Broken

Lind leaned forward. His voice was low and sincere.

'But you had your reasons for acting the way you did,' he said. 'We need to tell the jury what they were. We will show them in such a way that the whole sequence of events seems inevitable and logical. You took her in for a whole year. She considered you to be her friend, her family will testify to that. The way I look at it, your chances are good, but you have to believe that, too. I'll be with you all the way.'

His last sentence echoed in Alvar's head. I'll be with you all the way.

'There's a story behind this tragedy,' Lind said. 'Twelve long months when she was a part of your life. You need to tell this story, Eide, right down to the last detail. What you thought, what you felt, how you were. How she got this hold over you, which she clearly had. She did have a hold on you, didn't she?'

'I can't stand up in court and speak ill of her,' Alvar said quickly. 'I've no right to do that and you can't make me.'

'You don't need to speak ill of her, but you need to tell it like it was. That she was stronger than you. I presume that she was?'

'She wasn't scared of anything,' he said in a tired voice. 'Not until that Friday when she turned up in withdrawal. I think of her as a brave soldier, she went to war every single day. While I, big coward that I am, sat safe and sound in my own comfortable castle.'

'You're very hard on yourself,' Lind said. 'Why is that?'

Alvar relaxed his shoulders. 'I should have seen where it was going. I should have turned her away, then she would still be alive.'

'No,' Lind said calmly. 'She was already on her way down and she took you with her.'

Then he folded his arms and rested them on the table. 'Tell me this,' he asked. 'Will you miss her?'

A wounded smile escaped from Alvar's lips. 'Yes,' he said, 'I will miss her. No one else comes to my flat.'

This revelation made him blush a second time.

'If you've had enough to eat,' Lind said, 'I suggest we start work. Is there anything else you want to tell me, anything that's important?'

'My cat,' Alvar said suddenly. 'My cat's probably sitting on my doorstep waiting to be let in. I'm sure he's hungry.'

'You have a cat?' Lind smiled. His white teeth sparkled. 'I'll look after your cat. Give me your keys, I'll stop by your house when we've finished.'

Alvar rummaged through his pocket for the key. He got up and pushed his chair. Lind gestured in the direction of the lift.

'Together we'll build a defence,' he said. 'You need to do your part. Do you understand?'

Alvar stared at the floor.

'Those who will be judging you need to know who you are. This means that you need to make yourself vulnerable and tell them all those things, it means you've got to trust me, you must believe that I want what's best for you.'

Alvar swallowed hard. 'I've never been in the habit of talking about myself in great detail,' he said quietly.

'What are you scared of?' Lind wanted to know.

'That they'll laugh, I think. That they'll despise me. That they'll call me a pathetic loner.'

'Don't be so negative,' Lind said firmly, 'chin up! Talk about yourself, start giving people a chance. People are much better than their reputation. Now you've got the opportunity to make a new discovery.'

'Perhaps they'll reject me,' Alvar said, deeply worried.

'Perhaps they'll find you not guilty,' Lind said.

The lift door closed. The space felt intimate.

'How did it start?' Lind asked. 'When did you first meet her?'

Alvar closed his eyes and remembered. Suddenly it all became clear to him. His first, but oh-so-fateful mistake.

'It was late last November, and it was cold. She came into the gallery where I work, staggering on her high-heeled boots, and she was freezing cold. I've never in all my life seen anyone so cold. Someone had to do something,' he said. 'For once in my life I decided that it was going to be me. So,' he sighed, 'I went up to the kitchen and got her a cup of coffee.'

CHAPTER 29

A man jumped the queue.

He was second in line, but he could not wait. He came into my house, all the way to my bedroom, he demanded to be heard. I carried him for twelve months. He has been in my thoughts every single day. His despair was my despair, I have felt responsible for him every single minute. Now I am standing by my window looking out at the world, the world I forget about for long periods of time when I am preoccupied with my writing. The azalea by my front door sways in the wind. Every now and then there is a sudden and forceful gust. It looks as if the whole crown of the tree is dancing a mournful dance, it bends, it surrenders. It has been standing there for more years than I have been alive, and it will still be there the day I die. That day may not be far away, I live a hard life. One day my teeth will be grinning in my skull, while the azalea dances.

The wide Lier Valley spreads out in all its glory. I can see farms, cows out to pasture, and now and then I can hear lowing, mild, woeful complaints in the stillness. I let the cat in, he goes to the kitchen for some food. I stroke his head lightly, feel his small skull underneath his fur. It is autumn, it is dark November. This season which I love most of all, the time when everything settles down. The outer landscape matches my inner one, it is gloomy and windswept. I go over to the computer, pull out my chair and sit down, pondering in the blue light. I have left Alvar Eide in the care of Benedict Lind. He does not need me any more, he can manage the remainder of the race himself, but I have given him some tools. He has been given his own story and he needs to tell it to those who will judge him. I hope they don't judge him harshly, I certainly don't. Yet there is one more detail before we finish. I feel that it belongs in the story. I want to give Alvar a final, friendly send-off. So I make myself comfortable and type, swiftly and fluently, a last important page. Just then I hear a sound from the corridor. Cautious steps, a door creaks. Alvar enters in his usual, shy way. He stops, he folds his hands. Looks at me across the room with mild eyes.

'Why are you still writing? I thought we'd finished?'

His eyes are unusually bright. I don't comment, I don't want to embarrass him.

'Yes,' I reply, 'but I have one important thing left to do.'

'What is it?'

He is intrigued

'I thought you might be interested,' I say. 'It's the post-mortem report.'

At this he goes white as a sheet.

'I don't know if I will be able to make sense of it,' he says, embarrassed. His grey eyes start to flicker, he shrugs helplessly.

'Then let me explain.'

I continue typing, my fingers run briskly across the keyboard. Alvar waits, I can hear his breathing.

'According to the pathologist Katrine Kjelland died from a cerebral haemorrhage,' I declare.

He gives me a frightened look.

'And what does that mean?'

'Bleeding in her brain,' I reply. 'What happens is that a vein bursts. It can occur in young people and can be caused by high blood pressure, or stress. In other words, she didn't die as a result of the pills you gave her, it was not a fatal dose, but they made her fall asleep. Thus you are not to blame for the death of Katrine Kjelland.'

Alvar cries out in relief. He buries his face in his hands, his knees look as if they might buckle.

'It that possible?'

'It says so here in black and white.'

The colour starts to return to his cheeks.

'But what did I give her then?' he asks quickly.

'Morphine,' I reply. 'She was probably experiencing some sort of blissful state when her heart stopped beating. And in her last moments someone wiped her brow with a warm cloth. She died on the sofa of a good friend,' I add. 'I might not be that lucky.'

He circles the floor. He clearly wants to shout for joy, but controls himself as always.