Troulsen glimpsed a genuine tenderness in her for her old tutor and it wasn’t the first time he had seen something like it. Per Clausen was apparently the kind of man who touched the people around him.
“Well, the end of this whole thing was that I got through my final examination with a perfectly respectable passing grade, which I had Per to thank for. That summer I had the accident and then Helene died, as you know. Katja and I were the only ones who knew her background, who knew that she was most likely committing suicide when she drowned. And Per, of course, but I only became sure of that a few years ago.”
She looked up and met his eyes. “You know that Helene was abused by her stepfather?”
Troulsen confirmed this and she went on.
“The following years I didn’t see Per. I thought of him from time to time and was planning to look in on him but it never happened. An excuse, however weak, is also that I had my hands full those years with two toddlers and medical-school studies. But before I get to how I met Per again I think I have to tell you a little about my late husband.”
She paused until Troulsen indicated that he accepted this change in priorities. He nodded, which he would have done whatever she had proposed. She was a wonderful storyteller, the kind where all you had to do was lean back and listen.
“My husband’s name as you know was Jeremy Floyd. His father was from Canada and his mother from Denmark. He spent the first years of his life in Quebec and then his family moved here. He received his medical training at ?rhus and after that he went on to specialize in psychiatry at the National Hospital. His greatest interest was in human sexual behavior, and after his doctorate in the psychology of sexual criminals he was appointed chief physician at the Sexology Clinic. In addition to his job at the hospital he had a private practice that he ran here from the house, where he would help victims of incest and later anyone who had suffered abuse as a child. In the beginning, taking on private patients was mainly a way for him to feed his scientific curiosity. By working with both perpetrators and their victims, he closed the circle, as he put it, but after a while the private practice took over and he ended up with long waiting lists. He also had trouble saying no and—I may as well just say this—he also liked the money.”
She stretched her hand out for the thermos flask and shook it hopefully. It was empty. She got up and took a couple of cans of soda from the fridge, placing them on the table but strangely enough without opening them. Troulsen was not tempted. He didn’t like cola.
“My sister’s old ninth-grade class got together the fall of 2003. At the reunion, Katja happened to hear that Per had been doing badly ever since Helene’s death. She heard he had lost his job, was drinking and generally falling apart. When she told me, I got serious about going to see him. Perhaps you could call it a repayment. He had helped me when I needed it, and now the time had come to pay him back. I think I visited him half a dozen times. He was often drunk or half drunk but always happy to see me. We talked mostly about Helene although there wasn’t much to say so our talks became endless repetitions of the same sad themes, and if I can be completely honest I started to get a bit tired of the visits even though I was the one who initiated them. But then I had an idea. It was something close at hand, of course. I convinced Jeremy to take Per on as a patient. It was difficult, but I succeeded. In his own way Per was also a victim of abuse although he had not suffered it personally, so it took a great deal of pressure on my part to get Jeremy to try it out. It was even harder to get Per to accept the role of patient and at first I didn’t think it would work. But Jeremy was clever and driven once he had become professionally involved, and I also think that Per realized after a while that he needed the help. At any rate they eventually embarked on a course of therapy, and there were only a few times when I had to go and get Per because he had missed an appointment. There were two times I had to put him through detox. He wouldn’t hear of taking any Antabuse.”
Troulsen observed, “There was one time you picked him up at a kiosk in Bagsv?rd Hovedgade?”
“Yes, that’s right.”
“You were driving a silver-colored Porsche?”
“Yes, that’s also right. It’s my dad’s. I have an Audi myself.”
Troulsen nodded. That made perfect sense.
“We’ve combed through hospital records for ambulatory alcoholics. But Per Clausen was never admitted as far as we can tell.”
She smiled somewhat sheepishly.
“Well, both Jeremy and I worked at the National Hospital. Let’s just say that on a couple of occasions he got a spare bed. A little outside of the regular system.”