So Nicolai got what he wanted. I lifted Tommy out of the crib and he was so heavy that I only just managed to carry him. And then finally he was in our bed. And finally he stopped crying. I turned my back to him and closed my eyes, praying for some peace and quiet. But then, just as we were about to fall asleep, he started to cry again, and by now Nicolai was desperate. Look, he said, Tommy’s still growing. And when I turned over, I froze. Because Tommy was so big now that there almost wasn’t room for him. And as I lay there in the bed staring at him, he started to change color and slowly his body was covered by a gray, almost silvery shell. And then it dawned on me that Tommy had turned into a fish. I screamed at Nicolai in a panic, get him away from me! Get him away!
Before I knew it, I had been squeezed over the edge of the bed.
I woke up on the floor. But I was OK, despite the nightmare, because it was only a dream and I’ve always been a fighter. We’re going home tomorrow, and I can’t help but hope things will get back to normal again, even though it all seems pretty bleak at the moment. We’ll manage to sort things out, Nicolai and me. I’ve always been an optimist. I have so many nights ahead of me, hopefully without dreams about death. I know that Nicolai lies awake while I sleep like a log, exhausted by the sun and heat that they have so much of down here. Sometimes I say the Lord’s Prayer. It can’t do any harm and I need to find support somewhere, even if I am strong.
I called good night to Nicolai, who is sitting on the balcony drinking. Taking the edge off your desperation with whiskey is a slippery slope and I’m very worried. Tomorrow he’ll be morose, slow, and hung-over. It doesn’t bother him in the slightest. It’s me who has to keep it all together and sort everything out, but I get tired sometimes.
It’s nighttime, so I’m going to go to bed now. And there’s no Tommy there, taking up space, no scaly fish. I’m sorry to say it, dear diary, but I’ve already got used to him not being there. No matter how hard I try, I cannot feel any real deep despair. Tommy was hard work. I was ashamed of Tommy. He was a great disappointment. My hopes were for something completely different when I was pregnant. In the old days, the parents were blamed. A handicapped child was a punishment from a reprimanding God, and if that really is the case I can only apologize. I haven’t lived a life free of sin, but nor has anyone else, so there. No matter what, I want to start over again. With a strong, healthy child, because I deserve it. Why shouldn’t I get what everyone else does? I’ll call Nicolai one last time, but he doesn’t want to hear. And God only knows I’m trying to help. Maybe he’s right, maybe everything will just go to hell, but then he can deal with it on his own. I refuse to sacrifice my life for him, and charity begins at home. Isn’t that what they say?
34
Tenth of October. Night.
In among all the mess and files in his study, Sejer found some old court papers that piqued his curiosity. He took them, settled back down by the window, and started to read while he sipped at a generous dram of whiskey.
Annie ruthlessly suffocated her daughter, who was only four years old. The killing is a tragedy and completely senseless. There are many special and apparently inexplicable circumstances attached to the event, and during the case several possible motives, or things that might have triggered the murder, were presented.
Annie and her daughter, Beate, were alone at home. In the course of the afternoon, a friend, who was also four, came to play and then left around bedtime. Beate had a lot of fun and was overexcited. The friend was collected by her mother, who estimated that she got there just after seven o’clock. She and her daughter left about ten minutes later. At 7:34, the emergency services control center received a phone call from an apparently hysterical Annie who said that Beate had stopped breathing. It was a very dramatic exchange and the mother was screaming in panic. She was instructed to administer heart compressions and mouth-to-mouth until the ambulance arrived just under ten minutes later. The doctor got there five minutes after that. Attempts to revive the little girl were unsuccessful and stopped after three-quarters of an hour.
The accused has the following history: In autumn 2002, Annie suffered from severe depression that resulted in her being admitted to the Østmarka Ward, St. Olav’s Hospitaclass="underline" a psychiatric institution. The record of her psychiatric illness proved to be long and of a complex nature, stretching over many years. Her childhood and puberty involved many difficulties. It was suspected that she suffered from dysthymia, with severe depressive episodes. She herself thought she suffered from a bipolar disorder, although a diagnosis of borderline (emotionally unstable) personality disorder had also previously been suggested — the diagnosis now finally given by forensic psychiatrists.
With regard to sentencing, the objective aggression and nature of intent shall be central. The accused’s personal circumstances and difficulties must come second. She has no psychological condition or altered state of consciousness that would warrant her reaction.
And for want of other confirmed grounds, the High Court judgment must be based on the more lenient alternative for the accused. That is to say, an impulsive act, or a crime of passion, such that the killing of Beate was a result of a situation or moment that provoked an aggressive outburst. The accused lost control in a confrontation with the child. In all probability this was triggered by something minor and a screaming, difficult child, and it is not possible for the court to establish extenuating circumstances. The accused’s personality disorder with associated mood swings and aggressive outbursts may serve as an explanation, but it does not provide sufficient extenuating circumstances to influence the punishment. The victim was a small defenseless child who was in her mother’s care in her own home. In such circumstances, a child has the right to absolute safety.
The injuries indicate that the child had been subjected to considerable physical force, both before and during suffocation. Based on the findings described in the autopsy report and the known criteria for death by suffocation, it is most probable that Beate’s airways were obstructed by hands being held to her nose and mouth. The findings indicate the use of aggressive force.
Being suffocated must have been a terrifying experience for the child. It is assumed that death occurred after ninety seconds, and every single one of those seconds would have involved struggle and torment. It is assumed that the accused held Beate in a firm grip and that the child fought back as much as possible, but in vain, given her inferior physique. The accused must have maintained her hold until there was no way back, and Beate finally fell into a coma and stopped breathing. The accused therefore had the opportunity to regain composure. With regard to sentencing, it must therefore be emphasized that the victim was a defenseless young child in the accused’s care. The court must also take into consideration the aggravating circumstances that followed the incident: the accused’s attempt to cover up the crime and denial of it by fabricating an alternative course of events.
An alternative course of events, Sejer thought to himself. That was more or less what Carmen had said. And there certainly were many plausible and implausible explanations. Such as an epileptic seizure, followed by severe confusion and an inability to judge. Of course it was an accident. I lost consciousness and afterward it was too late; the child slid down in the bathtub and under the soapy water. An old story whose hallmarks were familiar to him after so many years at the station in Søndre District: the manipulation, denial, explanations, and lies. He had heard so many stories in his time with the police, as if panic in itself made the perpetrator insane. Normal rules no longer applied when you were furious; your body was flooded with adrenaline and a hot glowing rage that made your blood boil. Sejer put the papers down and drank what was left of the whiskey. He leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes, thinking about little Beate and her tragic fate. Annie was sentenced to eleven years in prison. Then he thought about Carmen and how she would cope inside, if the case ended in a conviction. Beautiful, spoiled little Carmen. Who had possibly killed her own son in a moment of desperation. Or rage. Or was it something else, something worse, which he could not bear to think about. Yet he could not ignore it, as it continued to pop up from time to time as a possible scenario. The thought that it might be murder, premeditated in detail. The boy wasn’t like other children. He was a burden, a child she didn’t like others to see.