A man in the gallery laughs and the bearded man next to me gives me an encouraging smile.
“Plato is my favorite philosopher,” Stella says.
“I’ve always preferred Socrates, myself,” Jansdotter responds.
“That doesn’t surprise me.”
Michael hides a chuckle with one hand. The lay judges turn to each other and a small smile appears even on Presiding Judge G?ran Leijon’s lips.
“Amina didn’t sleep with Chris Olsen,” Stella says, and the merry atmosphere dies out as quickly as it appeared.
Jenny Jansdotter is about to formulate another question, but Stella isn’t finished yet. She raises a hand. Her voice is thin and shaky.
“Amina never slept with anyone. She was … is … a virgin.”
88
I dig through my handbag for a wet wipe. My heart is in my throat and the sweat keeps coming even though I dab incessantly at my forehead. It’s as if the heat has forced its way into my brain and is making my thoughts boil.
Stella is slowly shrinking before my eyes. I don’t know if it’s an optical illusion or if her shoulders are dropping and her body is curling in on itself.
What are her motives? For eight interminable weeks, Stella has been locked up in jail with full restrictions.
Naturally she is doing this for Amina’s sake. But that’s not a sufficient explanation. There would have been other paths for Stella to take. Simpler paths. The only reasonable conclusion is that she is doing all of this, that she is sitting before me now with sunken shoulders and glassy eyes, not just for Amina but also for us. For Adam and me. For our family.
I have wished many a time that I too had had a friend like Amina. Ever since preschool she and Stella have been more or less inseparable. Certainly they have had their share of conflict and discord, but in the end their unshakeable solidarity has overcome every imaginable obstacle. At least until now.
I cannot imagine anything that could feel more secure than having an ally in life the way Stella and Amina have always had each other. Perhaps my life would have been different if I had been open to such an intimate friendship. To be sure, I had a few best friends in middle and high school, but even then I had begun to erect walls around the deepest parts of me. I have always considered it a weakness to show my emotions in front of other people.
I pat my forehead again and try to look poised. The bearded man beside me rustles a bag of candy and chews with his mouth open as the prosecutor presents the forensic evidence. A lab technician is called in and explains to the court that there can be no doubt that the shoe print discovered at the scene of the crime came from Stella’s shoe. The print was found just a few feet from Christopher Olsen’s body and there was a bit of blood spatter in it, which indicates that the print was made before Olsen was stabbed. Since there were rain showers on Friday morning, one can also draw the conclusion that the earliest Stella could have been at the playground was lunchtime on the day leading up to the murder.
When My Sennevall takes the stand, there is a change in the atmosphere. It’s as if everyone is afraid that this frail girl, with her guarded gaze and unkempt hair, is about to go to pieces right in front of them. Both the prosecutor and Michael lower their voices when they pose questions. My Sennevall shoots paranoid glances around for some time before responding.
“You say you heard shouting at one o’clock,” Michael says. “Can you describe how it sounded?”
My Sennevall looks at him for a long time.
“It sounded like someone was getting stabbed. He screamed several times, like someone was stabbing him with a knife.”
Naturally, Michael questions her on this. How could she possibly know that the screams were coming from someone being stabbed?
“If he’d been shot I would have heard the gun,” My Sennevall says.
The bearded journalist rolls his eyes.
“Would you like to tell us a little about your health?” Michael says. “Is it true that you see a psychiatrist regularly?”
I’m only listening with one ear as My Sennevall shares her sad life story. When she leaves the courtroom, she does so as an even more broken woman. The door sounds like it gives a sigh of relief as it closes behind her.
The testimonies that follow are quick and without sensation. Stella’s colleagues from H&M, Malin and Sofie, confirm that Stella always has pepper spray in her purse, and that she had the purse with her that Friday night. The prosecutor displays a spray bottle and both witnesses verify that the one Stella owns is exactly the same.
The police technicians present the same spray bottle to the court and explain that, by way of chemical analysis, it has been confirmed that the traces of liquid found on Christopher Olsen’s body are identical to the brand of pepper spray that Stella owned.