To complicate matters further, if this truly was a case of dissociation, it could be argued that it wasn’t Vidor, but his alter Malik who was responsible for attacking both the man in Copenhagen and the local in the village. What these very different men might represent in Malik’s mind, Gessen was determined to discover, not only to hasten Vidor’s ongoing recovery, but also to prevent him from attacking other strangers in future. So far, the count was two, with one dead. Not to mention the ongoing, nagging suspicion that Vidor had played a role in Ismail’s death. At least the man in the village had declined to press charges.

The deceased gentleman in Copenhagen was another matter. Unless Gessen could prove diminished responsibility, Vidor would be faced with a charge of manslaughter, or even murder. And few jurisdictions accepted a dissociative disorder as a mitigating factor in a plea of temporary insanity. Otherwise, it would be all too easy to say: ‘Your Honour, it was my alter ego who made me do it.’ Such a claim would not hold up in court.

* * *

Vidor entered the room, looking befuddled, as if he didn’t quite know where he was, but then his expression cleared and he was the same courtly, self-possessed, and wryly humorous man Gessen had known since their first meeting.

After Vidor was seated, and coffee or tea offered and refused, Gessen waited a few moments, allowing the mood in the room to settle. Mathilde had placed a lit candle on the table, and the scent of orange blossoms filled the air between them. Gessen asked Vidor about his health and how he’d slept, but these were just delaying tactics. There was no getting around the fact he was obliged to impart difficult news. No patient wanted to hear he had a repressed identity or split personality. That he harboured more than one fully formed, and often vastly different, persona within a single mind, complete with different mannerisms, voices, and facial expressions. How Vidor would take the diagnosis was impossible to fathom. Denial would be the likely knee-jerk reaction. Or perhaps relief that at last a name could be pinned to his bewildering array of symptoms.

Gessen leaned forward and clasped his hands between his knees. ‘We’ve made a great deal of progress together, haven’t we, Vidor?’

‘Progress?’ He blinked rapidly, as if trying to dislodge a piece of grit from his eye.

‘Yes. Since the unfortunate event that brought you here, you’ve made great strides. I know you found it difficult to talk about yourself, at first, or to allow me access to your memories.’ He paused. ‘It’s not easy to let a stranger peer at our darkest secrets. But your trust in me and your willingness to take the first difficult steps on the road to recovery have led to important insights.’

Vidor’s gaze drifted to the window.

‘Wouldn’t you agree?’