The Boy in the Suitcase - Lene Kaaberbol [39]
“Hi,” he said. “Are you feeling better?”
She didn’t reply to that.
“How did the meeting with Dobrovolskij go?” she asked instead.
“So-so. He wasn’t happy that you weren’t there.”
“But there wasn’t any … trouble?”
“Sigita, what is it you want?”
She didn’t know how much to say. She had never told Algirdas much about her personal life, and it seemed awkward to start now. But what if? What if Mikas’s disappearance had something to do with her job?
“Mikas is gone.”
He knew, she thought, that she had a son. She had brought Mikas along to the Christmas pantomime last year, when Janus Corporation had suddenly decided it needed to do something for the children of its employees.
“Mikas? Your little boy?”
“Yes. Someone has taken him.”
There was an awkward pause. She could almost hear the gears click inside Algirdas’s mind as he tried to work out whether this would rock his boat in any way. Algirdas was a pleasant enough employer most of the time, friendly, informal, not a bully or a tyrant. But she sometimes thought that he felt the same way about his staff as she did about computers: they were just supposed to work—he didn’t care what was inside.
And now I don’t work anymore, she thought. And he doesn’t know whom to call in order to get me repaired.
“Does this have anything to do with your concussion?” he finally asked.
“Possibly. I don’t remember what happened. I thought Mikas was with Darius, but he isn’t.”
“But why are you asking about Dobrovolskij?”
“Pavel Dobrovolskij has a silver Cayenne. And Mikas was taken away in a gray or silver SUV.” She was aware that she was twisting facts to provide more substance for her suspicions than they really warranted. But if it was Dobrovolskij, then Mikas didn’t belong to the second category. If it was Dobrovolskij, one could find out what he wanted, and then do whatever it took to get Mikas back.
“Sorry, Sigita, but you’re off your head. Why the hell would Dobrovolskij take your boy? Besides, I think Pavel sold the Cayenne. He said it was easier to fit an elephant into a matchbox than to park that monstrosity in downtown Vilnius. Did you tell the police?”
“Yes.”
“Let them deal with it, then.”
“But they’re not doing anything! There’s just this one pathetic man clicking his bloody ballpoint pen!”
“What does his pen have to with anything?”
“And he says they will look for Mikas now, but I don’t think anything is really happening. They’re never found. Not the ones where it’s not personal.” She realized she was being incoherent. Knew, too, that this was entirely the wrong way to be with Algirdas, that it would only make him retreat. She forced herself to breathe more calmly, waiting until the words presented themselves in the proper order. “Algirdas, I have to know if you are involved in something that Dobrovolskij wouldn’t like. Or if any of the payments have been incorrect.”
“Bloody hell, Sigita. It’s your autistic head that’s keeping track of everything. I just pony up when you tell me to.”
Normally, she would be able to remember. Normally she would know if even a single litas was missing.
“Besides, you’re making him sound like a gangster. He isn’t.”
“But he knows people who are,” she said stubbornly. In the river below the steps, a black plastic garbage bag was floating past, buoyed up by the air trapped inside. For one horrible moment all Sigita could think about was that it was large enough to contain a dead child.
“Look, Sigita. I’m really sorry your boy has disappeared, but Dobrovolskij can’t possibly be involved. For God’s sake, don’t get him mixed up in this.”
She didn’t say goodbye. She barely managed to turn off the mobile before her abdomen contracted, and she threw up orange juice and warm stomach acids all over her skirt and bare legs.
NINA TURNED JUST quickly enough to see the boy’s shadow disappear from the doorway. She heard the rapid patter of his bare feet through the living room, then the creak of a door. Her own legs were momentarily paralyzed by a hot, melting sensation, and