The Murder of Harriet Krohn (29 page)

The disease continues to develop. I often fall on the way to the exercise yard, in the corridor. The prison officers converge from all directions to try to get me back on my feet again. I don’t know whether to laugh or cry. Sometimes I hear snarky comments, but I try to laugh them off. I try to understand why this has happened to me. In the evenings, I lie on my bunk and think about the future. It doesn’t look bright, but even so I’ve settled down and I don’t complain. I just daydream a lot about the good times with you and Crazy. I’ve made no friends. I don’t feel any affinity with the others who are locked up here.

Dearest Julie, you mustn’t worry about Crazy. I’ll find a way out and, if necessary, I’ll sell the house, so that you’ll be able to pay for him with honest money. My lawyer will help me—at least there’s someone on my side. I never wanted this to happen, and I think you know that. But it would be nice if you said it out loud. I don’t think that’s too much to ask. Can’t you search within yourself and come up with a little forbearance? Something that would make my days a bit easier?

The legal system is merciless. It’s a mill that goes grinding on and on. I often feel exhausted and drained of all strength, but I’m impressed with the prison officers. They’re not bothered about what the inmates have done. They do their jobs and are friendly, and I should add: far more understanding than other people.

Are you looking after yourself? The worst thing of all is that I can’t help you anymore. But I’m always with you in thought, and even though you’ve turned your back on me now, we’re bound together by unbreakable ties. I won’t give up hoping that maybe you’ll write back or come to visit one day. This letter isn’t a long one because it’s lunchtime now, you see, and I’m hungry. I haven’t lost my appetite and I need food. I try to enjoy the small things, try to carry on. And then they bring reading material into my cell. That’s so good, because it makes the time pass quickly. I’ll write again next week. Don’t believe what you read in the newspapers. They don’t tell the whole story. They’re bland and sensationalist, trying to portray me as a cold-blooded killer. And you can’t get further from the truth than that, as you’ll realize because you understand me. But I’m the only one who knows the real truth. No one else saw what happened, and it can all be explained. If only you’ll give me the chance.

I’m not a wicked man!

For the love of God, Julie, you must believe me!

K
ARIN
F
OSSUM
has won numerous awards, including the Glass Key Award for the best Nordic crime novel, an honor shared with Henning Mankell and Jo Nesbø, and the
Los Angeles Times
Book Prize. Her highly acclaimed Inspector Sejer series has been published in more than thirty countries. She lives in Sylling, Norway.