Praise for
BEYOND ALL REASONABLE DOUBT
“Chilling and complex. The truth in this story is a cracked mirror, changing at every angle. Giolito masterfully plumbs the nature of guilt or innocence until no character, nor even the reader, is left unscathed.”
—Joanna Schaffhausen, author of The Vanishing Season
“As a top lawyer, Malin Persson Giolito knows the law. And as a brilliant author, she knows how to write a dark, incredibly suspenseful, and unputdownable novel!”
— Helene Tursten, author of Detective Inspector Huss
“Another breathtaking novel from Malin Persson Giolito! Beyond All Reasonable Doubt masterfully questions the role media and public opinion play in court. A deeply moving suspense novel that zeroes in on humanity’s deepest flaws.”
— Viveca Sten, author of In the Heat of the Moment
Praise for
QUICKSAND
“This is the evolution of Scandinavian crime, in more ways than one.”
— Fredrik Backman, author of A Man Called Ove
“A remarkable new novel…Giolito…writes with exceptional skill…[Quicksand is] always smart and engrossing…Giolito keeps us guessing a long time and the outcome, when it arrives, is just as it should be.” — Washington Post
“[Quicksand] provides a razor-sharp view of modern Sweden and its criminal justice system, yet is a tonic for readers who have had enough of the brooding, often-bloody ‘Scandicrime’ that has been so popular in recent years.”
— NPR, Best Books of the Year
“Astonishing…a dark exploration of the crumbling European social order and the psyche of rich Swedish teens…the incisive language that’s on display here surely involves translation precision that’s second to none.”
— Booklist (starred review)
“[Quicksand] is structured as a courtroom procedural, yet it clearly has ambitions beyond that, addressing Sweden’s underlying economic and racial tensions.”
— New York Times Book Review
“Brilliantly conceived and executed, this extraordinary legal thriller is not to be missed.”
— Library Journal (starred review)
“Haunting and immersive.” — Publishers Weekly
“Expert dialogue and irresistible momentum make an all-too-realistic story come breathing off the page…Part courtroom thriller, part introspection, Quicksand is pulled tight throughout by the suspense, not only of Maja’s verdict, but of the elusive ‘truth’ of what really happened in the classroom that day.” — Shelf Awareness
“Sharp social commentary through the tragic story of a young woman’s trial for mass murder…The rhythm, tone, and language are just right…a splendid work of fiction.”
— Kirkus Reviews
“Persson Giolito’s craft takes us on a psychological ride.”
— Huffington Post
“A compelling, multilayered study of a terrible school shooting.” — Boston Herald
Also by Malin Persson Giolito
QUICKSAND
Copyright © Malin Persson Giolito 2012
English translation copyright © Rachel Willson-Broyles 2019
Originally published in Swedish by Piratförlaget as Bortom varje rimligt tvivel
Published by agreement with Ahlander Agency
The quote on this page is from The Holy Bible, The New Oxford Annotated Bible,
New Revised Standard Version, Fourth Edition, Luke 18:17.
New York: Oxford University Press, 2010.
Production editor: Yvonne E. Cárdenas
Text designer: Julie Fry
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without written permission from Other Press LLC, except in the case of brief quotations in reviews for inclusion in a magazine, newspaper, or broadcast.
For information write to Other Press LLC, 267 Fifth Avenue, 6th Floor,
New York, NY 10016. Or visit our Web site: www.otherpress.com
The Library of Congress has cataloged the printed edition as follows:
Names: Persson Giolito, Malin, 1969- author. | Willson-Broyles, Rachel, translator.
Title: Beyond all reasonable doubt : a novel / Malin Persson Giolito; translated from the Swedish by Rachel Willson-Broyles.
Other titles: Bortom allt rimligt tvivel. English
Description: New York : Other Press, [2019] | “Originally published in Swedish by Piratförlaget as Bortom varje rimligt tvivel.”
Identifiers: LCCN 2018049563 (print) | LCCN 2018055329 (ebook) |
ISBN 9781590519202 (ebook) | ISBN 9781590519196 (paperback)
Subjects: LCSH: Judicial error—Fiction. | Legal stories. | Murder—Investigation—Fiction.
Classification: LCC PT9877.26.E79 (ebook) | LCC PT9877.26.E79 B6713 2019 (print) |
DDC 839.73/8—dc23
LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2018049563
Ebook ISBN 9781590519202
Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
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Contents
Cover
Also by Malin Persson Giolito
Title Page
Copyright
Katrin 1998
Part One
Chapter 1
Katrin 1998
Chapter 2
Katrin 1998
Chapter 3
Katrin 1998
Chapter 4
Katrin 1998
Chapter 5
Katrin 1998
Chapter 6
Ida 1998
Chapter 7
Katrin 1998
Chapter 8
Katrin 1997
Chapter 9
Katrin 1998
Chapter 10
Katrin 1998
Chapter 11
Katrin 1998
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Part Two
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Katrin 1998
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Katrin 1999
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Katrin 1997
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Katrin 1997
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Katrin 1998
Chapter 36
Katrin 1997
Chapter 3
7
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Part Three
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Part Four
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Katrin 1998
About the Author
Thank you, Åsa.
Katrin
1998
In the beginning, all is well. First she shaves her legs, carefully, using Dad’s shaving cream. The bathtub ends up dotted with tiny bits of hair and her legs become satiny smooth. She applies a mask for oily, shiny skin and a hair treatment for split ends. The mirror fogs over and her bangs curl in the fresh air from the window she opens.
Then she paints her toenails and fingernails in a thin layer of pale pink. Mom’s dress and necklace are hanging from a padded hanger, moving slowly with the warm draft. The stereo plays just loud enough and her perfume is brand-new. She sings softly without knowing the words, stands nude before the mirror and puts on her makeup: first powder, then eye shadow, mascara, and just a hint of blush. She and Carmen are the only ones at home. Mom and Dad are away for the weekend and she has all the time she needs.
All is well. Nothing bad could happen. There’s no way anything can go wrong.
But then there’s something she forgot to pick up at the store. She has to hurry, pulls the dress over her head and feels the nail polish sticking to the fabric. She runs to the store with Carmen in tow, skips the waste bags, yanking at the leash. The dog could spend hours sniffing. There is no time for that.
On the way home, Carmen stops short and refuses to budge. She plants her legs and pulls back and Katrin has to tug on the leash so hard that Carmen’s collar rides up and gets stuck on her ears. Katrin has to drag the dog the last little way, through the gate and up the stairs.
By the time they’re back in the house, Katrin is too hot. The stains will be visible on the dress once the sweat dries, salty deposits eating into the fabric, and she stinks. When she’s nervous the sweating won’t stop. Her body betrays her. She smells like yeast and sulfur, musty and dead.
But it’ll be fine, she says. She repeats it several times. Whispering it into the mirror. Everything, everything, everything will work out for the very very best.
If only she hurries to wash herself properly. She gets back into the shower. Soaping her underarms, dabbing her sticky nails with acetone on a cotton ball. She pulls a washcloth between her thighs, where it already itches even though it’s only been two days since she removed the hair there.
He doesn’t like her pubic hair; her slimy fluids make it stick together and stiffen into curls. He hates it when that happens.
She washes again, and once more. Rubbing until she’s covered with thick, white lather. But acid rises in her stomach and her mouth tastes sour. She clears her throat and brings up a bitter yellow glob. When she licks the back of her hand, she gets a whiff of bile and reflux. She’s so incredibly disgusting. She reeks. She can smell it herself.
Her gums start to bleed after the third brushing. She gargles as long as she can without choking.
She inhales. Tries to breathe slowly. Deeply. One breath at a time. She dries off. Raises her arms. The deodorant needs time to dry; it has to dry all the way before she gets dressed. Then she runs naked up the stairs and borrows another dress from Mom, a white one that’s a tiny bit tight across her chest. She balls up the other one and shoves it to the bottom of the hamper. She doesn’t bother with perfume; it’s too strong. Whorish, maybe, it was really cheap after all.
Breathe slowly. Shoulders down. The recipes are laid out in the kitchen. She’s going to make salad for a starter, battered cod for the main course, and the sticky chocolate cake is already done. It took her almost an entire day to make up her mind; she spent ages lying on her bed, paging through Mom’s glossy All About Food. There were too many options, and all the photos of salmon tartare, marbled steak, puréed soups, creamy sauces, and glistening vegetables gave her a headache. But in the end she managed to plan a whole menu, and it will all work out well. It really should. Right?
Everything is prepared, almost done, and the table is set. They’re not going to sit out in the garden; he doesn’t like to eat outside. Outdoor eating is so typically Swedish, as in grilled pork chops and home permanents, boxed wine and clogs. Not Swedish the good way, like everything that is right and proper and the only way to do things. They’ll sit in the dining room instead, across from one another. With the napkins on the plates; it looks so overdone when you fold them and tuck them in the glasses.
Then he arrives too early. Crashing through the door, his steps a little off-center, he doesn’t take off his shoes. Carmen barks and whines, cowering and putting her ears back.
There are stains on his shirt; his eyes are red and he’s already eaten. He doesn’t want salad anyway. It’s nothing but rabbit food, obviously she should have thought of that.
What was she thinking? She should have casually asked him if he felt like pizza, not this housewife crap. Cookbooks, breadcrumbs, measuring cups, cringey. An ironed tablecloth, candles, and linen napkins — seriously, ridiculous.
Her cheeks get hot and she turns off the oven. He walks up the stairs and down again. Leans toward a painting, backs up, walks off, pulls the curtains. He turns off the stereo, doesn’t choose something new. The room is silent. She can hear him breathing.
Katrin follows him around. But not too close. Maybe he wants something in particular; maybe he’ll say something soon. She never should have turned on the stereo. Of course he doesn’t like that music. Dad’s music. Radio racket — she should have turned it off herself. How could he like it here?
“Carmen,” she snaps. “Down!” But the dog is already flat on her stomach. She turns around again. He isn’t looking at her. “Wouldn’t you like to take a seat?” she asks. Like an old woman, she thinks, she’s acting like a goddamn old lady. He can walk around as much as he likes, it’s not her problem, is it?
But he sits down after all. On one of the kitchen chairs — and he pulls her over and draws her panties aside. He calls her baby and presses her close, sticking two fingers inside, stroking her lightly with his thumb. He pulls his fingers out again and looks her right in the eyes.
“I’ll never get tired of you,” he says. And then he kisses her.
That’s like saying “I love you,” she thinks. I’ll never get tired of you. It’s like he loves me for real, just not with those exact words. Of course he likes me. Of course everything will be fine.
He asks her to go into the master bedroom — not her room. He tells her to undress while he watches. She’s happy to. Her nausea dies down. When he watches her. That gaze — it’s sunshine on closed eyelids, an evening skinny-dip in a countryside lake. They could eat afterward. He might want the fish, after all? A little later. Or dessert. He must like chocolate, right? Of course he does, right?
It’s going to be great, really great, like in a movie. She’s sure of it. She knows what she’ll do. Afterward. She’ll borrow Mom’s silk robe, tie it loosely, and feed him with one hand. “Taste this,” she’ll whisper. “Here you go.”
She arches her back and her breasts lift and his eyes go foggy; he almost groans. He’s sitting with his legs spread wide, drinking from the bottle he brought. He has undone his pants and he touches her roughly, one hand on her sex, using the neck of the bottle to stroke her nipples. They pucker. “You whore,” he says softly. And then he strikes her. “You’re always horny,” he whispers. Then he pushes into her. With a single
thrust, like a kick of his boot. She whimpers.
She tries to close her eyes. She tries to swallow. She tries to stay quiet and calm. She lies down and he leans over her. She bites her lip. As long as she doesn’t say anything, turns her face away, it will be over soon. But it’s as if her body can’t obey. The tears come of their own accord. When she tries to get away, he pinches her nipples harder; when she whimpers, he pumps faster. When he uses the bottle instead she hears herself scream.
Time passes. Or does it stand still? Her head is bleeding. Then she opens her eyes. He has gone to get Carmen and is holding her by the scruff. The whites of Carmen’s eyes are showing. How the fuck is he supposed to be able to come? How is he supposed to have a nice time while that fucking dog is skittering around on the parquet, staring at him? That overgrown rat. What kind of pet is that? What use could they have for this stupid thing?
Usually she never says no. But now. “Not the dog,” she says, “please, not Carmen.”
Beyond All Reasonable Doubt Page 1
