Anger Mode by Stefan Tegenfalk

looked up from the folder.
    “Wait just a minute,” interjected Martensson. “My client doesn’t remember what happened. There’s no point in you asking questions that she can’t answer.”
    “I’m just trying to help her remember,” Walter smiled sweetly. “I hardly think that’s something you can assist with.”
    Martensson glared sourly at Walter.
    “As you perhaps are aware, we have a witness who claims to have heard you and Malin arguing on the stairs,” Walter continued. “Your neighbour, Märta Ekblom, says she heard you cry out, and I quote, ‘What have I done?’ End quote.”
    Walter removed his glasses and leaned back in his chair.
    The room was quiet. Not even Rolf Martensson said anything.
    Karin stared blankly at the wall behind Walter.
    Walter rubbed his eyes in a hopeless attempt to wake them up. He felt strangely drained and unmotivated. He threw a glance at Jonna, who sat and fumbled endlessly with her mobile phone. She seemed to have pulled herself together.
    The tears were gone.
    Karin switched her gaze from the wall to Walter.
    “When I came home from the court, I felt irritated,” she began. “I just became more infuriated the longer time went by. I couldn’t get hold of Malin. Finally, I got so frustrated that I broke a glass. That’s never happened before, at least not in anger. I can’t tell you why I was so furious.”
    “Which court?” Walter asked.
    Martensson raised an eyebrow in curiosity.
    “The Stockholm District Court,” Karin answered. “I usually sit on the jury a few times a week.”
    Walter’s motivation returned as quickly as it had disappeared. He glanced at Jonna, who also seemed to have woken up.
    “So you’re a lay juror?” he asked and tried to regain his focus.
    “You can do what you want. I can’t live without my daughter,” Karin answered in an apathetic voice.
    “But it was you that pulled out your daughter’s hair?”
    Before Martensson managed to open his mouth, Karin answered “Yes” to the question.
    “Will you tell us what happened?” Walter continued, looking at Jonna. She was staring at the woman with great interest.
    Causing Martensson considerable discomfort, Karin nodded an affirmative. The lawyer looked as if he had swallowed something distasteful.
    “We had a fight in the doorway,” she began, almost relieved. Tears rolled down her cheeks and her voice became weak. “I wanted to know where she’d been, but Malin was very aggressive and didn’t want to listen to me. I felt consumed with rage. Then I don’t remember so much.”
    “Malin could have fallen by herself,” Martensson suggested quickly. “At the very worst, it’s a tragic accident,” he continued to elaborate. “It’s not even proven that Karin caused Malin’s fall on the stairs.”
    “But what about the hair?” Walter asked and glared angrily at Martensson.
    “I had it in my hand,” Karin said, with tears running down both cheeks. “I had her hair in my hand.”
    Jonna steeled herself and tried to hold back the wave of empathy that washed over her. It was the first time she had encountered real and intense grief and, even if she herself had not lost someone dear to her, she could almost imagine the torment that the woman was suffering right now. She tried to fend off the feeling by reminding herself that Karin was a murderer, that she was not to be pitied, that she should be sentenced. But no matter how she tried, she could not picture the woman in front of her as a woman who had killed her own child.
    Walter had heard enough. The murderess had said what she had to say and there was not a lot more to add. He could not, however, prevent himself from feeling some sympathy for her. But there was something that was not quite right. To first claim amnesia and then remember that she had Malin’s hair in her hand was a little surprising. Amnesia was usually claimed by less talented villains as soon as they were cornered, but she was apparently in a state of