‘You know what the worst part is? I thought about you when I gave those guys head.’

Luna shuts her eyes.

‘I was proud you were my mother. Do you get that? Luna, the world-famous singer all the gays loved. And whom you loved back. And I figured if you just met me, you’d love me the most. That was what I thought. That you must be sorry you gave me up when the papers wrote about how you couldn’t have children of your own.’

‘Billy, please . . .’

‘So there I was, down on all fours, proud to be your son. I bought every album. You were in my headphones when I went to sleep, I planned our first meeting, read everything about you, saved every shilling I made so I could go to the US. Wrote to the record company but never heard back. And still, all I ever thought about was the day when we would finally be reunited. And what were you doing? What were you doing while I was dreaming about you?’

She opens her mouth as if to speak, but then closes it again.

‘You were going to Africa to buy children. You had wanted them for so long, you said in interviews. You loved children, planned to have at least three more. Wanted a big family. So fucking wonderful and loving . . .’

Billy stops, as if to catch his breath.

‘And that’s the last charge,’ he says. ‘Your fucking hypocrisy. That you can love everyone except the person you should love more than anyone else.’

A faint whimper, impossible to say who from. Then Billy speaks again.

‘I’m going to give you plenty of time to think about this before you answer the charges and receive your sentence,’ he says. ‘But I have one more question for you.’

Luna is hunched over now, her head on her knees, rocking back and forth on the edge of the bed.

Billy leans forward and shouts so loudly everyone around the big conference table jump:

‘Who the fuck is my father?’

Chapter 52

52

‘Jesus. I’m not sure how much more of this I can take.’

Karl Björken leans back and rubs his face with both hands.

‘Poor Luna,’ Astrid Nielsen says and reaches for her water glass.

‘Poor guy, if you ask me,’ Karl says. ‘Conversion therapy, bloody hell! I saw a TV programme about that shit just a few weeks ago.’

‘Yeah, I saw it too, but that was in the US. I didn’t think they did stuff like that here.’

Karen hadn’t failed to notice when Jounas Smeed slipped back into the room and took up post next to the door with his back against the wall. Now, he takes a step forward.