‘Melis,’ she said. ‘Drop it.’
The command was barely audible, but the dog instantly let go, spun around and ran back to her.
Axel stepped forward to greet her.
‘My name’s Axel,’ he said, ‘and the giant here is Philip Reilly. It’s kind of you to see us, we really appreciate it. We’re friends of Jon.’
He took both of her hands in his and Reilly knew that Axel’s hands were warm, and that the warmth would spread to her whole body. You might even think he had hands like a healer. Reilly had seen many girls go weak at the knees, but Axel Frimann had no effect on Molly. She stood very still and looked at him with her black eyes.
‘We thought you might want to go to the funeral,’ Axel said. ‘It’s on Friday, in Brodal Church. One o’clock.’
She measured him from his head down to his Italian leather shoes.
‘We used to walk together,’ she said. ‘In the evening. After dinner.’
‘Where did you go?’ Axel asked. ‘Tell us, please.’
‘Through the park,’ she said, ‘and down the path. It runs in a figure of eight through the forest and it’s just the right distance. It took us an hour. And we would stop on the way back and drink water from the fish fountain up there. There is a carp that spews water.’
Axel smiled. ‘If you want to go to the funeral, we could come and pick you up,’ he offered.
‘I’ll be getting a lift with Hanna,’ she said.
A pause followed.
She looked as if she was about to leave.
‘Melis!’ she called out. ‘Come here.’
‘Jon was really into you,’ Axel said.
She took one step forward.
‘What happened?’ she asked.
‘At the cabin, you mean?’
‘Yes.’
‘We don’t know,’ Axel said. ‘He went out during the night while we were sleeping. He was gone when we got up.’
She shook her head.
‘No,’ she said. ‘We had an agreement. Jon would not have broken our agreement.’
‘Everybody does sooner or later,’ Axel said. ‘If they don’t, they’re not human. Please don’t judge Jon even though he might have disappointed you.’
She fixed her kohl-black eyes on him again.
‘Judge Jon? Are you even listening to me?’
She headed for the door. Her narrow back disappeared. Melis ran after her.
The men left. They turned around and looked back at the yellow facade. Reilly got the feeling that Molly was watching them from a window.
‘That girl’s still having toddler tantrums,’ Axel said. ‘You know the way they stamp their feet.’
‘She’s ill,’ Reilly reminded him.
‘It’s not that she’s ill,’ Axel said. ‘More that she’s a wildcat. If you want to catch one of those, you need to wear protective gloves.’
CHAPTER 9
In her office Hanna Wigert had a blue sofa with a high back. It was a two-seater and had come from her childhood home in Kragero. When she was a little girl she used to jump up and down on it. She had climbed its tall back and watched the shimmering sea through the windows. Sometimes, in the evenings, she had fallen asleep on it and her father had carried her off to bed without her noticing. When her parents had died she had collected the sofa and put it in her office. It reminded her of goodness. Not everyone had grown up in such fortunate circumstances, and some of those people came to this office. Now the sofa was covered with rag dolls and cuddly toys. They were piled in a big heap, and they took up a lot of room.
She shook Sejer’s hand and asked him to sit down. He moved dolls and animals and she noticed that he handled them with the utmost care. They were not tossed aside, but were gently placed against the armrests of the sofa.
‘What do you want to know?’ Hanna Wigert asked.
Sejer moved a sheep with a curly fleece.
‘What did you think when you heard about Jon’s suicide?’ he said.
‘I was surprised,’ she said.
‘Why?’
She considered this for a long time. Her hair, it struck him, looked like wool. Like the sheep’s.
‘Because it was unexpected,’ she said. ‘Everyone gives off light. You can see it in their eyes or their bodies or in the way they move. You can tell that something drives them. It’s a form of energy. Jon Moreno’s light was still safe and sound.’
His light was safe and sound, Sejer thought. What a lovely way of putting it.
‘He was getting help,’ she said, ‘and he was grateful for that. He kept so much deep inside him, but he was opening up. To some extent it’s also a matter of intuition,’ she said. ‘I’ve been here a long time. I’ve seen many fall by the wayside. But when you called and told me that Jon was dead, I nearly fell off my chair. That shouldn’t happen to a psychiatrist.’
Sejer held up one of the rag dolls. It had short yellow hair made from yarn, blue eyes and it wore a red dress decorated with white beads.
‘Did he ever talk about death?’
‘He never mentioned death at all,’ Hanna Wigert said. ‘But that in itself isn’t necessarily significant; suicide can happen without warning. Sometimes the strain builds and we don’t notice. And then lightning strikes.’
Sejer looked at all the dolls that surrounded him.
‘What are they for?’ he asked.
‘Oh,’ she said. ‘They’re here to make it cosy. And they serve a practical purpose, too. Opening up and exposing yourself isn’t easy. Your hands have nothing to do. So I give the patients something to handle.
Sejer looked at the rag doll in his lap.
‘They pick very different ones,’ she said. ‘Some are attracted to one in particular, which they always go to fetch when they come here. Others take a new one every time. Others think the whole thing is ridiculous. The doll in your lap is called Lady Di.’
‘They’ve got names?’
‘Nearly all of them.’
Sejer put down Lady Di and picked up a pink velvet pig with a curly tail.
‘Let me guess,’ he said. ‘Girls pick this one.’
‘Yes,’ Hanna Wigert smiled. ‘The pig.’
‘What did Jon Moreno do?’
She got up from her chair, dug through the pile and pulled out a rag doll with short black hair.
‘He used to hold this one,’ she said. ‘It’s a boy rag doll and Jon spotted it immediately.’
She held it up to him. It was obviously made by someone who knew their craft. Its eyes and brows were neatly embroidered with shiny black thread. Its hair was short and stuck out, and the doll was wearing blue denim dungarees.
‘Who makes them?’ Sejer asked.
‘The patients,’ Hanna Wigert said. ‘In the workshop. New ones arrive every year and some take their favourite dolls home. Others want to leave something behind when they go, so that we will remember them. The teddy is called Barney,’ she said, ‘and the one with the gap between its teeth is called Kurt.’
