by Håkan Nesser
These raids were accompanied by a low humming noise, which made a pleasant contrast to the rather shrill voice of the prosecuting attorney. A bit like a duet featuring a cello and a harpsichord, and especially noticeable in the pauses, while the lawyer was recovering his breath.
Apart from that, the day’s events were quite boring.
To start with, everybody kept having to stand up and sit down again as the judge and jury took their places. Then the judge outlined the charge, and Ruger explained that his client was not guilty. Next, the prosecuting attorney started to present the case for the prosecution, an exercise that lasted for an hour and forty minutes and concluded with the accused, Janek Mattias Mitter, forty-six years old, born in Rheinau, resident in Maardam for the past twenty-six years, appointed as a teacher of history and philosophy at Bunge High School in 1973, being accused of murdering (or alternatively unlawfully killing) his wife, Eva Maria Ringmar, thirty-eight years of age, born in Leuwen, resident in Maardam since 1990 and until her death employed as a teacher of English and French at the previously mentioned high school, by drowning her in the bath at the apartment they shared in Kloisterlaan 24, at some point early in the morning of October 5. The crime had been committed under the influence of intoxicating alcoholic beverages, but there was nothing, and he repeated that there was nothing at all, to suggest that Mitter had been so intoxicated that he was not responsible for his actions. These accusations would be supported by an overwhelming mass of technical proof, expert analysis, and statements taken from witnesses, and when this process was completed it would be clear to members of the jury and everyone else present that the accused was obviously guilty as charged and there could only be one verdict: guilty.
Of murder.
Or at the very least, manslaughter.
Then it was Ruger’s turn. He blew his nose and spent the next hour and twelve minutes asserting that nothing at all had happened as described by the prosecuting attorney, that his client had nothing at all to do with his wife’s death, and this would be proved without a shadow of doubt.
Then came a two-hour break for lunch. The bluebottle left the jury benches and made its way to the ceiling in order to sleep, while everybody else murmured their way out of the courtroom, duly observing the proprieties of the occasion.
One of the girls in the gallery was bold enough to wave to Mitter, who gave her an encouraging nod in response.
It took him just over ten minutes to consume his pasta dish in his cell in the basement of the courthouse. He spent the rest of the lunch break lying on his back on the bed and observing a damp patch on the ceiling, while he waited for the afternoon’s proceedings to commence.
These proceedings were devoted exclusively to so-called technical evidence. A number of police officers of various kinds took to the stand, including Van Veeteren; also a pathologist, a physician, a forensic specialist, and somebody called Wilker-son. He stuttered, and called himself a toxicologist.
The public galleries were somewhat less full-presumably headmaster Suurna had got wind of what was going on. But the journalists were still present in force, leaning back in relaxed postures in order to assist the digestive process. If any of them dozed off, at least they refrained from snoring.
It was not easy to determine what was achieved during the afternoon. Ferrati and Ruger exchanged hairsplitting soph-istries, Judge Havel occasionally intervened to restore order, and a member of the jury asked a question about the possible presence of fragments of skin under fingernails.
At no point did Mitter himself need to speak, and when the court adjourned shortly after four p.m., he had long since ceased to pay any attention. Instead, he yearned for three things: solitude, silence, and darkness.
As for who had taken the life of Eva Ringmar, it could be said that, generally speaking, nobody knew anything more than the bluebottle.
11
Ruger arrived while he was having breakfast.
“I’d like to have a little chat with you.”
“Okay.”
“I don’t suppose there’s a cup for me?”
Mitter called the warder and was passed another mug of coffee through the hatch.
“Have you remembered anything more?”
“No.”
“I see.”
Ruger leaned over the table, rested his weight on his elbows, and blew at the coffee.
“I’d like you to. . consider your testimony.”
Mitter chewed his sandwich and looked intently at Ruger.
“What do you mean?”
“If you are going to say anything or not.”
Mitter thought for a moment. Perhaps the implication was not all that surprising, all things considered. .
“As I explained,” said Ruger, “it’s not necessary for the defendant to allow himself to be interrogated.”
“You said it was unusual for a defendant to. .”
Ruger nodded.
“That may well be, but even so, I’d like you to think about it. The way things look, in my judgment your chances would be just as good if you don’t go into the witness box.”
“Why?”
“Because there’s nothing you can add. You can’t even make a case for yourself. The bottom line is that you can’t provide any proof to show that it wasn’t you who killed her. The only thing you can say is that you don’t remember, and that really isn’t a convincing argument, as you must be able to see yourself. We would have nothing to gain in that respect, and the fact is, that is the key to everything.”
He paused and took a sip of coffee.
“And in other respects?”
“Ugh, this coffee is poisonous. I don’t understand why they can’t learn how to- Anyway, another thing is whether or not you make a good impression on the court.”
Mitter lit a cigarette and fingered his stubble. Ruger continued:
“Making a good impression is vital. Nobody will know if you drowned her, so they’ll have to guess. Ferrati will do everything he can to make you lose your composure, and Havel will allow him free rein. If Ferrati succeeds in that, everything could be lost. He can be extremely difficult. If he were to carve you to pieces, it’s not at all sure that I could patch you up afterward.”
Mitter shrugged.
“Don’t you have to give a reason?”
“In theory no, but it is usual, it gives a better impression.
We could say that you don’t feel up to it, the stress would be too great. Severe psychological pressure, state of shock, and similar things. I have a doctor who could write out a certificate for you right away. It would be accepted, and it wouldn’t harm your case, I can promise you. What do you say?”
“What do you think yourself?”
Ruger thought it over. Or pretended to do so. There was no doubt it would be very strange if he had hastened to Mitter’s cell at this time in the morning if he hadn’t already made up his mind. He didn’t want to see Mitter in the dock, it was as simple as that.
“I want you to decline to give evidence,” he said eventually.
Mitter went to the washbasin and stubbed out his cigarette. Stretched out on the bed and closed his eyes.
“I’m not going to refuse, Mr. Ruger. You can forget about any such possibility. You can go home and wash your hands of it.”
Ruger sat in silence for a few seconds before responding.
“As you wish, Mr. Mitter. As you wish. No matter what you think, I shall do the best I can for you. I’ll see you in court.”
He rang for the warder and was escorted out. Mitter didn’t open his eyes until the cell door had closed.
Ferrati was wearing glasses today. Large, round goggles with light-colored metal frames, which made him look like a newly woken lemur. Or possibly a hypnotist.
“Janek Mattias Mitter,” he began by saying.
Mitter nodded.
“Will you please answer the attorney’s questions loudly and clearly,” interrupted Judge Havel.
“I didn’t hear a questi
on,” said Mitter.
Havel turned to Ferrati: “Please repeat the question!”
“Are you Janek Mattias Mitter?” asked Ferrati.
“Yes,” replied Mitter.
Something that could have been interpreted as a titter was audible from the public gallery and Havel hammered loudly on his desk.
He was already annoyed. That was not a good start. Ruger blew his nose and contemplated his ballpoint pen.
“Would you kindly tell us when you first met Eva Ringmar?”
“That would be. . in September, 1990. At the start of term.”
“What was your first impression of her?”
“Nothing at all.”
“Nothing at all? Didn’t you think she was an attractive woman?”
“Yes, I suppose so.”
“But you can’t really remember?”
“No.”
“When did you start your relationship with her?”
“In April.”
“What year?”
“This year.”
“Can you tell us how it happened?”
“We had both been on the same study course one weekend, and had talked quite a bit. I took her to the movies, and we had a few drinks afterward.”
“And then you started your affair?”
“Yes.”
“You were both. . single?”
“Yes.”
“Can I ask why you started going together?”
“I think that is an idiotic question.”
“All right, I’ll take it back. When did you decide to get married?”
“In June. We moved in together at the beginning of July and got married on the tenth.”
“Shortly before you went to Greece?”
“Yes.”
“A sort of honeymoon, then?”
“If you want to call it that, yes.”
“Why did you get married? I hope you don’t find that question idiotic as well, because I’d like an answer.”
Mitter paused. Momentarily looked away from Ferrati and eyed the jury instead.
“I put the question, and she said yes,” he stated.
“Can you elaborate a little?”
“No.”
There was a faint murmur in the public gallery, but Havel didn’t need to intervene.
“You have both been married before,” the prosecutor affirmed. “You meet and begin a relationship. Three months later you get married. Don’t you think that seems a little. .
hasty?”
“No.”
“You weren’t in a hurry for some specific reason?”
“No.”
“She wasn’t pregnant?”
“Is that a sufficient reason nowadays?”
“Would you please answer my question!”
“No, Eva was not pregnant.”
“Thank you.”
There was a short pause while Ferrati went back to his desk and consulted some notes.
“Mr. Mitter, how would you describe your relationship with, and your marriage to Eva Ringmar?”
“What do you want to know?”
“Were you happy together? Did you regret it?”
“No, I didn’t regret it, and neither did Eva. We had a good relationship.”
“You were happy?”
“Yes.”
“You loved your wife?”
“Yes.”
“And she loved you?”
“Yes.”
“I have some information about an incident on September twenty-second, eleven days before the murder. You were together at the Mephisto restaurant. After the meal you had a fierce argument, and your wife stormed out of the building.
We shall call witnesses later to confirm this. Is that what happened, Mr. Mitter?”
“Yes.”
“What was the quarrel about?”
“I don’t want to go into details.”
“Mr. Mitter, you are accused of murder. I want to know what the quarrel was about.”
“It was nothing of relevance to these proceedings.”
“Don’t you think that’s something for the jury to decide?”
Mitter didn’t answer. Ferrati allowed several seconds to pass before continuing.
“Might I request that it be recorded in the proceedings that the accused declined to answer my question about the reason for the quarrel at the Mephisto restaurant on September twenty-second. You remained in the restaurant after your wife had left, Mr. Mitter. May I ask how long you stayed there?”
“I don’t know. A few hours.”
“We have evidence from a neighbor of yours”-he went to check his notes again-“a Mr. Kurczak, who says that he was woken up by loud noises coming from your flat later that night, at about half past two. Was that about the time you got home, do you think?”
“That’s possible.”
“And what was the row about?”
“I don’t remember. I was a bit drunk.”
“You don’t remember?”
“No.”
“You don’t know what the row was about?”
“No.”
“But you know what the row in the restaurant was about?”
“Yes.”
“But you do admit that you quarreled with your wife when you came home in the middle of the night?”
“Yes.”
“Did you hit her?”
“No.”
“Are you sure, or don’t you remember?”
“I’m sure.”
“Your neighbor heard some noises that could have been made by blows.”
“Really?”
“Did you threaten your wife?”
“No.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“Kurczak maintains that he heard you yell, and I quote: ‘If you don’t tell me about it, I won’t be responsible for what happens!’ What do you have to say to that?”
“It’s a lie.”
“It’s a lie? Why would your neighbor lie?”
“He misheard. I never threatened her.”
“What did you do next?”
Ruger interrupted at this point.
“My Lord, my client has already explained that he doesn’t remember. There are no grounds for the prosecutor forcing him to speculate.”
“Agreed!” Havel thundered. “Would my learned friend please restrict himself to questions that the accused is able to answer?”
“By all means,” said Ferrati with a smile. “But it’s not always easy to know what he remembers and doesn’t remember. Mr. Mitter, are you aware that your wife was afraid?”
“Nonsense.”
“A few days before her death, she confided in a female colleague that she was scared that something was going to happen.”
“I don’t believe that. What could she be scared of?”
“Might I ask you to try and answer that question instead?”
“I’ve no idea. Why don’t you ask. . whoever the hell it could have been?”
“Because she doesn’t know. It was only a brief meeting, but nevertheless, she had the impression that it was you your wife was scared of.”
“Rubbish.”
“I think we can leave it to the jury to decide what is rubbish and what isn’t. Your colleague will present her testimony next week. . Anyway, you have no explanation for why your wife was frightened?”
“None at all.”
“How were things with your former wife, Irene Beck?
Were you in the habit of beating her?”
“What the hell. .”
But Ruger was quicker. He leaped up from his chair.
“My learned friend is making insinuations!”
“Sit down!” Havel roared. “What do you mean, Mr.
Ferrati?”
“Irene Beck has testified that her former husband, the defendant, hit her on at least two occasions.”
“That was when we were separating. She hit me and I hit her back. For Christ’s sake, surely she’s not suggest
ing that. .”
“Are you admitting or are you not admitting that you beat your former wife?”
Mitter made no reply. Ruger was on his feet again.
“My Lord, why are you allowing the prosecuting attorney to insinuate things that are completely irrelevant to the case?”
Havel’s face was now puce in color.
“I must insist that my learned friend sit down and refrain from interrupting! And that the prosecuting attorney kindly explain where he hopes his questions will lead.”
Ferrati smiled again. It seemed that he always smiled when he looked at the judge.
“I am merely trying to establish the extent of the defendant’s tendency to resort to violence.”
Havel appeared to be thinking.
“Might I request the defendant to answer the question?” he said eventually.
“What question?”
“If you did or did not beat your former wife.”
Mitter waited for several seconds before answering.
“I slapped her twice in thirteen years. Evidently that wasn’t often enough.”
His response triggered mutterings in the public gallery, but a look from Havel was enough to restore order. Meanwhile, an assistant had stepped forward to whisper something in Ferrati’s ear. The latter nodded, and stepped forward in turn to whisper something to the judge that Mitter was unable to hear. Havel seemed to hesitate, but then nodded.
Ferrati continued:
“Have you ever been violent toward your pupils, Mr. Mitter?”
“Objection!” yelled Ruger, who was beginning to look indignant.
“Overruled!” bellowed Havel. “Answer the question!”
“Never,” said Mitter.
“Is it not a fact that you were reported for striking a pupil?
In March 1983, according to the information at my disposal?”
Ferrati looked pleased with himself. Mitter said nothing.
“Do you intend to reply, or don’t you remember?”
“I was reported, yes.”
“But nevertheless you claim that you have never been violent toward your pupils?”
