The Boy in the Suitcase - Lene Kaaberbol [9]
Magnus appeared in the doorway, out of breath and glasses askew, and big beads of sweat everywhere in his large, kind dog-face.
“Natasha,” he gasped out. “I just saw her getting into a car.”
“Yes,” said Nina. “She went back to the Bastard.”
“For helvete da!”
“He took Rina first. And then Natasha just followed.”
Magnus sank into his office chair.
“And of course she won’t report him.”
“No. Can’t we do it?”
Magnus took off his glasses and polished them absentmindedly on the lapel of his white coat.
“All he has to say is that it’s nobody’s business if he and his fiancée like rough sex,” he said dejectedly. “If she won’t contradict him . . . there’s nothing we can do. He doesn’t hit her. There are no X-rays of broken arms or ribs that we can beat him over the head with.”
“And he doesn’t abuse the child,” sighed Nina.
Magnus shook his head.
“No. We could report him for that, at least. But he is too smart for that.” He looked at the clock on the wall. It was 12:05. “Aren’t you going to lunch?”
“I seem to have lost my appetite,” said Nina.
At that moment, her private phone vibrated in the pocket of her uniform. She took it.
“Nina.”
The voice at the other end did not introduce herself, and at first she wasn’t sure who it was.
“You have to help me.”
“Err … with what?”
“You have to pick it up. You know about such things.”
It was Karin, she realized. Last seen at a somewhat inebriated Old Students Christmas Lunch, which had ended in a furious shouting match.
“Karin, what’s wrong? You sound weird.”
“I’m in the cafeteria at Magasin,” said Karin, naming the oldest department store in Copenhagen. “It was the only place I could think of to go. Will you come?”
“I’m working.”
“Yes. But will you come?”
Nina hesitated. Suddenly, all kinds of things were in the air. Old favors. Unsettled accounts. And Nina knew full well she owed Karin at least this much.
“Okay. I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”
Magnus raised his eyebrows.
“I’m having lunch after all,” said Nina. “And, err … I’ll probably be at least an hour.”
He nodded distractedly. “Oh, all right. I suppose we can hold the fort without you.”
MRS. RAMOŠKIENĖ!”
A piercing light struck one of Sigita’s eyes. She tried to twist away but found she couldn’t, someone was holding her, someone held her head in a firm grip.
“Mrs. Ramoškienė, can you hear me?”
She was unable to answer. She couldn’t even open her eyes on her own.
“It’s no use,” said a different voice. “She’s out of it.”
“Whew. That’s a bit ripe.”
Yes, thought Sigita dizzily. There really was a foul odor, of raw spirits and vomit. Someone ought to clean this place up.
“MRS. RAMOŠKIENĖ. It will be a lot easier if you can do some of it yourself.”
Do what? She didn’t understand. Where was she? Where was Mikas?
“We have to insert a tube in your throat. If you can swallow as we push, it will be less uncomfortable.”
Tube? Why would she want to swallow a tube? Her confused brain took her back to the absurd bets of the schoolyard. Here’s a litas if you eat this slug. Here’s a litas that says you’re too chicken to swallow the earthworm alive. Then a grain of logic asserted itself. She must be in a hospital. She was in a hospital, and they wanted her to swallow a plastic tube. But why?
She couldn’t swallow, as it turned out. Couldn’t help. Couldn’t stop herself from struggling, which brought a new pain, sharp enough to pierce the fog of her confusion. Her arm. Oh God, her arm.
It is very hard to scream with a plastic tube in your throat, she discovered.
“MIKAS.”
“What is she saying?”
“Where is Mikas?”
She opened her eyes. They felt thickened and strange, but she forced them to open all the same. The light was blinding, and white as milk. She could only just make out two women, darker shapes amidst the whiteness. Nurses, or aides, she couldn’t make out the details. They were making the bed next to hers.
“Where is Mikas?” she said, as clearly as she was able.
“You must be quiet, Mrs. Ramoškienė.”
An accident, she thought, I’ve been in an accident. A car, or perhaps the trolley bus.