A Nearly Normal Family(94)

I was far too young. I allowed myself to be persuaded.





86


The presiding judge turns to Stella.

“Would you like to speak about these events and what, if anything, you have witnessed?”

Stella glances at Michael, who nods at her. I am so grateful that he’s the one sitting there.

When he called that Saturday night in the beginning of September to tell us that Stella had been taken into police custody, I knew I would be able to make him listen to reason. He owed me that much, after everything that had happened. It was, of course, a torment to sit in his office with Adam, it was a constant balancing act to keep from giving anything away, but none of this would have been possible without Michael.

“Where should I begin?” Stella asks, looking at the judge.

The whole court is staring at her. G?ran Leijon’s eyes may be warm and kind, but I see Stella’s hand trembling on the edge of the table. I wish I could sit beside her and hold her. The tunnel is closing in around me, and I gasp for air. The bearded journalist looks at me.

Stella knows exactly what she must and must not say. Michael has run through it with her several times. The important thing now is that she—for once—does as she’s been told. Please, my darling Stella!

This part of the proceedings is so tremendously important. The defendant’s first and likely only chance to make an impression on the court. I know Michael’s technique inside and out. Most of what I’ve learned has come from him. It’s crucial for the defendant to create trust, to present herself as both strong and vulnerable. It is best to agree with the prosecutor’s narrative to the greatest extent possible, and only depart from it on the points that are absolutely necessary in order to object to that version of the crime. It is important to appear cooperative. Stella must show that she is human; no more, no less.

“Are you acquainted with Christopher Olsen?” the presiding judge asks. “I suppose we can start there.”

Stella takes a deep breath and looks at Michael. He nods at her as if giving her the green light, then twists his body to the side, away from the audience, away from me.

I feel a stabbing sensation in my belly. A flash of doubt. I can trust Michael, can’t I?

“We met him at Tegnérs,” Stella says in a subdued voice. “Me and Amina.”

I don’t dare move a millimeter; I hardly dare to breathe.

“It was sometime in June. I thought Chris was charming, and … you know, exciting. He was so much older. He was thirty-two and I was seventeen.”

The female lay judges glance at each other.

“He told me he traveled a ton,” Stella continues. “He had been, like, everywhere. And you could tell he had money. He seemed to have a super-eventful life. Kind of like I dream of having.”

She’s using the present tense: dream. Not dreamed. She’s still dreaming.

“After that night he texted me and wanted to meet up again, so we did.”

Her voice sounds stronger now. Every so often she lifts her head and looks straight at Leijon and the lay judges. Michael straightens up and encourages her to go on with a pat on the arm. Naturally he’s wearing one of those blue shirts he special-orders from a tailor in Helsingborg. Many years ago, when we worked together, he confessed that he usually tosses each shirt after a day in court. The sweat is impossible to wash out.

“We went to Chris’s apartment a few times,” Stella says. “We took a limousine to Copenhagen and went to a fancy restaurant. We went to the spa in Ystad and one night we got a suite at the Grand Hotel.”

It’s ridiculous how little you know about your own child. Here I had convinced myself that Stella and I had grown closer in recent years. Yet I know only a fraction of what goes on in her life. I consider whether this is strange, or even wrong; if it’s characteristic of our relationship in particular or if mothers of teenagers generally believe that they know more about their children than they actually do.

“Sometimes all three of us hung out. Chris, Amina, and me,” Stella says. “I mean, Chris and I weren’t in a relationship. We had sex a few times, but we weren’t a couple.”

The lay judges exchange glances again. The two women cringe, and the Sweden Democrat’s face glows red. I don’t want my daughter’s sex life laid bare either, but it takes quite a bit more than this to shock me.

“It was nothing serious, nothing like that. For me or for him. To be perfectly honest, I don’t think Chris wanted to be with a seventeen-year-old, and for me it was unthinkable to start anything. I was going to leave soon on a big trip. To Asia.”

My eyes sting and I carefully dab at them with a tissue. In my mind I see Stella under a palm tree on a beach in paradise. I hardly dare to imagine the alternative. Several years in prison. And presumably a life sentence from society—on the job market, among friends and acquaintances. How would Adam and I manage to go on? How would Stella manage?

“I know Amina was with Chris too, a few times,” Stella says. “It didn’t bother me.”

G?ran Leijon scratches his head.

“Can you be more precise on that point?”

“Which?”

“What do you mean, exactly, when you say Amina was with Chris?”

For the first time, the court gets to see a different side of Stella. Her eyes flash and the veins in her neck stand out.