“I’m sorry,” I said. “Go on.”
He took a deep breath and kept reading.
“LL—that stands for Linda Lokind,” he said with a glance at me. “LL: ‘I guess maybe … I don’t know. Sometimes I’m not sure if stuff really happened or if it’s just my imagination. It felt like it happened for real. It honestly did.’”
Blomberg looked at us, his expression serious, before he went on.
“LI: ‘Have you said things that aren’t true, Linda? All I want is for the truth to come out.’ LL: ‘I don’t know. I don’t remember. Everything is, like, blurry, reality and … and … my dreams.’”
I didn’t know what to think. This seemed insane. Wasn’t Linda able to differentiate between dreams and reality?
Blomberg folded up the interrogation report and handed it to Ulrika.
“It goes on like that. Linda Lokind doesn’t know what really happened and what is just fantasies or dreams. A real fruitcake, in other words. No wonder the preliminary investigation was closed.”
Ulrika paged through the document.
“So Christopher Olsen never assaulted Linda?”
Okay, maybe that was true. But that Linda couldn’t tell what was a dream and what was reality—I had trouble buying that. In fact, I was certain that she was extremely conscious of her lies. There was something she was hiding. From me, from the police, from everyone. And I had to find out what it was.
39
Ulrika and I left Blomberg’s office and zigzagged our way along the narrow sidewalks of Klostergatan. An older man in a khaki-colored overcoat stopped suddenly in front of us, staring at me as if I were a ghost. I passed him quickly, my eyes on the shop windows.
We slipped into a coffee shop, got a table in a hidden corner in the back, and had espresso and cream-and-marzipan pastries.
“You look different,” Ulrika said.
“More awake? I actually managed to get some sleep.”
She looked at me for a long time, taking in every millimeter of my face. It made me feel safe, as if her eyes were caressing me with warmth and gentleness.
“I know what it is. Your collar,” she said. “I’m not used to seeing you without your clerical collar.”
I tucked in my chin and looked down at my neck. I’d hardly reflected over the fact that I had taken it off. It wasn’t as if I had made a conscious decision. In the past few days, I had simply forgotten to put it on.
“Do you want to read it?” Ulrika asked, placing the preliminary investigation report on the table.
We divided the pages between us and took turns reading. Occasionally we sighed, looking at each other and shaking our heads.
There was no doubt that Linda Lokind seemed like a confused person who constantly gave conflicting information. Based on what came out in the investigation, a person could hardly blame the prosecutor for clearing Christopher Olsen of all suspicion. Linda Lokind’s accusations appeared to have been fabricated by a vindictive and mentally unstable partner who had been cheated on and abandoned. But was it really that simple?
* * *
When we left the café, Ulrika wanted to make a quick round of the shops downtown.
“I need a new scarf. It’ll only take half an hour, max.”
“Half an hour?”
She tugged at my arm.
“I don’t like it,” I said.
“What’s that?”
“How people are looking.”
“I’ll be quick,” she promised.
And, muttering, I followed her into ?hléns, crowded my way past people with lowered heads and sweat under their arms. All the while I stuck close by Ulrika. When we finally came back out, I handed a twenty-kronor bill to the shivering woman outside the entrance. She asked God to bless me.
“A quick run to H&M too?” Ulrika said.
“Not H&M. I can’t.”
“Just let them look.”
“But they might ask questions. The staff.”
She looked at me and stroked my elbow.
“It will all be over soon. Once we move away…”
I steeled myself and walked into the stuffy warmth of H&M just behind my wife; we went straight up the stairs. When I caught sight of a girl from the staff, I darted into the men’s department and headed for the back of the store. Using my back as a wall to keep out the rest of the world, I grabbed a few shirts and pressed so close to the racks that the scent of newness tickled my nose.
Several minutes passed as I stood there up against the chalk-line printed garments. Wasn’t Ulrika finished yet? I took a step to the side to check.