Agnes Thelin asked if I’d been in contact with Stella that evening and I told her that I had sent a text, but I didn’t remember what she responded, or even whether she responded at all.
“Is it typical for Stella not to answer texts?”
I shrugged. “You have teenagers.”
“But we’re talking about Stella right now.”
I explained that it wasn’t unusual at all. She often answered sooner or later, but later was common. Sometimes much later. Nor was it unusual for the response, when it arrived, to consist solely of a smiley face or a thumbs-up.
“Who was the friend?”
I had to swallow.
“What do you mean?”
“Who was the friend Stella was planning to meet? The one she was going out with?”
I stared down at the table.
“Stella had told my wife she was going to meet up with her friend Amina. But we’ve asked Amina, and they didn’t see each other on Friday.”
“Why do you think Stella was lying?”
Her choice of words was infuriating.
“She wasn’t lying. Amina told us they had been planning to meet up, but plans changed.”
“What do you think she did instead?”
I didn’t answer. Why would I speculate? Surely my thoughts didn’t mean much.
“Do you know what she did instead?” Agnes Thelin asked.
That was a more reasonable question.
“No.”
Agnes Thelin flipped through her papers again in silence. It probably only took a few seconds, really, but it was enough for the silence to seem meaningful, somehow.
“What kind of phone does Stella have?” the chief inspector asked.
I explained it was an iPhone, but that I always get the models mixed up. It was white, in any case, I could tell her that much.
“Does she have more than one of them?” Agnes Thelin asked.
“More than one? No.”
Obviously the police would find her phone in our house, and take it into evidence. For a moment I wondered if I should mention to Thelin that Stella had forgotten her phone at home, but I decided not to. It sounded strange for an eighteen-year-old to forget her phone. As if it meant something was wrong.
“Do you know if Stella has access to pepper spray?”
“Pepper spray? The kind the police use?”
“Exactly. Does Stella have a spray bottle like that?”
“Of course not. Is that even legal?”
I felt nauseated.
“What time was it when you went to bed on Friday?” Agnes Thelin asked.
“Eleven, maybe a little after.”
“Did you fall asleep right away?”
“No, I couldn’t sleep.”
“So you lay awake for a long time?”
I drew a breath. My mind was whirling. Fuzzy images of Stella as a little girl, a proud teenager, a grown woman. My little girl. Our family: Ulrika, Stella, and me. The photograph on the windowsill.
“I lay awake, waiting for Stella. I suppose it doesn’t matter how old your child gets, you never stop worrying about them.”
Agnes Thelin nodded. I think she understood.
What happened next is hard to explain.
I hadn’t planned it. I had come to the interrogation with every intention of sharing what I knew. Not once had I considered deviating in the least from the truth.
“So you were awake when Stella came home?”
Agnes Thelin’s eyes were large and inviting.
“Mmhmm.”
“I’m sorry?”
“Yes,” I said, my tone sharper. “I was awake when Stella came home.”
“Do you have an idea of what time that was?”
“I know exactly what time it was.”
What is a lie? Just as there are different sorts of truths, there must be different sorts of lies. White lies, for example—I’ve never shied away from those. Better a kind lie than a hurtful truth, I’ve always thought.
But of course, this was different.
“It was eleven forty-five when Stella came home.”
Chief Inspector Thelin stared at me and the Eighth Commandment twisted in my gut like a snake. The Bible says that he who tells a lie must perish. But at the same time: my God is just and forgiving.
“How do you know that?” asked Agnes Thelin. “So precisely, I mean.”
“I looked at the clock.”
“What clock?”
“On my phone.”
There’s a verse in the Gospels that says a house divided cannot stand. I realized I had forgotten about my family. Neglected it. Taken it for granted. I hadn’t been the father and spouse I should have been.