Birthdays of a Princess by Helga Zeiner

to cooperate.
    But she didn’t this time.
    “You know it from the psycho-doc,” she said, “but you can’t tell me
because he isn’t supposed to give out information. Right?”
    “Depends.”
    “On what?”
    “If it helps our investigation,” he said evasively. “It’s his
decision.”
    “So all the movies get it wrong? About the confidentiality and that
kind of crap, I mean.”
    “While an assessment is ongoing, we don’t have access to it, but once
it’s done, the court hands his report over to us.” She didn’t seem to
understand. “He’s finished his initial assessment. I’ve read it.”
    “What does it say?”
    Macintosh leaned back and shook his head.
    ”Nothing that’ll help me.”
    “Help you with what?”
    “You really ask too many questions. But I’ll give you an answer
anyway. It’s because I want to wrap up this case as quickly as possible so I
can get on with my life.”
    “But that is your life, talking to criminals like me, isn’t
it?”
    There was that curious expression again, flitting over her face. Was
she baiting him? He had to smile; a little bitter, but still.
    “I’ll be done with this soon and then I go up north to my home in
the country and forget bad things and bad people exist.”
    She smiled back at him, without any bitterness but with a sadness
that dulled the little spark in her eyes again.
    “You know I can’t help you. I don’t remember anything.”
    “That’s what you say.”
     “No,” she said, involuntarily kicking her heel on the linoleum flooring.
“That’s how it is. I wish I’d remember, even the bad stuff, but you, you just want
to forget everything.”
    “Are you saying bad things have happened to you?”
    “I don’t know. If they did, I have forgotten about them. I wish I
wouldn’t have. And neither should you. Whatever bad stuff happened to you, you
shouldn’t forget anything. It’s really quite awful, this not remembering
thing.”
    With that, she closed down altogether and went back into the private
retreat she had created for herself. He knew he wouldn’t be able to break
through this barrier. At least not today.
     
    On his way to the station, he went over the conversation—one
couldn’t call it an interview by any stretch of the imagination—again and got
angry. Her final comment annoyed him and he mused over its meaning. Was it
really so bad to forget? How else would he carry on living and get some
enjoyment out of his golden years if he didn’t at least attempt to forget the
tragedy of his life. He pictured himself on his porch—sitting on what his wife
had always called the old couples bench—with the sun setting behind the cluster
of fir trees on the opposite hill. Its last rays were supposed to warm his
bones but sitting there he shivered from the loneliness and emptiness inside
him.
    He got angry, first at fate, and then at the girl. She was right. At
least, if he kept the memories alive, he’d have those to take with him and he
wouldn’t be alone.
    Back at the station he made an effort to shake himself free of the
looming despair. This was his life, right here and now. He had cases to solve
and should save the philosophical ruminations for the years when he had nothing
better to do.
    But damn the girl, she had touched a nerve that wasn’t hers to
expose.
    “Where’ve you been?” Harding saw him come in, waved and pointed at
the stack of files in front of him. “We got to get through this shit before
lunch time.”
    “Nowhere,” Macintosh said. “Just private business.”

 
     
     
     
    Chapter 14
     
     
    Monday morning is turning into a social whirlwind for me. As soon as
the detective left, the psycho-doc arrived and I’m sent straight from the
visitor’s room to a small office inside the prison unit for our first session.
To my deep regret, I am not allowed to change from purple to green this time.
    “For the time being, there is no need to move you back into IAU,” he
explains. “We’ll do