A Nearly Normal Family(101)

“Probably not.”

Jansdotter waves the list. Beside me, the bearded man sucks air through his teeth. I’m getting an inkling of where this is going. How could we have missed it?

“Stella did in fact send a reply,” the prosecutor says.

“Oh?”

Adam just sits there as if waiting for a death blow. I want to shout at him to hold his ground—he can’t give up now.

“The technicians have managed to recover that one as well. The fact is, you deleted both of these messages on Saturday, when you learned that Stella had been taken into police custody.”

“I did?” Adam says.

He doesn’t sound like he’s very good at lying. No one is buying this.

“Stella wrote, On my way home now. The message was received by your phone at twenty minutes to two. When Stella had already, according to your story, been home for almost two hours.”





92


Adam doesn’t respond to the prosecutor’s statement.

“Do you have any explanation for this text?” Jansdotter says. “Why would Stella send a text to say she’s on her way home at twenty minutes to two when you claim she was home by eleven forty-five?”

Adam is silent. The seconds are ticking by.

A woman in the row behind mine tugs at my blouse and gestures at me to sit down. But I have to go to Adam. He needs me. This is all my fault!

“I’m sure there can be delays,” Adam says at last.

The bearded man hisses psst at me and nods toward the end of the row, where a security guard has puffed up his chest and is staring at me.

“What do you mean, Adam?” Jenny Jansdotter says.

“Sometimes texts can get stuck out in cyberspace,” he says, obvious doubt in his voice. “Just because I received a message at a certain point in time doesn’t necessarily mean it was sent right then.”

I sink down on my chair and a sigh of relief goes through my body. Naturally, Adam is right. He may not have a clue about all these technicalities, but he’s smart and quick on his feet. Common sense would dictate that he’s not wrong. The fact that the prosecutor has proof of when a text arrived means nothing in practice unless she can also prove when it was sent. And in order to do that she would need access to Stella’s phone.

Jenny Jansdotter makes a pained face.

“Isn’t it the case that Stella in fact came home much later than you claim?”

I sneak a look at the security guard and find that his interest in me has abated.

“No,” Adam says firmly. “Stella came home at eleven forty-five.”

Michael swipes the back of his hand over his sweaty forehead. Next to him, Stella is staring at the table with glassy eyes. She looks so small and fragile and I hate myself for what I am subjecting her to.

In the past few weeks, I have found myself explaining time and again to both myself and Michael why we can’t tell Stella everything. I have felt my doubts gnawing at and burrowing into me, but it would be too risky to tell her. Stella has far too much trouble controlling her impulses. One too-strong emotion, one stray word, and that would be the end of it.

Furthermore, Stella has always loved being contrary. When her handball coaches told her to aim low she lobbed high instead; when Adam’s mother admired her waist-length hair she shaved her head.

My chest fills with pain as I look at her.

“Do you know where Stella’s cell phone is?” the prosecutor asks Adam.

“No idea.”

“Why have the investigators been unable to locate it?”

“I don’t know.”

Adam’s voice sounds calmer now.

“When did you last see Stella’s phone?”

“I don’t remember.”

“Isn’t it the case that you found it, Adam?”

“No,” he says firmly. “Stella always has her phone with her.”

“You mean she had it with her at work, at H&M, on that Saturday when she was taken into police custody?”

“I assume so.”

“If that were true, the police would have found it, wouldn’t they?”

Jansdotter stares him down, but doesn’t manage to make him lose his cool.

“Isn’t it true that you found Stella’s phone on Saturday? The day she was brought in to jail.”

“Absolutely not.”

Adam jerks his head and glances over his shoulder; for a split second we look straight at one another.

“I don’t know anything about Stella’s phone,” he repeats.

This is closer to the truth than the prosecutor suspects. Adam doesn’t know what happened to Stella’s phone. Only I do.

For a brief moment, the prosecutor loses her train of thought. She does a good job of hiding it, but it certainly doesn’t escape me or the other experienced lawyers in the courtroom. I allow myself to relax ever so slightly; I lean back and take a few sips of water. The bearded man looks at me and I get the sense that he knows, that he can see right into my thoughts.

Once Jansdotter has collected herself and conferred with her assistant, she continues her examination.

“Did you speak to Stella when she returned home that Friday night?”

“Yes,” Adam says. “As I’ve already stated.”