“Background. I need some kind of background. Even a lawyer has to solve puzzles, as I’m sure you’ll agree. What kind of a relationship do you have with your ex-wife?”
“None at all.”
There was a pause. Ruger blew his nose again. He was obviously dissatisfied about something, but Mitter had no desire to pander to him. Irene had nothing to do with this. Nor did Jurg and Inga. He was grateful for the fact that all three had the good sense not to become involved. They’d been in touch, of course, but only that first day. Since then they’d been quiet. He’d received a letter from Inga that very morning, but only a couple of lines. To express support for him.
We are with you. Inga and Jurg.
He wondered if the same applied to Irene as well. Was she with him? Perhaps it didn’t matter.
“What sort of a relationship did you have?”
“Excuse me?”
“Your marriage with Eva Ringmar. What was it like?”
“Like marriages are.”
“What does that mean?”
“. .”
“Was it a happy marriage, or did you fight?”
“. .”
“After all, you’d been married for only three months.”
“Yes, that’s correct.”
“And then you found your wife dead in the bath. Surely you understand that we have to find an explanation?”
“Yes, of course.”
“Do you also understand that it’s no good your not saying anything about this matter? Your silence would be taken as indicating that you were concealing something. It would be used against you.”
“I expect it would.”
“Did you love your wife?”
“Yes.”
“Did you fight?”
“Occasionally.”
Ruger made a note.
“The prosecutor will claim that she was killed. He will be supported by evidence from medical and technical specialists.
We shan’t be able to prove that she died a natural death. The question is whether she could have taken her own life.”
“Yes, I assume so.”
“You assume what?”
“That it depends on that. If she could have taken her own life.”
“Perhaps. Anyway, that evening-how much did you
drink?”
“Quite a lot.”
“Meaning what?”
“I can’t say for sure. .”
“How much do you need to drink before losing your memory, Mr. Mitter?”
He was obviously irritated now. Mitter pushed his chair back. Stood up and walked over to the door. Put his hands in his pockets and contemplated the lawyer’s hunched back.
Waited. But Ruger said nothing.
“I don’t know,” Mitter said eventually. “I’ve tried to work it out. Empty bottles and so on, you know. Presumably six or seven bottles.”
“Red wine?”
“Yes, red wine. Nothing else.”
“Six or seven bottles between two people? Were you alone all evening?”
“Yes, as far as I recall.”
“Do you have an alcohol problem, Mr. Mitter?”
“No.”
“Would you be surprised if other people took a different view?”
“Yes.”
“What about your wife?”
“What do you mean?”
“Is it not true to say that she was admitted”-he pored over his papers and leafed through them-“admitted to an institution for what is commonly known as drying out? In Rejmershus? I have the details here.”
“Why are you asking, then? It’s six years ago. She lost a child, and her marriage broke down.”
“I know, I know. Forgive me, Mr. Mitter, but I have to ask these questions, no matter how unpleasant they may seem. It will be much worse at your trial, I can assure you of that. You might as well get used to it.”
“Thank you, I’m already used to it.”
“Can we go on?”
“Of course.”
“What is your last clear memory from that night? That you can be absolutely certain about?”
“That casserole. . We had a Mexican casserole. I’ve told the police about it.”
“Say it again!”
“We had this Mexican casserole. In the kitchen.”
“Yes?”
“We started to make love.”
“Did you tell the police that?”
“Yes.”
“Go on!”
“What do you want to know? The details?”
“Everything you can remember.”
Mitter returned to the table. Lit a cigarette and leaned toward the lawyer. Might as well give it to him good and proper, this hunchbacked pencil pusher.
“Eva was wearing a kimono. Nothing underneath. As we were eating, I started caressing her. We drank as well, of 1 5
course, and she undressed me. Partly, at least. Eventually I lifted her up onto the table. .”
He paused briefly. The lawyer had stopped making notes.
“I lifted her onto the table, pulled off her kimono, and screwed her. I think she screamed-not because it hurt, but from sensual bliss, of course: she used to do that when we made love. I think we kept going for quite a long time. Continued eating and drinking as well. I know I poured wine over her pussy and then licked it off.”
“Wine on her pussy?”
Ruger’s voice was suddenly muted.
“Yes. Was there anything else you’d like to know?”
“Is that the last thing you can remember?”
“I think so.”
Ruger cleared his throat. Took out his handkerchief and blew his nose again.
“What time do you think that would have been?”
“I’ve no idea.”
“Not even roughly?”
“No. It could have been any time between nine and two. I never looked at the clock.”
“I understand. Why should you?”
Ruger started gathering together his papers.
