Ruger shook hands. Squeezed Mitter’s proffered hand tightly and lengthily, and looked serious but also benevolently disposed. It was obvious to Mitter that he had attended courses on lawyer-client relations.
“Janek Mitter?”
Mitter nodded.
“A nasty business.”
He wriggled out of his overcoat. Shook water off it and hung it on the hook by the door. The warder double- locked before going away down the corridor.
“It’s raining out there. Much pleasanter in here, to be honest.”
“Have you got a cigarette?”
Ruger produced a pack from his jacket pocket.
“Take as many as you like. I don’t understand why they won’t even let you smoke.”
He sat down at the table. Put his thin leather briefcase in front of him. Mitter lit a cigarette, but remained standing.
“Aren’t you going to sit down?”
“No thank you.”
“Up to you.”
He opened a brown folder. Took out some typewritten pages and a notepad. Removed and replaced the cap of a ballpoint pen a few times, resting his elbows on the table.
“A nasty business, as I said. I want to make it clear to you how things stand, right from the start.”
Mitter waited.
“There are a lot of things going against you. That’s why it’s important for you to be honest with me. If we don’t have complete trust in each other, I won’t be able to defend you as successfully as. . Well, are you with me?”
“Yes.”
“I assume you won’t hesitate to make your views known. . ”
“Views?”
“On how we should go about things. Naturally, I shall work out the strategies, but you are the one at the sharp end.
As far as I can make out, you are an intelligent man.”
“I understand.”
“Good. Would you like to tell me about it, or would you prefer me to ask questions?” Mitter stubbed out his cigarette in the washbasin, and sat down at the table. The nicotine had made him a bit dizzy, and he was suddenly overcome by a feeling of weariness.
He felt tired of life. Of this hunchbacked lawyer, of the incredibly ugly cell, of the nasty taste in his mouth, and of all the inevitable questions and answers in store for him.
Extreme weariness.
“I’ve already been through everything with the police. I’ve spent two days doing nothing else.”
“I know, but I have to ask you to do it again. It’s an essential part of the game, as I’m sure you realize.”
Mitter shrugged. Shook another cigarette out of the pack.
“I think it would be best if you asked questions.”
The lawyer leaned back. Rocked back on his chair and adjusted the notepad on his knee.
“Most lawyers use a tape recorder, but I prefer to make notes,” he explained. “I think it’s less stressful for the client. . ”
Mitter nodded.
“Besides, I have access to the police tapes, if I should need them. Anyway, before we start going into details, I have to ask you the obligatory question. You will probably be charged with the murder, or at the very least manslaughter, of your wife, Eva Maria Ringmar. How do you intend to plead? Guilty or not guilty?”
“Not guilty.”
“Good. There should be no doubt on that point. Neither on your side, nor mine.”
He paused and rolled the pen between his fingers.
“Is there any doubt?”
Mitter sighed.
“I have to ask you to answer my question. Are you absolutely certain that you didn’t kill your wife?”
Mitter paused for a few seconds before answering. Tried to catch the lawyer’s eye in an attempt to deduce what he really thought, but in vain. Ruger’s face was as inscrutable as a potato.
“No, of course I’m not certain. You know that full well.”
The lawyer made a note.
“Mr. Mitter, I must ask you to disregard the fact that I have read the transcript of your interrogation. You must try to pretend that you are now telling your story for the first time. Put yourself in that situation.”
“I don’t remember.”
“No, I have grasped the fact that you don’t remember what happened: that is precisely why we have to be meticulous about starting again from scratch. Your memory will not wake up if you don’t try to go back to that night. Totally without prejudice. Don’t you agree?”
“What do you think I spend my time doing? What do you imagine I think about in this cell?”
He was starting to get angry. The lawyer avoided looking him in the eye and made a note on his pad.
“What are you writing?”
“Sorry.” He shook his head to indicate that was not something he was prepared to reveal. Took a handkerchief from his pocket and blew his nose loudly. “Bloody awful weather,” he explained.
Mitter nodded.
“I just want you to understand,” said Ruger, “what a pre-carious situation you find yourself in. You maintain that you are not guilty, but you don’t remember. That is rather an inse-cure foundation on which to build a case for your defense, as I’m sure you realize.”
“It’s the prosecutor’s job to prove that I’m guilty. It’s not up to me to prove the opposite, isn’t that right?”
“Of course. That’s the law, but. .”
“But?”
“If you don’t remember, you don’t remember. But it could be rather difficult to convince a jury. Will you undertake to inform me the moment anything comes back to you?”
“Of course.”
“No matter what it is?”
“Naturally.”
“Let’s go on. How long had you known Eva Ringmar?”
“Two years. Slightly more than two years. Ever since she started working at our school.”
“Where you teach what?”
“History and philosophy. Mainly history. Most pupils don’t choose to study philosophy.”
“How long have you been in post there?”
“Twenty years, roughly. Maybe nineteen.”
“And your wife?”
“Modern languages. For two years, as I said.”
“When did you start your relationship?”
“Six months ago. We got married last summer, at the beginning of July.”
“Was she pregnant?”
“No. Why. .”
“Do you have any children, Mr. Mitter?”
“Yes. A son and a daughter.”
“How old?”
“Twenty and sixteen. They live with their mother in Chadow.”
“When were you divorced from your former wife?”
“In 1980. Jurg lived with me until he started at university. I don’t see what this has to do with-”
