Or at least, things had been tranquil until the man in front of her had marched into the clinic four minutes ago. She threw a quick look at the telephone on her desk, but whom would she call? The police? So far, he had done nothing illegal.
He was in his late forties, with medium brown hair swept back from his temples, tanned and immaculate in a short-sleeved Hugo Boss shirt and matching tie. Apparently no one had thought to stop him at the gate.
“Get out of my way,” he told her. “I’ll find her myself.”
Nina stood her ground. If he hits me, I can press charges, she thought. It would be worth it.
“This is not a public area,” she said. “I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”
This had even less effect than it had the first time. He looked straight through her to the corridor beyond.
“Natasha,” he called. “Come on. Rina is already waiting in the car.”
What? Nina tried to catch his eyes.
“She’s at school,” she blurted.
He looked down at her, and the smile that curled his lips was so smug that it physically sickened her.
“Not anymore,” he said.
A door clicked open softly. Without turning around, Nina knew that Natasha had come into the corridor.
“Don’t hurt her,” she said.
“Darling, as if I would,” said the man in the Boss shirt. “Shall we go home now? I bought pastries from that bakery you like.”
Natasha nodded briefly.
Nina involuntarily reached out to stop her, but the small, blond Ukrainian girl walked right past her without looking at her. Nina knew the girl was twenty-four, but right now she looked like a lost and terrified teenager.
“I go now,” she said.
“Natasha! You can report him!”
Natasha just shook her head. “For what?” she said.
The man put his hands around her slender neck and drew her close for a provocatively deep kiss. Nina could see the girl stiffen. He let his hands move down her back and slid them inside the tight waistline of her denim jeans until he was clutching both her buttocks. His hands bulged under the fabric. With an abrupt jerk, he forced her pelvis against his own.
Nina could taste the acid of her own stomach. She felt like taking the blue vase and smashing it against the head of that vicious bastard, but she didn’t. She knew that this was a show put on for her benefit, to sneer and parade his victory. The more reaction she gave him, the longer it would continue.
Nina still remembered the brilliant happiness of the Ukrainian girl when she showed off her engagement ring. “I stay in Denmark now,” she had said with a dazzling smile. “My husband is Danish citizen.”
Four months later she showed up at the center with one hastily packed bag and her six-year-old daughter, Rina. She looked as if she had dragged herself out of a war zone. There were no outer signs of violence except for a few minor bruises. Hitting her was not his thing, it seemed. Natasha wouldn’t tell them exactly what he did, she just sat there with tears she could not control rolling down her cheeks in a steady, unstoppable flow. At length, severe abdominal pains had forced her to agree to being examined by Magnus.
Nina had rarely seen Magnus so angry.
“Jävla skitstöfel,” he hissed. “Fy fan, I wish I knew someone with a baseball bat.” When Magnus was particularly upset, his native Swedish tended to come through in his swearing.
“What did he do?” said Nina. “What’s wrong with her?”
“If the bastard would only stick to using his miserable little prick,” said Magnus. “But you should see the lesions she has, in her vagina and in her rectum. I’ve never seen anything like it.”