Yes, he blamed the shock. He could also blame the shame. When it was time for Geir’s funeral, he had let it be known that he couldn’t face Geir’s loved ones and colleagues, who thought he had acted cowardly, and indirectly blamed him for Geir’s death. I think I was already feeling ashamed in the car, he had said. It was something he had arrived at through speculation and Johanna had understood. Everyone had understood. Or at least they had made out as though they understood. During the weeks following the incident, he had been wrapped in a cocoon of understanding. The department had sent flowers. The police officers who came to his house to ask questions had put on their kid gloves.

And then he had been fired. That was what they were supposed to talk about. It was half past ten at night and a fine rain was pattering against the plastic roof of the veranda. She was concerned about his memory lapses and wanted him to seek help. That was what she was getting at. He tried to dismiss her concern and when that didn’t work he changed tack and claimed William had misunderstood. Of course he knew he had lost his job. He had just gone out to Grimsö to pick up some things. Some personal belongings. A map, among other things.

‘So you don’t have memory lapses?’

‘No, I do, but mostly from that night and the days that followed. That’s blurry, but otherwise it’s not too bad.’

‘Do you remember acting violently?’

‘What do you mean violently?’

‘You’ve shoved me several times, and William too. He’s terrified of you and to be honest, so am I.’

‘There’s no need to be.’

‘One night when I tried to stop you from leaving the house, you grabbed me by the throat.’

‘What on earth is that supposed to mean?’

She showed him her neck.

‘Like this.’

‘I grabbed you by the throat?’

‘Yes.’

‘I must have been sleepwalking then.’

She raised her eyebrows.

‘I must have been. If what you’re saying is true.’

‘Are you implying that I’m lying to you?’

‘It just seems so strange.’

She crossed her arms and smiled.

He leaned forward.

‘I mean, how do you think it feels when someone tells you you’ve done all these awful things that you can’t remember doing? Huh! Am I supposed to just accept it? You could say whatever the fuck you want and I’m supposed to be all like, oh really sorry, I was bad, I shouldn’t have done that, sorry, sorry.’

She pulled out her phone. Opened something on it and handed it to him across the table. He pushed his glasses up to his hairline.

It was a picture of her throat. Her head was back and her chin tilted up. A small root system of red streaks fanned out across her skin.