one."
"Yes." Hanna Wigert smiled. "The pig."
"What did Jon Moreno do?"
She got up from her chair, dug through the pile and pulled out a rag doll with short black hair.
"He used to hold this one," she said. "It's a boy rag doll and Jon spotted it immediately."
She held it up to him. It was obviously made by someone who knew their craft. Its eyes and brows were neatly embroidered with shiny black thread. Its hair was short and stuck out, and the doll was wearing blue denim dungarees.
"Who makes them?" Sejer asked.
"The patients," Hanna Wigert said. "In the workshop. New ones arrive every year and some take their favorite dolls home. Others want to leave something behind when they go, so that we will remember them. The teddy is called Barney," she said, "and the one with the gap between its teeth is called Kurt."
"What about Jon's doll? Does it have a name?"
"It's called Kim."
"Kim. Why is that?"
"He told me it reminded him of someone he met once. He wouldn't say anything more and I don't know if it was important, but the doll is called Kim."
Sejer squeezed the doll's tummy as though he expected it to squeak.
"Some people have a negative reaction," Hanna Wigert said. "They think my office is childish. But in time they get used to the rag dolls. It's important to be a little childish," she added and flashed a smile at the inspector. He's quite attractive, she thought, and she enjoyed playing a little on her femininity, of which she had a great deal when it suited her.
Sejer examined Kim the rag doll with renewed interest. It was roughly thirty centimeters long, made from golden brown canvas and wore tiny socks on its feet.
"There's something I need to tell you," Hanna Wigert said. "Jon didn't want to go on the trip to the cabin."
"Did he say as much?"
She picked up a doll from the pile. Now she needed something to fidget with.
"He practically begged me not to make him go. But I was so keen to get him out among other people, that I talked him into it. I explained how important it was to keep in touch with the world outside. And he was going with his friends. They would take good care of him. I didn't take my cue from him. That was unforgivable, and it will haunt me for the rest of my life."
She slumped a little in her chair. She raised a hand to her eyes.
"Did he say why he didn't want to go?"
"I tried to press him, but he was evasive. And I'm breaking my duty of confidentiality here, but you represent an authority which allows me to do so," she said. "Jon suffered badly from anxiety. He believed that his anxiety would worsen if he left the ward, that it would overcome him in the forest. And it clearly did."
"And yet you're surprised at what happened," he said. "What makes someone commit suicide out of the blue?"
She tossed her doll back on the sofa.
"It's called a psychological accident," she said. "Several factors present themselves simultaneously and lead to a fatal outcome."
"Such as?"
She thought again.
"I'm trying to find a story," she said, "which can illustrate what I mean. I should have quite a few to choose from because I've seen this before. Oh, yes, I recall a story from Sweden that's a good example."
She leaned forward eagerly.
"A man spends the weekend at a cabin with some good friends," she began. "They go elk hunting. After a long time he returns home to his wife with fresh elk meat. Monday morning he gets into his car and drives to work. He has a well-paid job with a renowned firm. Then his boss comes into his office and tells him that the company has to cut costs, and that sadly he will have to let him go. In a few seconds he loses everything. His financial independence, his sense of belonging and his status. He gets into his car to drive home, overwhelmed by despondency. His entire world has collapsed. He pulls over at a bus stop, where he sits in despair. Then he remembers that his rifle is still in the trunk of his car after the hunting trip. He fetches the weapon, loads it and
"Yes." Hanna Wigert smiled. "The pig."
"What did Jon Moreno do?"
She got up from her chair, dug through the pile and pulled out a rag doll with short black hair.
"He used to hold this one," she said. "It's a boy rag doll and Jon spotted it immediately."
She held it up to him. It was obviously made by someone who knew their craft. Its eyes and brows were neatly embroidered with shiny black thread. Its hair was short and stuck out, and the doll was wearing blue denim dungarees.
"Who makes them?" Sejer asked.
"The patients," Hanna Wigert said. "In the workshop. New ones arrive every year and some take their favorite dolls home. Others want to leave something behind when they go, so that we will remember them. The teddy is called Barney," she said, "and the one with the gap between its teeth is called Kurt."
"What about Jon's doll? Does it have a name?"
"It's called Kim."
"Kim. Why is that?"
"He told me it reminded him of someone he met once. He wouldn't say anything more and I don't know if it was important, but the doll is called Kim."
Sejer squeezed the doll's tummy as though he expected it to squeak.
"Some people have a negative reaction," Hanna Wigert said. "They think my office is childish. But in time they get used to the rag dolls. It's important to be a little childish," she added and flashed a smile at the inspector. He's quite attractive, she thought, and she enjoyed playing a little on her femininity, of which she had a great deal when it suited her.
Sejer examined Kim the rag doll with renewed interest. It was roughly thirty centimeters long, made from golden brown canvas and wore tiny socks on its feet.
"There's something I need to tell you," Hanna Wigert said. "Jon didn't want to go on the trip to the cabin."
"Did he say as much?"
She picked up a doll from the pile. Now she needed something to fidget with.
"He practically begged me not to make him go. But I was so keen to get him out among other people, that I talked him into it. I explained how important it was to keep in touch with the world outside. And he was going with his friends. They would take good care of him. I didn't take my cue from him. That was unforgivable, and it will haunt me for the rest of my life."
She slumped a little in her chair. She raised a hand to her eyes.
"Did he say why he didn't want to go?"
"I tried to press him, but he was evasive. And I'm breaking my duty of confidentiality here, but you represent an authority which allows me to do so," she said. "Jon suffered badly from anxiety. He believed that his anxiety would worsen if he left the ward, that it would overcome him in the forest. And it clearly did."
"And yet you're surprised at what happened," he said. "What makes someone commit suicide out of the blue?"
She tossed her doll back on the sofa.
"It's called a psychological accident," she said. "Several factors present themselves simultaneously and lead to a fatal outcome."
"Such as?"
She thought again.
"I'm trying to find a story," she said, "which can illustrate what I mean. I should have quite a few to choose from because I've seen this before. Oh, yes, I recall a story from Sweden that's a good example."
She leaned forward eagerly.
"A man spends the weekend at a cabin with some good friends," she began. "They go elk hunting. After a long time he returns home to his wife with fresh elk meat. Monday morning he gets into his car and drives to work. He has a well-paid job with a renowned firm. Then his boss comes into his office and tells him that the company has to cut costs, and that sadly he will have to let him go. In a few seconds he loses everything. His financial independence, his sense of belonging and his status. He gets into his car to drive home, overwhelmed by despondency. His entire world has collapsed. He pulls over at a bus stop, where he sits in despair. Then he remembers that his rifle is still in the trunk of his car after the hunting trip. He fetches the weapon, loads it and
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