“How much wine?”
“How much? A case. Twelve bottles.”
“Thank you. Please go on.”
“I got home at half past four, or thereabouts. Eva had started preparing the evening meal, a casserole we were going to eat later on. She paused when I arrived, and we had a glass of wine and a cigarette on the balcony instead. It was very pleasant weather, and I suppose we sat outside for an hour or more.”
“What did you talk about?”
“Nothing special. School, books. .”
“You didn’t have any visitors?”
“No.”
“Any telephone calls?”
“Just the one, Bendiksen.”
“Who’s Bendiksen?”
“A good friend of mine. We’d planned a fishing trip for that Sunday. He rang about some detail or other.”
“What, precisely?”
“I can’t really remember. What time we should leave, I think.”
“No other telephone calls?”
“No.”
“Or visits?”
“No.”
“As far as you can remember?”
Ferrati smiled.
“Yes. As far as I can remember.”
“Okay, so you sat out on the balcony until about. . half past five, is that right?”
“Roughly.”
“How much did you drink?”
“I don’t know. A bottle, perhaps.”
“Each?”
“No, between us.”
“Not more?”
“Well, possibly.”
“And then? Please go on.”
“We went indoors and finished preparing the casserole.
Then we had a shower.”
“Separately, or. .?”
“No, together.”
“Go on!”
“We watched television for a while.”
“What program?”
“The news, and then a film.”
“What was the film?”
“I don’t remember. French, from the sixties, I think. We switched it off.”
“And then?”
“We went to the kitchen and started eating.”
“What time was it by now?”
“I don’t know. Presumably about half past eight. . nine o’clock. . something like that.”
“Why are you guessing that time?”
“The police showed me the TV program for that evening.
A French film started at eight o’clock.”
“But you don’t remember yourself?”
“No.”
“Thank you. Let’s assume that it’s correct even so. You and your wife are sitting in the kitchen, eating, round about nine o’clock. What happens next?”
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t know?”
“No. I have no memory of what happens after that.”
“You remember nothing more from the whole evening?”
“No.”
“But you have told the police that you had sexual intercourse with your wife as well. .”
“Yes.”
“Is that correct?”
“Yes, but it was the same time.”
“What do you mean?”
“It was at the same time as we were eating dinner.”
“You had intercourse while you were eating dinner?”
Somebody sighed in the gallery. Ferrati turned his head.
“Yes. More or less the same time.”
More muttering, and Havel picked up his gavel. But this time he didn’t even need to raise it. It was clear that he had the situation under control.
“What else do you remember from that evening?” Ferrati asked.
“Nothing, as I’ve already said.”
“Nothing?”
“No.”
“You don’t remember getting undressed and going to bed?
Or that your wife took a bath?”
“No. Would you kindly refrain from asking the same question over and over again!”
“Now, let’s get this straight, Mr. Mitter: you are accused of murder. I think it’s in your best interests for us to be a bit more precise. Just one more thing, before we move on to the next morning. How much did you drink during the course of the evening?”
“I don’t know. Six or seven bottles, perhaps. Between us, that is.”
“Wine?”
“Yes.”
“But surely you hadn’t managed to get through six bottles of wine when you were having your, er, intercourse dinner?”
Somebody giggled, and Ruger protested.
“Overruled!” Havel roared. “Answer the question!”
“No. . I don’t think so.”
“So I can draw the conclusion that you didn’t go to bed at about nine o’clock?”
“Yes, I suppose so.”
“In any case, you must have been pretty drunk-or what do you think, Mr. Mitter?”
“Yes.”
“I can’t hear you!” Havel bellowed.
“Yes, I was drunk.”
“Were you also drunk when you slapped your former wife a couple of times?”
“Why are you asking that?”
“Surely you must understand why?” said Ferrati with a smile.
“Objection!” shouted Ruger, but it was in vain.
“Yes, I was drunk then as well,” admitted Mitter. “Being drunk is not a crime, I hope.”
“Certainly not,” said Ferrati amiably. “And your wife, Eva Ringmar that is, was she also drunk?”
