shoots himself through the head."
Sejer listened to her story.
"He didn't have time to think of another solution," he said.
"Precisely," Hanna Wigert said. "Two things happened simultaneously. A crisis and access to a weapon."
"What do you think might have happened to Jon?"
"I don't know. I don't understand it. According to his mother he started getting ill last winter. Up until then he was well-adjusted, but very sensitive. In some way he was predisposed, of course, but we are not aware of any inherited tendencies, and he never hinted at an experience or a trauma which might explain what happened."
"Did he confide in any of the patients?"
"He became friends with one of the girls here. She doesn't understand it either."
She scrutinized him.
"Why are you here?" she asked.
"It's pure routine in cases like this one..."
"In case he didn't take his own life," she completed the sentence for him. "But met his death in some other way?"
"Yes," Sejer conceded. "I suppose you're right."
"What have you found out?"
Sejer hesitated.
"I can't discuss that," he said.
"But you've found something, haven't you?"
"Let me put it this way," Sejer said. "There are a couple of things that disturb us. Details which we don't understand."
Hanna Wigert stared down at her lap. She reminded him of a defiant little girl.
"He couldn't swim," she said.
"We know," Sejer said.
"Those two friends of his," she continued. "They had a great deal of power over him."
"Where are you going with this?"
She retreated as though she was on shaky ground, and he did not get a reply.
He was still holding Kim in his lap. He pinched the coarse yarn hair and carefully tugged at the tiny white socks. They reminded him of the rubber caps you put on your fingertips when you want to leaf through a stack of papers. Reacting to an impulse he could not account for, a small request escaped him.
"Please may I take this with me?"
"The doll?"
"I want to keep it in my office."
"But what do you want with it?"
"It's a link to Jon," he said. "And after all, it's important to be a little childish."
Afterward he spoke to Molly Gram.
She refused to come downstairs, but she had said he could go to her room. When he entered, she was sitting on her bed with the white dog on her lap. It was a terrier, he noticed. It pricked up its ears. Sejer held out his hand, but she did not take it. The dog, however, expressed interest: it licked and sniffed it. He pulled out a chair and sat down by her bed.
"You can ask your questions now," she said.
Sejer studied the sullen young woman with paternal interest. Her hair was in a total mess, dry and soft like cotton grass. Underneath the black make-up she was sweet, but she wanted to come across as something else; the make-up served almost as a declaration of war. She was fierce, bitter and dismissive, and it was not up to him to decide if she had good cause to be. For a while he pondered how to approach her. Her body might be small and fragile, he thought, but she had an old head on those young shoulders.
"There's a game I like to play when I meet new people," he said.
She rolled her eyes. She stroked Melis across his back.
"I give them a place in the animal kingdom," Sejer said. "According to their attributes. And their appearance."
She continued to caress the dog with her fingers as thin as noodles, and he could see that she was listening.
"I decide very quickly," Sejer said, "and if an animal doesn't spring to mind immediately, then I'll never find out who they are. Some are impossible to categorize or too vague, while others are blatantly obvious."
Long pause. She had hunched her shoulders, and he noticed a wasp tattoo on her white neck.
"When I saw you, I made up my mind almost immediately," he said. "It took me seconds."
She stopped caressing Melis. Her eye make-up was so dark that it looked like a mask, but this time she was watching him intently.
"You're a raccoon," Sejer said.
She pulled a face. She needed
Sejer listened to her story.
"He didn't have time to think of another solution," he said.
"Precisely," Hanna Wigert said. "Two things happened simultaneously. A crisis and access to a weapon."
"What do you think might have happened to Jon?"
"I don't know. I don't understand it. According to his mother he started getting ill last winter. Up until then he was well-adjusted, but very sensitive. In some way he was predisposed, of course, but we are not aware of any inherited tendencies, and he never hinted at an experience or a trauma which might explain what happened."
"Did he confide in any of the patients?"
"He became friends with one of the girls here. She doesn't understand it either."
She scrutinized him.
"Why are you here?" she asked.
"It's pure routine in cases like this one..."
"In case he didn't take his own life," she completed the sentence for him. "But met his death in some other way?"
"Yes," Sejer conceded. "I suppose you're right."
"What have you found out?"
Sejer hesitated.
"I can't discuss that," he said.
"But you've found something, haven't you?"
"Let me put it this way," Sejer said. "There are a couple of things that disturb us. Details which we don't understand."
Hanna Wigert stared down at her lap. She reminded him of a defiant little girl.
"He couldn't swim," she said.
"We know," Sejer said.
"Those two friends of his," she continued. "They had a great deal of power over him."
"Where are you going with this?"
She retreated as though she was on shaky ground, and he did not get a reply.
He was still holding Kim in his lap. He pinched the coarse yarn hair and carefully tugged at the tiny white socks. They reminded him of the rubber caps you put on your fingertips when you want to leaf through a stack of papers. Reacting to an impulse he could not account for, a small request escaped him.
"Please may I take this with me?"
"The doll?"
"I want to keep it in my office."
"But what do you want with it?"
"It's a link to Jon," he said. "And after all, it's important to be a little childish."
Afterward he spoke to Molly Gram.
She refused to come downstairs, but she had said he could go to her room. When he entered, she was sitting on her bed with the white dog on her lap. It was a terrier, he noticed. It pricked up its ears. Sejer held out his hand, but she did not take it. The dog, however, expressed interest: it licked and sniffed it. He pulled out a chair and sat down by her bed.
"You can ask your questions now," she said.
Sejer studied the sullen young woman with paternal interest. Her hair was in a total mess, dry and soft like cotton grass. Underneath the black make-up she was sweet, but she wanted to come across as something else; the make-up served almost as a declaration of war. She was fierce, bitter and dismissive, and it was not up to him to decide if she had good cause to be. For a while he pondered how to approach her. Her body might be small and fragile, he thought, but she had an old head on those young shoulders.
"There's a game I like to play when I meet new people," he said.
She rolled her eyes. She stroked Melis across his back.
"I give them a place in the animal kingdom," Sejer said. "According to their attributes. And their appearance."
She continued to caress the dog with her fingers as thin as noodles, and he could see that she was listening.
"I decide very quickly," Sejer said, "and if an animal doesn't spring to mind immediately, then I'll never find out who they are. Some are impossible to categorize or too vague, while others are blatantly obvious."
Long pause. She had hunched her shoulders, and he noticed a wasp tattoo on her white neck.
"When I saw you, I made up my mind almost immediately," he said. "It took me seconds."
She stopped caressing Melis. Her eye make-up was so dark that it looked like a mask, but this time she was watching him intently.
"You're a raccoon," Sejer said.
She pulled a face. She needed
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