Chapter 23

Totally and utterly alone.

Deserted and misunderstood, my rights trampled on. Subject of a terrible mistake. Victim of a dreadful plot. Exhausted and in despair.

I’d never felt so despondent, so completely helpless. For three hours I waited for Philip de Reuter.

In the meantime, I went over my cell inch by inch. The bed was made of grey metal. I lifted it and found that it was as heavy as lead. The wardrobe was metal, too, a cold greyish blue. There was a desk in front of the window, made of a pale, unrecognisable wood, like the chair. A shelf on the wall, supported by two strong brackets. It was empty, of course. The curtains were thick and had green and blue stripes. The floor covering was grey and full of rips and blotches. There was a tiny enclosed space with a basin and toilet of brushed steel as well. It smelt of urine and lavatory cleaner. I lay down on the bed with my hands behind my head, and waited for the sound of a key in the door, waited for this de Reuter to appear and get me out. Out of this ridiculous mix-up. Preferably this very evening, because the whole thing was impossible, and I was still confused. People spent years in these cells, I mused, as I lay there trying to rest. How did they manage to survive it? Maybe they screamed all night long, thumped on the walls and banged their beds about. I wasn’t sure what to expect. At the moment it was still completely quiet. Nothing could be heard except my own nervous breathing in the room. Personally, I wasn’t planning any noisy demonstrations. I have a modicum of self-respect. Occasionally I dozed off, but only lightly. After a while I began to hear a few, muffled sounds. So there are people here after all, I thought, and that must be Janson doing his rounds. Perhaps he’d already taken a look at me through the window in the door. The notion that someone could observe me without my knowledge was exceedingly unpleasant.


Even though I’d been expecting it, even though I’d been imagining everything that would happen from now on, I started when the key turned in the lock. I sat up. A man appeared in the door, dressed in a well-fitting suit, and with a rather stylish briefcase under his arm. He was young, in his mid-thirties perhaps, with a large head of curly hair, and a deep red tie like a stripe of blood from his neck. He was lean, with long slender hands, and bright, dark eyes behind his oval glasses.

‘De Reuter,’ he said, holding out his hand. ‘How are you? Have you got everything you need?’

I took his hand; it was thin and dry. He pulled the chair away from the window, moved it to the middle of the floor and sat down, laying the briefcase on his lap. He adjusted his glasses and sent me one of those quick glances I would come to know so well. Suddenly I felt my anger rising.

‘Have I got everything I need? You’re not being serious, are you? I’ve been picked up by two policemen and hauled off to the station, and then thrown into this cramped cell. And they’re claiming I’ve killed an old woman. And you ask if I’ve got everything I need? What kind of question is that?’

De Reuter didn’t bat an eyelid. He sat calmly on his chair and gazed at me with his dark eyes. I noticed the creases of his trousers, they were as sharp as knives.

‘We’ll put a defence together,’ he said. ‘But you’ll have to co-operate.’

‘Of course,’ I said, trying to calm down. ‘But you must get me out of this. I didn’t kill Nelly Friis. We found her dead in her bed. She was eighty-seven, and I had nothing to do with it. I just want to make that clear—’

‘Who was it who found her?’ de Reuter cut in.

‘Dr Fischer. He’d gone in to give her an injection. He came to fetch us from the ward office to make the report. But there was nothing unusual about the death, I can’t understand where these rumours have sprung from. What are they saying? The police. About how she died?’

De Reuter touched his hair with his slim, delicate hand.

‘They suspect that a pillow was used,’ he said. ‘That’s the way it’s usually done, in murders of this type. You know, the pillow is lying there to hand, and it’s all over in a minute. Randers is really on the warpath, he thinks they’ve got a case. It was the funeral directors who raised the alarm. Well, in consultation with Dr Fischer. They discovered some abnormalities and contacted the police.’

‘What sort of abnormalities?’

‘Her face seemed compressed. And there was some extravasation — leakage of blood — in her eyes. They’re indications of suffocation.’

He removed his glasses and looked at me intently.

‘Is there anything I ought to know?’

‘I’ve worked at Løkka for more than eleven years,’ I explained. ‘And I’ve never been in the habit of killing the patients. Why should I do such a thing?’

De Reuter folded his arms. Once again I was struck by his neat hands, they were like the hands of a girl, clean and white.

‘At the moment they’re not saying a lot about motive. They assume that will become clear later on. As for Randers, he’s the cocksure type, as I’m sure you’ll have noticed. They say he can smell guilt a long way off. And without trying to be demoralising, he does have a very high success rate. But then, so do I. So don’t worry.’

I rose from the bed and took a couple of short steps, but immediately ran into the desk and had to turn.

‘Randers thinks he’s on top of the situation,’ I said dejectedly. ‘But he’s wrong. If you only knew just how wrong he is!’

‘Sit down,’ de Reuter said calmly. ‘Don’t fret, you’ll only make yourself anxious. We’ll go through everything, you and I, so that we understand one another. Do you want to plead not guilty to the charge?’

‘Yes. I’m pleading not guilty,’ I said. ‘This is a conspiracy. The other members of staff have turned against me, and I have no idea why. But I’ve noticed that something’s been going on. There’s been an odd feeling of ill will on the ward for a long time, that’s the only way I can describe it. And I couldn’t understand it. But now it’s become crystal clear. They’ve all been plotting to get me, it’s totally reprehensible.’

De Reuter took out a pad and pen. He came over to the bed and put them on my lap.

‘Write down the names of the people you want me to alert,’ he said.

‘What do you mean, alert?’

‘I’m thinking of friends and relatives who need to know what’s happened. And where you are.’

‘I have no friends or relatives,’ I said.

‘Surely you’ve got someone?’

‘No. Nobody.’

‘Neighbours, perhaps?’

‘I don’t speak to them. No one needs to be alerted. This is a huge mistake. And if someone has killed Nelly Friis, I’ll find out who did it. I work there, I know them all. There’s something evil going on here. Did you hear what I said? Evil!’

De Reuter seated himself again. He seemed thoughtful.

I patted my empty trouser pockets.

‘They took my keys. Will they ransack my house?’

‘Will they find anything if they do?’ he asked glibly.

‘Of course not,’ I said. ‘A few sickly house plants. An old computer. A bit of food in the fridge. I have no secrets in the house. When will the case come up? Will I have to spend weeks of uncertainty in here?’

‘It does happen,’ de Reuter said. ‘But for your sake, I hope not. Remand is tough, it’s a no-man’s-land.’

‘There were plenty of other people besides me who visited Nelly Friis the day she died,’ I explained. ‘People are always dying on our ward. They’re old and sick.’

De Reuter shook his head. He stared down at the small, blank pad.

‘Not even one relation?’


Janson came to my cell that evening.

I liked Janson immediately, because he was strong and solid, and he didn’t seem concerned about what I’d been charged with, but only with me and my welfare. He wanted to know if I’d got on with my lawyer. And if there was anything I needed. I had something to eat and drink and then settled on the bed. The light was beginning to fade, the sky had turned dark blue outside my cell window. There were twenty of us on the block, Janson had told me, and muffled sounds were coming from some of the other cells. It wasn’t sufficient to disturb me, but was more like a soothing background hum, and I imagined I was a passenger in a great ship that was steaming steadily through the night. Having lain there a good while, and pondered the strange state of my affairs, I finally fell asleep.

I awoke a little later in the night to hear a feeble moaning; it seemed to be coming from the adjacent cell. It was a sad whimpering sound, and I hoped the duty officers would deal with it and calm him as quickly as possible, because the noise was increasing and getting on my nerves. It sounded as if he was begging for his life. The whining was remarkably familiar, and I listened to it with my whole being. I was also disturbed by something else. Something which gradually became all-pervasive. A ghastly smell filled the room. I thought that the smell, too, was coming from the next cell, that it was seeping in through the ventilator I’d noticed high up on the wall. A sweet, cloying smell, the smell of something rotting.

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