Karin Fossum: The Murder of Harriet Krohn

Dearest Julie,

It’s Dad here again. I’m sorry to pester you, but we’ve got so much to talk about now. You know that I’ll carry on writing until you answer. You will answer, won’t you? I assume you got my message that now I can have visitors. So just come along. They’re pretty good here, but it would be a good idea if you called first so that I can get myself ready. I must admit to being a little nervous. But after all, we do know each other, and I’m sure we can work it out. I’m sure we can. So just come one day when it’s convenient. I won’t be going anywhere, and I need to explain things so badly. You’ve got a right to an explanation. Now that you know everything. Now that you know how things stand, how ill I am, how uncertain my future is. If the worst comes to the worst, I could become dependent. I’m sure you understand how serious this is. We’ve got to keep in contact. I have no one else, after all. I’ve only got myself to blame, I know that. But that doesn’t make it any the less painful to be as alone as I am now. It’s unbearable. I see the others getting visits, and it’s hard to be the only one sitting alone in my cell all day long. Presumably you’re hard at it with exams and suchlike. I know that you’re clever and single-minded, and of course I’m glad that you’re putting school first. Education is important, and if you want to get into veterinary college you’ll need good marks. So, just stick with your work and keep at it, but don’t forget that I’m here waiting. I’m hoping for a bit of understanding. You’re astute and practically grown up now. Perhaps you need time, perhaps you’re in shock. But it’ll pass.

We’re still working hard, my lawyer and me, to get a pardon on grounds of ill health, but that’s not the only avenue we’re looking into. When I think back to that terrible day, November 7, many things become clear to me. Because in here I’ve got plenty of time, and I’ve delved into myself and analyzed the situation and what actually happened. I walked the streets as if delirious. I moved with a fever in my body, as if on greased rails. Before me an abyss, behind me only wretchedness. It was like having a pack of mongrels snapping at my heels — a situation so extreme that it threatened my very sanity, if you know what I mean. All this proved too much for me. I realize now that I was probably psychotic. I dimly recall an argument raging inside my head, which is one of the symptoms. I’m sure you know, mental illness must lead to acquittal. There’s plenty of documentation from similar cases. I’ve at last realized that I probably wasn’t of sound mind. If they make me serve time for this, it should be in a hospital. It’s true I’ve confessed, but I haven’t admitted criminal liability, according to my excellent counsel, whose name is Friis. Now you know how the matter stands.

The disease continues to develop. I often fall on the way to the exercise yard, in the corridor. The prison officers converge from all directions to try to get me back on my feet again. I don’t know whether to laugh or cry. Sometimes I hear snarky comments, but I try to laugh them off. I try to understand why this has happened to me. In the evenings, I lie on my bunk and think about the future. It doesn’t look bright, but even so I’ve settled down and I don’t complain. I just daydream a lot about the good times with you and Crazy. I’ve made no friends. I don’t feel any affinity with the others who are locked up here.

Dearest Julie, you mustn’t worry about Crazy. I’ll find a way out and, if necessary, I’ll sell the house, so that you’ll be able to pay for him with honest money. My lawyer will help me — at least there’s someone on my side. I never wanted this to happen, and I think you know that. But it would be nice if you said it out loud. I don’t think that’s too much to ask. Can’t you search within yourself and come up with a little forbearance? Something that would make my days a bit easier?

The legal system is merciless. It’s a mill that goes grinding on and on. I often feel exhausted and drained of all strength, but I’m impressed with the prison officers. They’re not bothered about what the inmates have done. They do their jobs and are friendly, and I should add: far more understanding than other people.

Are you looking after yourself? The worst thing of all is that I can’t help you anymore. But I’m always with you in thought, and even though you’ve turned your back on me now, we’re bound together by unbreakable ties. I won’t give up hoping that maybe you’ll write back or come to visit one day. This letter isn’t a long one because it’s lunchtime now, you see, and I’m hungry. I haven’t lost my appetite and I need food. I try to enjoy the small things, try to carry on. And then they bring reading material into my cell. That’s so good, because it makes the time pass quickly. I’ll write again next week. Don’t believe what you read in the newspapers. They don’t tell the whole story. They’re bland and sensationalist, trying to portray me as a cold-blooded killer. And you can’t get further from the truth than that, as you’ll realize because you understand me. But I’m the only one who knows the real truth. No one else saw what happened, and it can all be explained. If only you’ll give me the chance.

I’m not a wicked man!

For the love of God, Julie, you must believe me!