The Cruel Stars of the Night - Kjell Eriksson [17]
She continued on down the corridor, still very warm and aware of her own body.
“Am I sick?” she muttered to herself, heading to the cafeteria, aware that if she could only hear other voices she would return to a state of relative normalcy. The loneliness made her feel even worse.
The cafeteria was mostly empty. Four patrol officers of unusually strong build were sitting close together at the far end of the room. They resembled a group of black animals, pressing up against each other in a tight circle, united, encircling a fallen prey, on their guard at their surroundings but also against others in their flock.
Lindell watched the one who was currently holding forth. He was gesticulating, emphasizing his story with large movements and conscious of his own importance. The others watched until they all burst into a roar of laughter that filled the whole room.
Lindell did not need these thundering hulks, not now. She sat down behind a big green plant, curled up with a cup of coffee and a pastry shielding her from the world, took a bite of the chocolate-dipped marzipan treat, looked down at her watch, and sighed heavily.
“Doesn’t it taste good?” came a voice from behind.
Lindell turned around.
“Mind if I sit here?”
It was Charles Morgansson from Forensics. Lindell nodded. Her colleague sat down. He also had a cup of coffee and an identical little pastry on his tray.
“Great minds think alike,” he said when he noticed her gaze.
He made a very light impression. It wasn’t simply his hair color and pale skin, he was also wearing a dazzling white T-shirt, with a Hugo Boss logo. A thin silver chain wound around his neck.
“How’s it looking?” he asked.
“A bit complicated. Blomgren hasn’t yielded many avenues of investigation and no one seems to have seen anything of interest.”
“And we couldn’t contribute much either,” Morgansson said and halved his treat with one bite.
“I know,” Lindell said.
Morgansson shot her a look, devoured the last of his pastry, and washed it down with coffee. Don’t go, she thought.
He put down his cup and looked at her. “Want to go to the movies?”
“What?”
“The movies, you’ve heard of them.”
He smiled. It was as if the police station did not exist, no investigations and no red-marked files, no bringing in for questioning, no preliminary investigations, everything that was Lindell’s life. She couldn’t answer.
“Are you okay?”
“Yes, of course, I was just a bit taken aback.”
Ann felt that she was blushing and was suddenly furious. At herself, at him, at the whole situation, in fact.
“I was planning to go tonight, take it easy, but it’s not as much fun to go alone. It’d be more fun if it was you and I.”
“You and me. Not you and I,” Ann said.
He smiled again. I don’t like that smile, she thought.
“You and me,” Morgansson repeated. “How about it?”
Is he hitting on me, she thought in amazement. It was as if a relay had kicked into place, admittedly in a system that was somewhat rusty but that nonetheless—after an initial resistance—started to function; energy pulsed into the cable network inside her and a fear-filled pleasure suffused her chest.
“Maybe,” she said, “but I have a son who I would have to find a sitter for.”
He nodded.
“But that shouldn’t be a problem,” she added.
Morgansson crumpled up the plastic wrap that had surrounded the pastry. He wore a metal band on the ring finger of his right hand.
“I don’t ask my friends for babysitting favors very often, so it should be fine.”
He nodded again.
“His name is Erik.”
“I know,” he said, “that you have a boy, I mean.”
“What were you planning to go see?”
Ann wished he would start talking so she didn’t have to say anything.
“I’ll take a look in the paper,” he said, “and give you a call. Catch you later.”
He got up, picked up his tray, and left. She looked at his powerful body. When he had left the cafeteria, the fury inside her grew. Who did he think he was? He had gone to the trouble of asking her, of course, but he also took her for granted. “Look in the paper.” “Give you a ring.” His casual