Free Mind's Eye by Håkan Nesser

accused please answer the attorney’s question!”
    Mitter moistened his lips.
    “Of course,” he said calmly. “But I didn’t.”
    Ferrati stood for a few seconds without saying anything. Then he turned his back on Mitter, as if he could no longer bear to set eyes on him. When he started speaking again, he had sunk his voice half an octave, and spoke slowly, as if addressing a child. Trying to make it see reason.
    “Mr. Mitter, you have no memories at all from that night, but nevertheless you maintain that you didn’t kill your wife. You have had a month to think about it, and I have to say that I’d expected rather more logic from a teacher of philosophy. Why can’t you at least admit that you can’t remember if you killed her or not?”
    “I wouldn’t forget something like that.”
    “Excuse me?”
    “I wouldn’t forget having drowned my wife. I don’t remember having killed her…ergo, I didn’t kill her.”
    Rüger blew his nose. It might have been an attempt to divert attention from Mitter’s last words. If so, it failed because Ferrati repeated them, albeit somewhat distortedly. Standing in front of the jury, only an arm’s length away, he intoned: “I don’t remember, therefore I’m not guilty! Might I request, members of the jury, that you consider these words carefully, and weigh their significance. What do you conclude? I can see that you know the answer already—they weigh less than air! And that is characteristic of the whole case for the defense! Air, nothing but hot air!”
    He turned to look at Mitter again.
    “Mr. Mitter, for the last time…why don’t you confess to killing your wife, Eva Ringmar, by drowning her in the bathtub? Why persist in being so stubborn?”
    “May I point out that I’ve admitted it already, before the adjournment,” said Mitter. “Who’s being stubborn?”
    The reply aroused considerable enthusiasm in the public gallery, and Havel was forced to resort to his gavel. Ferrati took the opportunity of consulting his assistant before confronting Mitter once again.
    “Tell us what you did while waiting for the police!”
    “I…tidied up a bit.”
    “What did you do with the clothes that you and your wife had been wearing the previous evening?”
    “I washed them.”
    “Where?”
    “In the washing machine.”
    Ferrati took off his glasses and put them into his inside pocket.
    “While your wife was lying dead in the bath and you were waiting for the police to arrive, you took advantage of the opportunity to wash clothes?”
    “Yes.”
    New pause.
    “Why, Mr. Mitter? Why?”
    “I don’t know.”
    Ferrati shrugged. Walked back and stood behind his chair. Stretched both arms out wide.
    “Your Honor, I have no more questions to ask the defendant.”
             
    Havel looked at the clock.
    “We have half an hour until lunch. How long does my learned friend require?”
    Rüger stood up and took the floor.
    “It’s enough. My client is under intense psychological strain, and I shall be very brief. Mr. Mitter, what about the door to your apartment? Was it locked or unlocked that night?”
    “Unlocked. We never lock—er, we never used to lock the door when we were at home.”
    “Not even at night?”
    “No, never.”
    “What about the entrance door to the apartment block, the street door?”
    “It’s suppose to be locked, but I can’t remember it being locked for as long as I’ve lived there.”
    Rüger turned to Havel and held up a sheet of paper.
    “I have a signed statement from the landlord confirming that the outside door was not locked on the night in question. Mr. Mitter, isn’t it true to say that anybody at all could have entered your apartment and murdered your wife during the night of October second?”
    “Yes, I assume so.”
    “If we take it that you fell asleep at, let’s say, ten o’clock or thereabouts, is it not possible that your wife might have left the apartment…”
    “Pure speculation!” protested Ferrati,