The Boy in the Suitcase - Lene Kaaberbol [67]
“No.”
Jan didn’t believe him.
“Stay away from me and my family,” he said. “I don’t want anything more to do with you. It’s over.”
A brief pause.
“Not until you pay,” said the Lithuanian, and then hung up.
Jan stood for a moment, trying to breathe normally. Then he banged the phone against the pavement a couple of times until he was confident it was thoroughly broken. He went into the foulsmelling bathroom, picked the SIM card from the wreckage of the phone, and flushed it down one of the toilets. He then wiped the phone itself thoroughly with wet paper towels and dumped it into the large garbage bin outside, stirring the contents with a twig until the phone had sunk from sight into the malodorous mix of apple cores, pizza cartons, ashtray contents and other road-trip debris.
What else?
He had to. He absolutely had to.
First the little plastic box. No more than two by two centimeters square, and a few millimeters thick. No larger, really, than the SIM card, but the few drops of blood trapped within contained coded information a thousand times more complex than the electronic DNA of the mobile phone. He ground it beneath his heel and dropped the remains into the garbage bin.
Then the photo. He took it from his wallet and looked at it one last time. Tried to come to terms with losing it, and everything it meant. Clicked his Ronson and let the tiny flame catch one corner and flare, before he let that, too, vanish into the bin, still smouldering.
He got back into the Audi and waited for his hands to stop shaking, at least enough so that it would be safe to drive on.
SIGITA’S MOBILE GAVE a muffled ring inside her purse the minute she opened her own front door. The sound went through her like a shockwave, and she emptied the purse onto the coffee table. Anything less drastic just wouldn’t let her get to it quickly enough.
“Yes?”
But it wasn’t Julija Baronienė, a change of heart. Nor was it an unfamiliar voice telling her what she should do to get Mikas back.
“LTV may be willing to broadcast a Missing Person alert on Mikas,” said Evaldas Gužas. “Particularly if you will come to the studio and make a direct appeal to the kidnappers.”
Sigita stood stock still. A few hours ago, she would have agreed without hesitation. But now … she thought of Julija Baronienė and her family, of their obvious fear. And of Zita, one nail missing.
“Wouldn’t that be dangerous for Mikas?” she asked.
She sensed his deliberation and almost thought she heard the clicking of his ballpoint pen accenting his thoughts.
“Have you heard from his abductors?”
“No.”
“This means that more than forty-eight hours have gone by without a single attempt at contact,” said Gužas. “Is this not so?”
“Yes.”
“This is most unusual. Instructions usually arrive promptly, to prevent the parents from calling the police.”
“Julija Baronienė did call.”
“Yes. Within hours of the girl’s disappearance. But less than twenty-four hours later, she withdrew her allegations.”
“And you think this was because she had been threatened.”
“Yes.”
“But that means it is dangerous.”
“It’s a question of weighing the options,” he said. “We have reported Mikas missing and sent out the description of his presumed kidnappers to every police station in Lithuania. We’ve contacted the police in Germany, where the boy’s father now lives. We have even approached Interpol, although there is no indication that Mikas has left Lithuania; on the contrary, the link to Mrs. Baronienė’s case gives us reason to believe that it is a local crime. All of this to no avail. We are no closer to locating your son, or his abductors. And this is why I’m considering asking the public for help.”
The public. The mere word sent tremors of unease through Sigita’s body.
“I’m really not sure… .”
“LTV would broadcast your appeal in connection with their latenight news show. We know that this usually causes a great many