The Princess of Burundi - Kjell Eriksson [37]
She was grateful for Beatrice. She would never have thought that her colleague would one day come to mean so much to her. Beatrice had always seemed like an iron lady with principles to boot. Ann had tentatively sought her out, eager for the friendship but dreading her judgment.
She often felt like a wandering sheep, driven hither and thither by her violent feelings for Edvard, her—in her own opinion—adolescent desire to have a man in her life, and her vacillating emotions toward the child.
But Beatrice had not judged her. Quite the opposite: the feeling of rivalry that had once existed between the two officers had dissipated and Beatrice had become a close friend, something that Ann had missed ever since she had left Ödeshög. Sometimes she imagined that it had to do with the fact that Beatrice no longer had to compete with her, now that Ann was incapacitated, away from her post, bound to the little bunting.
Ottosson, their chief, had always treated Ann as his favorite, supporting her and showing her small favors, although always in private since he was careful not to jeopardize the group camaraderie. But Beatrice must have sensed it anyway, perhaps feeling unjustly ignored.
Whatever the case, Ann was happy over Beatrice’s interest in her as a personal friend. It was an unfamiliar feeling. From talking exclusively about work, they now shared so much more as friends.
She called Ottosson. She knew she would not be able to contain herself, so she called right away.
Ottosson chuckled delightedly at the sound of her voice. Lindell felt that he could see through her. He filled her in on the case, and, as she had suspected, they did not have much to go on. She had never heard of Little John before, but she knew Lennart. She didn’t think it such a good idea that Sammy was the one assigned to question him. Those two had never really hit it off, but she didn’t say anything about her reservations. She remembered the notorious small-time crook as arrogant.
As she listened to Ottosson’s report she was filled with an overwhelming desire to be back at work. She heard in his voice that he was stressed, but he still took the time to talk to her. Lindell sat at her kitchen table. Out of habit she had grabbed a pad and started making notes.
She could see it all in her mind, the morning meeting, the colleagues bent over their desks with a phone in their hands or in front of a computer screen. Haver’s receptive face, Sammy’s slightly careless style, Fredriksson staring into space while he unconsciously pulled on his nose with his fingertips. Lundin in the toilet, no doubt soaping up his hands, Wende searching the database, Beatrice gritting her teeth and methodically working her way through the list of names and addresses, and Ryde, the sullen forensic specialist, pondering and wise behind his mask of gruffness.
She wanted to be back there again, soon. The little one whimpered. She unconsciously put a hand to her breast and stood up. What was the reason for the murder? she wondered. Drugs? Debts? Jealousy? She threw a last glance at her notes and then walked slowly to Erik’s room.
He lay on his back, looking either at a spot on the ceiling or at the colorful bells that hung above the crib. Ann looked at him. Her little one, her poor boy. His eyes fixed on her and he let out a soft whimper.
When she picked him up his face came to rest against her throat. The special blend of sweet and sour smells that rose from the chubby body, now resting warm and heavy against her chest, made her hug him gently and coo at him.
Ann carefully laid him in her unmade double bed, unbuttoned her blouse and the nursing bra, and lay down beside him. He knew what was coming and his arms worked with furious anticipation.
The little one sucked eagerly while Ann adjusted herself into a comfortable position. She stroked