I Can See in the Dark (13 page)

Then we went to the car. Randers and his young henchman sat in the front, I sat behind them. I took nothing with me, after all I’d soon be back, of that much I was sure. There’d never been such a miscarriage of justice as this. I mean, the murder of Nelly Friis. The car rolled down the road. The police radio crackled a bit. After a few moments, Randers broke the silence.

‘What are you thinking about?’ he asked, and squinted at me over his shoulder. His voice was friendly now, quite bereft of derision or triumph.

‘What am I thinking about?’ I gazed at the scene outside the window. ‘I’m thinking about the park near Lake Mester. I often go there. Have you ever been to it?’

He nodded.

‘Yup, I’ve been there,’ he said. ‘A long time ago. Pretty little park.’

‘Then you must have seen the statue at the entrance to the park,’ I said. ‘Right by the paved pathway. The one that’s called
Woman Weeping
.’

‘I have seen it,’ Randers replied. ‘Yes, it’s lovely.’ He nodded in agreement.

‘But there’s another statue,’ I explained. ‘Which stands at the other end of the park. Near the exit, on the path that leads down to the lake. That one’s called
Woman Laughing
. And it’s her I’m thinking about now.’

Randers chuckled from the front seat.

‘So you think she’s laughing at you?’ he enquired.

‘No,’ I countered. ‘She’s laughing at this entire situation. Because the whole thing’s so ridiculous, you can’t even begin to imagine how ridiculous!’

He made no answer to this. We travelled on in silence. I stared out of the car window, at the landscape, summery greens and yellows, and the ditches grey with exhaust fumes.

‘What are the remand cells like?’ I wanted to know. ‘Are they different from the more permanent cells?’

Randers replied over his shoulder. ‘A cell is a cell,’ he said. ‘You’ll soon find that out.’

‘What about clothes? Do I wear one of those orange-coloured penitentiary suits they have in America?’

‘It’s good you’ve got a sense of humour,’ Randers said. ‘You’ll need it.’

‘I’m pretty sure old Nelly died a natural death,’ I said. ‘Dr Fischer found her in her bed. We saw nothing unusual. So I can’t understand what happened. You may not like being wrong, Randers, but this time you are. My God, how wrong you are!’

‘I’m never wrong,’ Randers replied.

The young officer chimed in. ‘Randers is never wrong,’ he said.

‘Where d’you get all this self-confidence of yours?’

‘It’s been acquired over many years. I know I’m cocky. Experience has made me unbearably arrogant. You’d better believe how really comfortable I am with being me,’ he smiled, ‘and with my job.’

The whippersnapper at his side nodded. ‘Really comfortable!’ he chorused.

‘You’ve been allocated counsel,’ Randers continued. ‘A proper show-off. Whether you’ll like him remains to be seen, but he knows his stuff. He’ll give you many good bits of advice. And we in the force know most of them. But we think a few of them aren’t so great. So when his professional advice is that you can refuse to say anything, don’t listen to him, for God’s sake. Just play ball. Otherwise the entire case will be delayed, and it’ll never be over. We all benefit from your co-operation.’

‘What’s his name, this lawyer of mine?’

‘His name’s de Reuter. Philip de Reuter. You two will make quite a pair.’

‘Will I meet him today?’

‘He’s already been apprised of the case,’ said Randers. ‘So he’ll likely turn up. In the meantime, you can frolic in your eight square metres of cell. There’s enough room in there to change your mind, regarding your guilt. And enough for a victory dance if you’re found not guilty.’

The court complex, the police station and the county jail were housed in one gigantic building. We took the lift from the reception to the fifth floor. Then there were long, lino-laid corridors, smelling strongly of carbolic, after which I was escorted through some double doors. Into isolation, segregation and solitude.

Before me lay another corridor. The light here was brighter and more garish, and there was an almost cave-like silence. Narrow windows high up in the wall.

I took in the length of the corridor with only one thought in my head. That I was innocent. I hadn’t killed Nelly Friis, I hadn’t terminated her life in any way whatsoever, I hadn’t silenced her. I’d done much, but give the devil his due, of these things I was innocent. I was led down the corridor, walking with a heavy tread, my body feeling feeble and apathetic, and my head teeming. On both sides were rows of green metal doors. On a couple, notes had been stuck: ‘CVC.’ Correspondence and visitor check.

‘Will you put one of those on my door?’

Randers didn’t answer, but kept walking.

‘No one will be visiting me,’ I said. ‘There’ll be no one to check. And I’m guaranteed not to get any letters. So, save yourselves the trouble.’

I took in my surroundings and was struck by how clean it was in the prison, as if someone went around with a mop the whole time and kept the dirt at bay. The walls of the corridor were a creamy yellow, there were lots of plants and a small sofa suite with comfortable cushions. On the way we passed a noticeboard, and I managed to glimpse the words ‘Holy Communion’ and ‘Library open’. A man came walking along the corridor to meet us. A sturdy-looking man with an impressive girth, like a barrel on two slender legs, and a great, heavy head on a short neck. He reminded me of a fat duck. He wore a light blue shirt and had powerful hands, and keys and other equipment hung from his belt. His shoes were tough and black and very shiny. His head sprouted a shock of grey hair, which bristled in all directions.

‘De Reuter will be here in an hour’s time,’ he said. ‘But when he says an hour, it usually means two or three hours, he’s a busy man.’

We moved to one of the green doors. There was a jangling from the large bunch of keys hanging from his belt.

‘To survive in here you must learn to be patient. It’s better to realise that from the word go. Most of your time in here is spent waiting. My name is Janson,’ he added. ‘And I’ll be on duty all this week.’

I entered the cramped cell, and stood in the middle of it feeling bewildered, staring at the two men in the open doorway.

‘What do I do if something happens?’ I asked. My voice was weak, and I hated my own pathetic question. I hated them noticing my desperation, because I’m proud by nature.

‘Nothing much can happen in here,’ Janson replied, nodding at the bare, spartan room. ‘But we’ll look after you. Just relax.’

‘I didn’t kill Nelly Friis,’ I said, sinking down on to the modest bed. I held out my hands, they’d begun to tremble.

‘You talk to de Reuter about that,’ Janson said. ‘He’s used to hearing that sort of thing.’

They left, and the green door slammed shut with a hard thud and the lock turned. I went straight to the window and peered out. Perhaps I was hoping that a seagull or a flock of migrating birds would fly past and lift my heart. But the misty sky was empty.

TOTALLY AND UTTERLY
alone.

Deserted and misunderstood, my rights trampled on. Subject of a terrible mistake. Victim of a dreadful plot. Exhausted and in despair.

I’d never felt so despondent, so completely helpless. For three hours I waited for Philip de Reuter.

In the meantime, I went over my cell inch by inch. The bed was made of grey metal. I lifted it and found that it was as heavy as lead. The wardrobe was metal, too, a cold greyish blue. There was a desk in front of the window, made of a pale, unrecognisable wood, like the chair. A shelf on the wall, supported by two strong brackets. It was empty, of course. The curtains were thick and had green and blue stripes. The floor covering was grey and full of rips and blotches. There was a tiny enclosed space with a basin and toilet of brushed steel as well. It smelt of urine and lavatory cleaner. I lay down on the bed with my hands behind my head, and waited for the sound of a key in the door, waited for this de Reuter to appear and get me out. Out of this ridiculous mix-up. Preferably this very evening, because the whole thing was impossible, and I was still confused. People spent years in these cells, I mused, as I lay there trying to rest. How did they manage to survive it? Maybe they screamed all night long, thumped on the walls and banged their beds about. I wasn’t sure what to expect. At the moment it was still completely quiet. Nothing could be heard except my own nervous breathing in the room. Personally, I wasn’t planning any noisy demonstrations. I have a modicum of self-respect. Occasionally I dozed off, but only lightly. After a while I began to hear a few, muffled sounds. So there are people here after all, I thought, and that must be Janson doing his rounds. Perhaps he’d already taken a look at me through the window in the door. The notion that someone could observe me without my knowledge was exceedingly unpleasant.

Even though I’d been expecting it, even though I’d been imagining everything that would happen from now on, I started when the key turned in the lock. I sat up. A man appeared in the door, dressed in a well-fitting suit, and with a rather stylish briefcase under his arm. He was young, in his mid-thirties perhaps, with a large head of curly hair, and a deep red tie like a stripe of blood from his neck. He was lean, with long slender hands, and bright, dark eyes behind his oval glasses.

‘De Reuter,’ he said, holding out his hand. ‘How are you? Have you got everything you need?’

I took his hand; it was thin and dry. He pulled the chair away from the window, moved it to the middle of the floor and sat down, laying the briefcase on his lap. He adjusted his glasses and sent me one of those quick glances I would come to know so well. Suddenly I felt my anger rising.

‘Have I got everything I need? You’re not being serious, are you? I’ve been picked up by two policemen and hauled off to the station, and then thrown into this cramped cell. And they’re claiming I’ve killed an old woman. And you ask if I’ve got everything I need? What kind of question is that?’

De Reuter didn’t bat an eyelid. He sat calmly on his chair and gazed at me with his dark eyes. I noticed the creases of his trousers, they were as sharp as knives.

‘We’ll put a defence together,’ he said. ‘But you’ll have to co-operate.’

‘Of course,’ I said, trying to calm down. ‘But you must get me out of this. I didn’t kill Nelly Friis. We found her dead in her bed. She was eighty-seven, and I had nothing to do with it. I just want to make that clear—’

‘Who was it who found her?’ de Reuter cut in.

‘Dr Fischer. He’d gone in to give her an injection. He came to fetch us from the ward office to make the report. But there was nothing unusual about the death, I can’t understand where these rumours have sprung from. What are they saying? The police. About how she died?’

De Reuter touched his hair with his slim, delicate hand.

‘They suspect that a pillow was used,’ he said. ‘That’s the way it’s usually done, in murders of this type. You know, the pillow is lying there to hand, and it’s all over in a minute. Randers is really on the warpath, he thinks they’ve got a case. It was the funeral directors who raised the alarm. Well, in consultation with Dr Fischer. They discovered some abnormalities and contacted the police.’

‘What sort of abnormalities?’

‘Her face seemed compressed. And there was some extravasation – leakage of blood – in her eyes. They’re indications of suffocation.’

He removed his glasses and looked at me intently.

‘Is there anything I ought to know?’

‘I’ve worked at Løkka for more than eleven years,’ I explained. ‘And I’ve never been in the habit of killing the patients. Why should I do such a thing?’

De Reuter folded his arms. Once again I was struck by his neat hands, they were like the hands of a girl, clean and white.

‘At the moment they’re not saying a lot about motive. They assume that will become clear later on. As for Randers, he’s the cocksure type, as I’m sure you’ll have noticed. They say he can smell guilt a long way off. And without trying to be demoralising, he does have a very high success rate. But then, so do I. So don’t worry.’

I rose from the bed and took a couple of short steps, but immediately ran into the desk and had to turn.

‘Randers thinks he’s on top of the situation,’ I said dejectedly. ‘But he’s wrong. If you only knew just how wrong he is!’

‘Sit down,’ de Reuter said calmly. ‘Don’t fret, you’ll only make yourself anxious. We’ll go through everything, you and I, so that we understand one another. Do you want to plead not guilty to the charge?’

‘Yes. I’m pleading not guilty,’ I said. ‘This is a conspiracy. The other members of staff have turned against me, and I have no idea why. But I’ve noticed that something’s been going on. There’s been an odd feeling of ill will on the ward for a long time, that’s the only way I can describe it. And I couldn’t understand it. But now it’s become crystal clear. They’ve all been plotting to get me, it’s totally reprehensible.’

De Reuter took out a pad and pen. He came over to the bed and put them on my lap.

‘Write down the names of the people you want me to alert,’ he said.

‘What do you mean, alert?’

‘I’m thinking of friends and relatives who need to know what’s happened. And where you are.’

‘I have no friends or relatives,’ I said.

‘Surely you’ve got someone?’

‘No. Nobody.’

‘Neighbours, perhaps?’

‘I don’t speak to them. No one needs to be alerted. This is a huge mistake. And if someone has killed Nelly Friis, I’ll find out who did it. I work there, I know them all. There’s something evil going on here. Did you hear what I said? Evil!’

De Reuter seated himself again. He seemed thoughtful.

I patted my empty trouser pockets.

‘They took my keys. Will they ransack my house?’

‘Will they find anything if they do?’ he asked glibly.

‘Of course not,’ I said. ‘A few sickly house plants. An old computer. A bit of food in the fridge. I have no secrets in the house. When will the case come up? Will I have to spend weeks of uncertainty in here?’

‘It does happen,’ de Reuter said. ‘But for your sake, I hope not. Remand is tough, it’s a no-man’s-land.’