A Nearly Normal Family(86)

She stared down at the asphalt. Her mascara was all smudged and her shoelaces were untied.

“What?” I said.

“Let’s just forget that piece of shit Chris Olsen.”





77


For once, I’m more or less well rested when I wake up. It gives me a fresh, healthier outlook on everything. You don’t understand how important sleep is until you’re unable to sleep undisturbed.

The police have arranged for another interview right after breakfast. I slowly chew my dry slice of bread and wonder what I will say to Agnes Thelin.

Elsa and Jimmy take the elevator with me, down to the interrogation room, where Michael Blomberg is waiting.

“Good morning, Stella,” he says.

He seems nervous. Is he afraid of what I’m going to say? He huffs and puffs as he wrestles his way out of his tight jacket. His shirt is navy blue.

Agnes Thelin rattles off a few pleasantries before settling down across from me and starting the recording.

“You’ve had some time to think since we last spoke, Stella. Is there something you want to tell me, or clarify?”

“Well…”

Agnes Thelin smiles patiently.

“I don’t think so,” I say, peering at Blomberg, who’s messing with his tie.

“It’s just that your activities on the day of the murder…,” says Agnes Thelin. “We can’t quite get a handle on them, Stella.”

“No.”

She watches me for a long time without a word. A little too long. At last I just have to say something, anything, to get out of her grasp.

“Blomberg says Dad gave me an alibi.”

The lawyer’s eyes widen. He scratches his nose.

“Well,” Agnes Thelin says, with a look at Blomberg. “It might not be quite that simple.”

“Oh? Why not?” I ask.

“It’s nearly impossible to pin down the exact moment of a human death.”

“What about the neighbor? Didn’t she hear screaming at one?”

Agnes Thelin doesn’t respond. I still don’t know how much to tell her.

“Can you try to recall exactly what you did after you left the restaurant that night, Stella?”

I breathe deeply, heavily.

There’s nothing wrong with my memory. I remember exactly what I did.

“What does Dad say?” I ask.

Agnes Thelin looks me straight in the eye.

“Your dad says you came home at exactly eleven forty-five on Friday night. He claims to be one hundred percent certain of it.”

I still don’t get it. Is Dad planning to lie in court? Why?

“He says he spoke with you. Is that right?”

I shift, but don’t say anything.

The next look Agnes gives me seems to carry an appeal.

“When did you really come home that night, Stella?”

She leans toward me, but I look past Agnes Thelin, past everything, into the bare wall behind her. I think about Amina. I can still hear her terrified breaths. I can see her broken gaze.

“Is your father’s information correct, Stella? Did you come home at quarter to twelve that night?”

“Mm.”

“I’m sorry?”

The room falls dead silent. Everything is holding its breath.

“I didn’t come home until two.”

It feels good in my heart.

Blomberg’s eyes are about to pop out of their sockets, but Agnes Thelin exhales and now I’m looking only at her.

“What happened that night, Stella?”

“I biked over to Chris’s.”

I think about Amina. I picture her before me, in a doctor’s coat. She is beaming, as usual. She must have started med school by now. I think of all the years we shared, everything we made it through. I don’t feel any dread; the smell is gone; everything is fine.

“What happened after that?” Agnes Thelin asks.

Blomberg wipes sweat from his forehead.

I think of what he said about Amina. If you care about Amina, you won’t say anything.

I think of Shirine; I think of my trip to Asia. I think about Mom and Dad.

I think of the rapist.

I can’t keep quiet any longer.





78


Amina hesitantly brought the glass to her lips.

“We were going to surprise you,” she said. “We were going to think of something together. He wanted me to come over to his place.”

I fixed my eyes on her. She took a quick sip.

“He kissed me,” she said then, almost in passing.

“What? Chris kissed you?”

I took a huge gulp of rosé.

“I swear, I wasn’t expecting it at all. Suddenly he was just there, totally on top of me, and his lips … I tried to shove him off. You have to believe me.”

I stared at her and downed the rest of my wine. We were sitting in the outdoor seating area at the Stortorget restaurant; it was Friday night and full of people. Even so, it felt like we were all alone in our little bubble, just Amina and me. The rest of the world was canned elevator music.

“You trust me, right? You know I would never do anything with him,” said Amina.

Her giant pupils darted back and forth. It was a point of honor, of course. We were best friends.