Ulrika had made the arrangements to get him here.
“I did not attack Jansdotter” was all I managed to get out.
“Of course you didn’t,” said Blomberg. “These charges are completely absurd. You have no reason to worry.”
I was stuck in a nightmare.
“I understand that this is awful,” said Agnes Thelin, “and that you’re not feeling well.”
Blomberg’s hand shot out.
“I’m having increasing doubts about how you conduct your work around here,” he said.
I looked at him. At last he was doing something.
Agnes Thelin went on as if nothing was amiss.
“What I’m going to say now will seem shocking and terrible at first, but in the long run I believe it will come as a relief to you, Adam.”
I turned to Blomberg, who fingered the knot of his tie.
“I know you’re just trying to protect your daughter,” said Chief Inspector Thelin. “But that is no longer possible.”
A sudden calm descended over me. I didn’t understand where it had come from. The pounding in my forehead ceased and the saliva streamed into my mouth once again. My vision cleared. It was as if the moment had caught up with me at last.
“Yesterday I went to the jail to question Stella again,” said Agnes Thelin. “Quite a bit of new information came out.”
I pictured what was about to happen, in the span of a few seconds. The future was a movie playing in my head just before it occurred in reality.
“Stella says she did not come home as early as you claim.”
“No?”
“She believes it was past one o’clock, maybe closer to two.”
“No, that’s not right.” I shook my head firmly. “She was drunk. She’s mistaken about the time.”
Second after second vanished. I looked at Blomberg, who looked at Thelin, who looked at me. We knew, all three of us, that this was an act and nothing more. A performance.
“That’s not all Stella had to say.”
I filled my lungs with air.
“She was there,” said Agnes Thelin. “Stella was there on the playground at Pilegatan when Chris Olsen died.”
“No,” I said. “No, that’s not true.”
“She has confessed to being there, Adam.”
My vision flickered again. The air caught in my throat.
“No,” I said over and over. “No, no, no.”
“She has confessed.”
PART TWO
THE DAUGHTER
What do you think, would not one tiny crime be wiped out by thousands of good deeds?
FYODOR DOSTOYEVSKY, CRIME AND PUNISHMENT （TRANS. CONSTANCE GARNETT） He knew that henceforth, all his days would resemble one another, and bring him equal suffering. And he saw the weeks, months, and years gloomily and implacably waiting for him, coming one after the other to fall upon him and gradually smother him.
éMILE ZOLA, THéRèSE RAQUIN （TRANS. EDWARD VIZETELLY）
42
The worst part about this cell isn’t the rock-hard bed you can hardly flip over in. It’s not the dim light. It’s not even the disgusting rings of old piss in the toilet. The worst part is the smell.
I have to confess that I was one of those people who thought the Swedish correctional system was a straight-up chain of decent hotels. That it was hardly punishment to be locked up in this country. I believed it was more or less like an after-school program where you could just chill, lie in bed and binge TV series, get fed pretty good stuff, and not have to care about anything.
I said in school one time that I didn’t understand why there were homeless people in Sweden, and that I would much rather be in prison than live on the street.
After six weeks in jail I will never again say I want to be locked up, or that I think it’s like a hotel.
My room is under one hundred square feet. They call it a room because cell sounds more depressing. One hundred square feet is like the size of a horse’s stall. It’s smaller than most Swedish backyard greenhouses. It has a bed, a desk, a chair and a shelf, a toilet and a sink.
I don’t want anyone to feel sorry for me. I’m in here for a reason, and I’m not a victim. I ache all over, I’ve lost weight, and my thoughts plague me like tinnitus. But there’s no reason to pity me. Hell no. Back in middle school I had a favorite expression that I used all the time, and it feels more fitting than ever these days: Don’t play with fire if you can’t handle the heat.
* * *
Once a day, you’re let out for some fresh air. If you’re lucky. Sometimes there’s not enough staff, and sometimes they can’t come up with an escort to the elevators. Sometimes they mostly don’t give a shit which it is.