The Boy in the Suitcase by Lene Kaaberbøl Read Free Book Online

course. When one worked for Dobrovolskij, there were unwritten accounts as well, numbers and sums that never made it into the official records. The reason Sigita had become indispensable to Algirdas so quickly was that she was able to hold it all in her head. Even old man Dobrovolskij himself, who was not easy to please, had come to trust in Sigita’s accuracy. She knew what had been agreed, down to the last litas.
    Except that right now she would have some trouble remembering her own phone number. The only thing her head held at the moment was a gray fog of nausea and confusion.
    “I’m really sorry,” she said. “I’m a little concussed.”
    This time, the silence was even heavier. She could almost hear the panic in Algirdas’s breathing.
    “How long … ?” he asked cautiously.
    “They say most people get their full memory back inside a few weeks.”
    “A few weeks !”
    “Algirdas, I didn’t do it on purpose.”
    “No … no. Of course not. We will just have to manage somehow. But… .”
    “Yes. As soon as I can.”
    “Take care.” He hung up. She let the hand holding the phone sink into her lap.
    Her head hurt. It was as though some great fist were squeezing it in rhythmic throbs, to match the beating of her pulse. She tapped out Darius’s number again.
    “You have called Darius Ramoška… .”
    She sat for a long time in one of the white wooden chairs by the kitchen table, trying to think.
    Then she called the police.

T HE BOY LAY unconscious on the back seat, with the checkered picnic blanket covering his thin, unmoving body. And Karin wasn’t answering her phone.
    Nina closed her eyes, trying to concentrate. 1:35. It should be 1:35… . Her hands shook slightly as she turned her wrist to check her watch. 1:36, stated the stark, digital numbers. Close enough. Relief flooded through her, making it a bit easier to think.
    Sorry, Karin, she silently told her friend. You ask too much, this time. She pulled the blanket a little higher so that it was not immediately obvious a child was asleep beneath it. Rolled down the window just a notch, so air would get into the car. Locked the Fiat and left, walking with long, quick strides she knew were nearly as fast as running.
    SHE CUT THROUGH the central hall of the railway station, heading for the green and white sign that proclaimed the local police presence. She entered the small office, wondering what one actually said in such a situation. Good afternoon, I’ve just found a child?
    The officer at the reception desk looked tired. Not the easiest job in Copenhagen, probably.
    “What can I do for you?” she asked.
    “Err … I have a child in my car—”
    Nina’s hesitant explanation was interrupted by a crackle from the woman’s radio. Nina couldn’t hear what was being said at the other end, but the officer snapped a hasty “Copy that. I’m on my way,” and headed for the door at a run.
    “Please wait here,” she called over her shoulder, but Nina had already followed her back into the central hall. She watched the officer and one of her uniformed colleagues fairly sprint for the stairwell leading down to the left luggage lockers. Following still further, into the basement, was not actually a conscious decision.
    She heard the racket as soon as she started down the stairs. Everyone in the facility had stopped their various baggage maneuvers, and some had already gathered at the entrance to the passage where locker number 37-43 was situated. Nina felt a warning flutter along her spine, like an insect moving over her skin, but she still had to look.
    A man was kicking at the metal doors with frightening ferocity. She caught a brief glimpse of the back of his head, hair clipped so short it looked almost shaved, and of a set of enormous shoulders encased in a shiny brown leather jacket that was surely too hot for this weather. When the officers reached him, he shook off the first one as if she were a child he no longer wanted to play with. Then he