“Why’s that?”
“The doctor said he would expect to see a significant level of recovery in time, although not as much or as rapidly as he would with a younger casualty. I can’t help feeling Hallur’s not as impaired as he lets on.”
“You think he’s faking?”
“The man’s a politician, so lying’s second nature to him, but he’s going to be under supervision and the moment he slips up I’ll be on him like a ton of bricks. If it’s an act, he’s going to spend the rest of his life playing that part, so I suppose we can look on the bright side.”
“Which is what?”
“The man has a choice, assuming it is an act. Either he can snap out of it and face the music, or else he can pretend to be mentally impaired. Not much of a life.”
“Better than prison, though,” Ivar Laxdal said.
“I’m not so sure. I suppose he’ll be released eventually into Helena Ros’ care, and considering how fond she is of her husband, I think prison would be the more pleasant option.”
“Not as good as prison, but close, you mean?”
“As good as a life sentence,” she said, letting the door close behind her. “See you tomorrow.”
