Карин Фоссум - The Whisperer

Your mother .

Mutti ,

I have read your words very carefully. I have read them again and again, and I hope, of course, that you are in good hands. That they understand what you need and that they have the support network that you will need when the case is over, and you have been sentenced. And I hope that you accept their help. I was not ashamed, Mutti, I was tired and confused. I tried to find a role for myself in the circus that was our family, but couldn’t. I was always superfluous, I just rattled around, hid away in the corners. Grandad was unpredictable, you lived in your own world, I never knew what to expect. I tiptoed around, with my eyes peeled and my ears open, in case something was about to happen, a terrible storm, a landslide or an earthquake. The doorbell scared the living daylights out of me, I imagined that big strong men had come to tear me away from the house and throw me into a car and whisk me off to some strangers in an unknown house and that I would never see Granny again. I also remember good days, when Grandad ran around in the garden trying to catch sunbeams, and Granny sat in the shade knitting, while you cooled down in the paddling pool that we always had out. You were always too warm. But the atmosphere could change just like that. Grandad might spot a bank of clouds approaching at speed that would take away the sun and lower the temperature. Preparations had to be made. Everyone had to go inside and hide in the bathroom. I have no idea how many times I sat there on the hard floor, close to Granny, waiting for it all to pass. Those few hours at nursery were a relief, my time off. The small cabin with the round porthole was my space, my own little world where I was king. There were kind, predictable adults there to help us. But the things that happened in Kirkelina had nothing to do with immune systems and fevers — I didn’t understand that when I was little, but as I got older, I did. I’m going to write something important now, and I want you to believe me. I always think of you with great affection, and I think of Grandad with great affection too. And of course, Granny. But I’m not the first person to have left the people they love. The unpredictability was just too much, living with the derision of others, and the feeling that anything could happen at any moment. Loneliness and predictability became the better option. Even though I made some bad choices. The officers here never get excited about anything, they behave in a certain way and it’s the same, day after day. And there’s something about the cell, you know, the walls keep me in place. My cell reminds me of the small cabin in the fishing boat, where I felt safe and could look out on the world. The way you look out on the world from your cell window .

You, too, should read these words again and again .

Your son in Berlin

‘It was you who found him, wasn’t it? Your father.’

‘Yes, it was me who found him. All he had on was a pair of old underpants. And they weren’t clean either, that was how far things had gone. He was in bed most of the time. We often heard his voice, like a radio in the next room, as he lay there and read the news. Messages and warnings that he received from foreign stations that were inaccessible to us. Messages from the enemy.’

She smiled sadly.

‘He couldn’t be bothered to get dressed in the morning, and he couldn’t bear the thought of food. He had more important things to think about, he said, we mustn’t bother him with trivialities.’

‘But he was allowed to stay at home?’ Sejer asked.

‘My mother insisted. She could see that he didn’t have long left.’

‘Tell me what it was like,’ Sejer said. ‘How he died.’

‘He had tied a lamp cable round the handle on the cupboard door, and hanged himself sitting down. It would have taken a while for him to die.’

‘Were you frightened?’

‘Just sad. We knew it was going to happen one day, Mummy and I, we were well prepared. But to hang yourself is not a very dignified way to go, if you know what I mean, it’s not a pretty sight. I’m sure that you know what I’m talking about, that you’ve seen it yourself. No one should hang like that, we should die lying down.’

‘Yes, I have seen it,’ he said. ‘Did he leave a letter?’

‘Not a letter, as such, just a short message. “Feel free to laugh.”’

‘“Feel free to laugh”?’ Sejer realised that deep down he actually liked Hans Riegel, this father he had never met.

‘Were you ever worried that you might inherit your father’s illness?’

Ragna frowned.

‘Oh, I have some of the same problems. I often overheat, especially at night. It’s possibly my internal thermostat,’ she said with a smile. ‘But that’s more to do with my age.’

Sejer tried again.

‘Schizophrenia is often inherited. Your father was a paranoid schizophrenic.’

‘Inherited?’

She looked away.

‘I don’t know very much about things like that,’ she muttered.

‘You don’t? Were you ever frightened that you might develop the same illness?’

Sejer’s office had never been so still. Another line on his phone started to flash, a door slammed further down the corridor, a car on the road outside hooted its horn. Sounds that they had been unaware of until now suddenly filled the room.

‘I’m not ill,’ Ragna whispered, without looking at him.

She shook her head.

‘I’m not ill,’ she repeated.

‘It was just a gentle question,’ Sejer said.

‘Who have you been talking to?’ she asked immediately.

‘Your GP, Dr Naper. You have a long history, Ragna. Some people would say that you are seriously ill. And that you have been for a long time. Your medical file is extensive, and it goes way back. To your teenage years, in fact.’

‘I don’t want to talk to you any more today,’ she said and fidgeted on the chair. She lifted her right hand to stop him.

‘Do you feel threatened?’

‘I’m just saying that you’re wrong. My head,’ she said and laid a hand across her brow, ‘my head is perfectly clear. It’s tidy and ordered and always has been.’

‘Apart from when your brain melted.’

‘That was a nightmare. Don’t you use my dreams against me.’

‘Don’t forget I’ve read your letters from Berlin. There is a reason why your son left, isn’t there?’

Another silence. They were no longer allies, they no longer had eye contact.

‘Schizophrenics often have a sensory system that goes beyond what other people experience,’ Sejer said. ‘The constant stream of impressions, of sounds and smells and images, can sometimes get too much. Because there is no filter in relation to the world, and it becomes difficult to sort out what is important. Is that what happened this autumn, Ragna, did things get out of hand?’

She jutted her chin out.

‘I am a level-headed person,’ she said. ‘And I have no idea what you’re getting at.’

‘You closed yourself in more and more. You locked all the doors and found a dark corner where no one could reach you. But Bennet managed to get in, nonetheless, all the way into your kitchen. It’s fine to be in a cell, you can cope there. No one can get to you, no one asks you to come out, and there aren’t too many impressions. And in that situation, you seem to be perfectly well.’

‘Oh, for goodness’ sake —’ she looked at him with indignation — ‘that’s ridiculous!’

‘We have to talk about this, Ragna. And for your own sake, it would be better if you helped us, rather than withdrew. I have tried at all times to follow you and to understand your thoughts and actions, and why you acted in the way you did. We are going to have to go down this path, and if I can’t get you on board, we’ll draw our own conclusions without you. Is that what you want?’