“No, I don’t think so. I would have noticed something.”
Per Clausen’s only comment to the reading was an ironic tug at the corners of his mouth, hardly noticeable, but nonetheless hugely irritating. Simonsen ignored it and said gently, “Your actions and your evasive answers simply strengthen the impression that you are trying to attract our attention. Perhaps you enjoy being in the spotlight, perhaps you find it diverting to waste our time. I’ve met plenty of both types. My first guess is that you had nothing to do with the murders. If that’s not the case, then you must be very simple-minded, because only very na?ve people imagine that they can get through an interrogation by being more quick-witted and clever in their answers than the officials who are conducting the session. They cannot. The power dynamic is far too uneven for that, and sooner or later everyone slips up. Every single time. It’s only a question of time.”
“That sounds about right.”
“Yes, it is. Am I boring you?”
“No, this is very interesting. Go on.”
“I will. We are going to talk a little about your untruths.”
“I see.”
“Many people think that it is illegal to lie to the police, but that is, to put it mildly, not a belief that you appear to share. Most people also find it embarrassing to be caught out in a lie, and in this case too you do not follow the norm. Pauline has an example…”
Berg again took up the post as reader. This time, the task was slightly different in that she combined two reports.
*
The first session:
“And you are a widower, you say. How long has that been the case?”
“Klara passed away one day nearly eight years ago when we were out shopping. She was struck on the sidewalk by a drunk driver. I was holding her hand but didn’t get so much as a scratch. The young hooligan who was driving got four months and after half a year he killed someone else. This time a four-year-old, and also when he was drunk. Today he is vice president of a large health-care company.”
Second session:
“… It turns out that your wife, or rather ex-wife, is not dead at all. Her name is Klara Persson, she lives in Malm?, and is in good health. How do you explain this?”
“Surely an ex-wife can be considered a little dead.”
“Why do you feed us this garbage?”
“I must have been swept up in the moment.”
*
Simonsen took over.
“And this is just one of your tall tales. You have lied about blood clots in your legs, about your employment at the school since 1963, that you often visit your sister in Tarm, and about your three convictions for arson. You also claim to be an alcoholic. On this point I want to give you the benefit of the doubt for now, and I want to show the same consideration regarding your visit to your sister last week, even though it was the first time in eight years that you went to see her.”
“My, my, how time does fly.”
Simonsen took no notice of the irony.
“We are deeply interested in the trip you took on your vacation and you can be sure it will be scrutinized in great detail.”
“An intercity train from the Central Station, Tuesday at eight A.M. The train was called the H. C. Andersen. A local train from Tarm Trinbr?t, Friday at nine thirty-four. That train was called the F?tter Guf.”
“Thank you, but we will manage without your assistance in this matter since your reliability is in question. That is not to say that your carelessness with the truth necessarily means anything at all. I would be the first to acknowledge that lying is a part of human nature, but if you scrape a little on the surface it turns out that most exaggerations stem from a disappointingly banal source. A made-up degree that the ego polishes a little, a gray life that is colored a little outside the bounds of reality, those kind of trivialities. Your lies tend more toward a kind of pathological lying—pseudologia fantastica—but if so, this is a disorder you seem to have acquired in honor of the occasion. The rest of the school staff do not characterize you as a compulsive liar, actually more the opposite, which brings me back to the question: Why? What are you gaining by this? If there is a good reason for it, it currently lies outside my capacity for understanding. Tomorrow I would like to speak with you again. You will meet us here at the school at two P.M., and we’ll drive into Copenhagen together. In the meantime we will dig into your life and see if we can turn up a thing or two that may explain your behavior. Please make an effort to be sober. If not, I may have to commit you to a forced abstinence.”
“Will you write out a card? Like at the dentist?”
“No, we don’t do that. And unless you have anything relevant to add, I believe we are done.”
“That was it? That was quick.”
“As I said, the aim was mainly to meet you.”
“I see. Well, in that case, thanks for the pizza.”
“I didn’t know that we had fed you, but you’re welcome.”