I drained the last few drops of the whiskey and leaned my head against the armrest. I really needed to get some sleep. I blinked a few times and tried to close my eyes even as I kept paging through the feed on my phone.
It started with an anonymous comment.
Bet her dad did it. The pastor. He probably found out his daughter was fucking Chris Olsen.
I sat up and eagerly scrolled down with my thumb.
My thoughts exactly. The dad! wrote one user who called himself Meow76. He soon found agreement in several others.
Everyone in Lund knows what type of person Adam Sandell is, wrote Misspiggylight. He’s always been weird.
In his next comment, Meow76 had copied and pasted my personal information. My full name, address, and phone number. Age and birthdate.
My chest was roiling. This was slander!
I grabbed my computer and hastily composed an email to the contact address of the forum in which I threatened to take legal action. Then I took screenshots and began to formulate a police report.
Ulrika came downstairs and I heard her open the wine fridge.
“Come here, honey!” I called.
After she read my email to the forum, I showed her the screenshots.
“This is slander, isn’t it?”
I pointed at the screen.
“Doubtful,” said Ulrika. “And whether it is or not, it hardly falls under public prosecution.”
“What does that mean?”
“That your report won’t lead to anything but a closed preliminary investigation.”
* * *
On Friday morning, two weeks after Chris Olsen’s murder, I woke up later than usual, disoriented and unsure what time it was or whether I’d slept for an hour or a whole night. When I hobbled down the stairs, Ulrika was leaning against the kitchen island in a terrycloth robe, her hair freshly washed. Two cups of coffee were steaming in front of her.
“The ME’s report is in,” she said. “They have established the time of Christopher Olsen’s death as between one and three A.M.”
My heart leaped.
“That means…”
Ulrika nodded.
“Cause of death, blood loss from penetrating trauma,” she stated matter-of-factly. “Two lacerations and four stab wounds.”
Whoever killed Christopher Olsen hadn’t just stuck him with a knife. It could hardly have been self-defense. Someone had stabbed him multiple times. There must have been tons of blood.
I thought of Stella’s stained blouse. Sure, Stella could become angry when she lost control. And it could happen quickly. But surely she couldn’t kill another human being.
“This kind of excess violence typically indicates that it was personal,” Ulrika said. “It’s likely that the perpetrator felt strong hatred toward the victim.”
“Like a vengeful ex-girlfriend?”
“For example.”
Ulrika blew on her coffee.
“Michael and I also talked about the apartment.”
“What apartment?”
“The one for overnights in Stockholm. We can move in next week. We won’t have to bring anything but the necessities.”
I burned my tongue on the coffee.
“Already? But … shouldn’t we think this all the way through?”
“I’ve made my decision,” she said curtly. “I can’t turn down this case.”
“But surely you’re not saying that we should leave Stella?”
“We’re not allowed to see her anyway! There’s nothing we can do before the trial.”
“You’ve already given up!”
“On the contrary, Adam. I’ve devoted my whole life to criminal justice. You’re going to have to trust me.”
I approached her. I got so close that I could feel the warmth of her breath.
“Let me go!” she said.
I looked down and discovered that my hands had grabbed her by the forearms.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to.”
Ulrika backed away.
“You’re becoming … I feel like I don’t know you.”
“What are you trying to say?”
“We have to stick together, honey. We’re a family.”
I squeezed my fists against my thighs.
“I’m doing everything I can to keep this family together. You’re the one shutting me out.”
“Michael is a skilled defense attorney,” said Ulrika. “He’s got a strategy, but he can’t reveal all the details to us. We have to trust him. He’s already broken his vow of confidentiality, don’t you understand that?”