13

“Would you please tell us as much as you can remember about the evening and night between October second and third.”

Havel had opened the session by warning all concerned: there would be new adjournments and proceedings behind locked doors if there were any further interruptions or indiscipline. Nevertheless, there was a murmur from the gallery in anticipation of Mitter’s answer.

“Where would you like me to begin?”

“From when you left school.”

“By all means.” Mitter cleared his throat. “I finished at three-thirty. Eva only had lessons in the morning, so we didn’t go home together. I had the car. Called in at Keen’s and bought a drop of wine.”

“How much wine?”

“How much? A case. Twelve bottles.”

“Thank you. Please go on.”

“I got home at half past four, or thereabouts. Eva had started preparing the evening meal, a casserole we were going to eat later on. She paused when I arrived, and we had a glass of wine and a cigarette on the balcony instead. It was very pleasant weather, and I suppose we sat outside for an hour or more.”

“What did you talk about?”

“Nothing special. School, books. .”

“You didn’t have any visitors?”

“No.”

“Any telephone calls?”

“Just the one, Bendiksen.”

“Who’s Bendiksen?”

“A good friend of mine. We’d planned a fishing trip for that Sunday. He rang about some detail or other.”

“What, precisely?”

“I can’t really remember. What time we should leave, I think.”

“No other telephone calls?”

“No.”

“Or visits?”

“No.”

“As far as you can remember?”

Ferrati smiled.

“Yes. As far as I can remember.”

“Okay, so you sat out on the balcony until about. . half past five, is that right?”

“Roughly.”

“How much did you drink?”

“I don’t know. A bottle, perhaps.”

“Each?”

“No, between us.”

“Not more?”

“Well, possibly.”

“And then? Please go on.”

“We went indoors and finished preparing the casserole.

Then we had a shower.”

“Separately, or. .?”

“No, together.”

“Go on!”

“We watched television for a while.”

“What program?”

“The news, and then a film.”

“What was the film?”

“I don’t remember. French, from the sixties, I think. We switched it off.”

“And then?”

“We went to the kitchen and started eating.”

“What time was it by now?”

“I don’t know. Presumably about half past eight. . nine o’clock. . something like that.”

“Why are you guessing that time?”

“The police showed me the TV program for that evening.

A French film started at eight o’clock.”

“But you don’t remember yourself?”

“No.”

“Thank you. Let’s assume that it’s correct even so. You and your wife are sitting in the kitchen, eating, round about nine o’clock. What happens next?”

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?”

“No. I have no memory of what happens after that.”

“You remember nothing more from the whole evening?”

“No.”

“But you have told the police that you had sexual intercourse with your wife as well. .”

“Yes.”

“Is that correct?”

“Yes, but it was the same time.”

“What do you mean?”

“It was at the same time as we were eating dinner.”

“You had intercourse while you were eating dinner?”

Somebody sighed in the gallery. Ferrati turned his head.

“Yes. More or less the same time.”

More muttering, and Havel picked up his gavel. But this time he didn’t even need to raise it. It was clear that he had the situation under control.

“What else do you remember from that evening?” Ferrati asked.

“Nothing, as I’ve already said.”

“Nothing?”

“No.”

“You don’t remember getting undressed and going to bed?

Or that your wife took a bath?”

“No. Would you kindly refrain from asking the same question over and over again!”

“Now, let’s get this straight, Mr. Mitter: you are accused of murder. I think it’s in your best interests for us to be a bit more precise. Just one more thing, before we move on to the next morning. How much did you drink during the course of the evening?”

“I don’t know. Six or seven bottles, perhaps. Between us, that is.”

“Wine?”

“Yes.”

“But surely you hadn’t managed to get through six bottles of wine when you were having your, er, intercourse dinner?”

Somebody giggled, and Ruger protested.

“Overruled!” Havel roared. “Answer the question!”

“No. . I don’t think so.”

“So I can draw the conclusion that you didn’t go to bed at about nine o’clock?”

“Yes, I suppose so.”

“In any case, you must have been pretty drunk-or what do you think, Mr. Mitter?”

“Yes.”

“I can’t hear you!” Havel bellowed.

“Yes, I was drunk.”

“Were you also drunk when you slapped your former wife a couple of times?”

“Why are you asking that?”

“Surely you must understand why?” said Ferrati with a smile.

“Objection!” shouted Ruger, but it was in vain.

“Yes, I was drunk then as well,” admitted Mitter. “Being drunk is not a crime, I hope.”

“Certainly not,” said Ferrati amiably. “And your wife, Eva Ringmar that is, was she also drunk?”

“Yes.”

“Was it usual for you to drink such amounts, Mr. Mitter?

Your wife had a blood alcohol count of over three hundred.”

“It happened.”

“Is it true to say that your wife had a drinking problem?”

“Objection!” shouted Ruger once more.

“Rephrase the question, please!” said Havel.

“Has your wife received clinical treatment for an alcohol problem?” asked Ferrati.

“Yes. That was six years ago. She received treatment at her own request. It was in connection with some very tragic incidents. . I think. .”

“Thank you, that will do. We know the details. What is your next memory?”

“Excuse me?”

“What’s the next thing you remember after the casserole and the sexual intercourse?”

“Waking up.”

“What time?”

“Twenty minutes past eight. The next morning.”

“Tell me what you did!”

“I got up. . and found Eva in the bathroom.”

“What about the state of the door-the bathroom door, that is?”

“It was locked. I opened it with a screwdriver.”

“Was it difficult to open?”

“No, not at all.”

“So you opened the locked door from the outside, no problem. Would you have been able to lock it from the outside as well?”

“Objection! My learned friend is forcing my cli-”

“Overruled! Answer the question!”

“I. . I suppose so.”

“You could have drowned your wife in the bathtub and then locked the door from the outside, is that right?”

Ruger started to stand up, but Havel raised a warning finger.

“Will the accused please answer the attorney’s question!”

Mitter moistened his lips.

“Of course,” he said calmly. “But I didn’t.”

Ferrati stood for a few seconds without saying anything.

Then he turned his back on Mitter, as if he could no longer bear to set eyes on him. When he started speaking again, he had sunk his voice half an octave, and spoke slowly, as if addressing a child. Trying to make it see reason.

“Mr. Mitter, you have no memories at all from that night, but nevertheless you maintain that you didn’t kill your wife.

You have had a month to think about it, and I have to say that I’d expected rather more logic from a teacher of philosophy.

Why can’t you at least admit that you can’t remember if you killed her or not?”

“I wouldn’t forget something like that.”

“Excuse me?”

“I wouldn’t forget having drowned my wife. I don’t remember having killed her. . ergo, I didn’t kill her.”

Ruger blew his nose. It might have been an attempt to divert attention from Mitter’s last words. If so, it failed because Ferrati repeated them, albeit somewhat distortedly.

Standing in front of the jury, only an arm’s length away, he intoned: “I don’t remember, therefore I’m not guilty! Might I request, members of the jury, that you consider these words carefully, and weigh their significance. What do you conclude?

I can see that you know the answer already-they weigh less than air! And that is characteristic of the whole case for the defense! Air, nothing but hot air!”

He turned to look at Mitter again.

“Mr. Mitter, for the last time. . why don’t you confess to killing your wife, Eva Ringmar, by drowning her in the bathtub? Why persist in being so stubborn?”

“May I point out that I’ve admitted it already, before the adjournment,” said Mitter. “Who’s being stubborn?”

The reply aroused considerable enthusiasm in the public gallery, and Havel was forced to resort to his gavel. Ferrati took the opportunity of consulting his assistant before confronting Mitter once again.

“Tell us what you did while waiting for the police!”

“I. . tidied up a bit.”

“What did you do with the clothes that you and your wife had been wearing the previous evening?”

“I washed them.”

“Where?”

“In the washing machine.”

Ferrati took off his glasses and put them into his inside pocket.

“While your wife was lying dead in the bath and you were waiting for the police to arrive, you took advantage of the opportunity to wash clothes?”

“Yes.”

New pause.

“Why, Mr. Mitter? Why?”

“I don’t know.”

Ferrati shrugged. Walked back and stood behind his chair.

Stretched both arms out wide.

“Your Honor, I have no more questions to ask the defendant.”

Havel looked at the clock.

“We have half an hour until lunch. How long does my learned friend require?”

Ruger stood up and took the floor.

“It’s enough. My client is under intense psychological strain, and I shall be very brief. Mr. Mitter, what about the door to your apartment? Was it locked or unlocked that night?”

“Unlocked. We never lock- er, we never used to lock the door when we were at home.”

“Not even at night?”

“No, never.”

“What about the entrance door to the apartment block, the street door?”

“It’s suppose to be locked, but I can’t remember it being locked for as long as I’ve lived there.”

Ruger turned to Havel and held up a sheet of paper.

“I have a signed statement from the landlord confirming that the outside door was not locked on the night in question.

Mr. Mitter, isn’t it true to say that anybody at all could have entered your apartment and murdered your wife during the night of October second?”

“Yes, I assume so.”

“If we take it that you fell asleep at, let’s say, ten o’clock or thereabouts, is it not possible that your wife might have left the apartment. .”

“Pure speculation!” protested Ferrati, but Havel merely gave him a look.

“. . left the apartment without your knowledge?” Ruger asked.

“I don’t think she did,” said Mitter.

“No, but it’s not impossible, is it?”

“No.”

“What other men friends did your wife have?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, she must surely have had other men as well as you-

I mean, you’d only been together for six months. She separated from her former husband, Andreas Berger, six years ago.

Do you know anything about relationships she had in the meantime?”

“She didn’t have any,” said Mitter abruptly.

Ruger looked surprised.

“How do you know that?”

“Because she said so.”

“Do I understand this rightly? Are you saying that your wife had no relationship at all with another man for six years?”

“Yes.”

“She was a beautiful woman, Mr. Mitter. How is that possible? Six years!”

“She didn’t have any other men. Have you got that into your head? I thought you were supposed to be my attorney.

My Lord, do I have the right to terminate this line of questioning?”

The judge looked somewhat confused, but before he had time to reach a decision, Ruger was speaking again.

“I apologize, Mr. Mitter. I merely want the matter to be clear to the jury as well. Allow me to take another approach.

Everyone agreed that your wife, Eva Ringmar, was a beautiful and attractive woman. Even if she didn’t want to enter into a m i n d ’ s e y e

relationship, surely there must have been other men who, er, expressed an interest?”

Mitter said nothing.

“Before you came into the picture, at least. What about the situation at your school, for example?”

But Mitter had no desire to answer, that was obvious. He leaned back and folded his arms.

“You’ll have to ask somebody else about that, my learned friend. I have nothing to add.”

Ruger hesitated a moment before putting his next question.

“Your quarrel at the Mephisto restaurant, referred to by the prosecuting attorney-it didn’t have to do with another man, by any chance?”

“No.”

“You’re certain?”

“Of course.”

Ferrati suddenly intervened.

“Are you jealous, Mr. Mitter?”

“Stop!” bellowed Havel. “Erase that question! You have no right to intervene at this stage, that was. .”

“I can answer it even so,” insisted Mitter, and Havel fell silent. “No, I’m no more inclined to jealousy than anybody else. Nor was Eva. And besides, neither of us had any need. I don’t understand what my attorney is getting at.”

Havel sighed and looked at the clock.

“If you have anything else to ask, please keep it short,” he said, turning to Ruger.

Ruger nodded.

“Of course. Just one more question, Mr. Mitter: Are you quite certain that your wife wasn’t lying to you?”

Mitter appeared to be pausing for effect before answering.

“One hundred percent certain,” he said.

Ruger shrugged.

“Thank you. No more questions.”

He’s lying, Van Veeteren thought. The man is sitting there and lying his way into jail.

Or. . or is he extending the premise of telling the truth in absurdum?

God only knows. But why? If he doesn’t miss her, why defend her as if she were an abbess?

And as he elbowed his way out through the crowd of

reporters, he decided to leave the pyromaniac lying in peace for another half day.

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