‘Altman,’ Harry said, sitting on the edge of the bed, smacking his lips loudly as though they were coated with glue. ‘Unusual name. Only know one person called that.’
‘Robert,’ said Sigurd, sitting on the only chair in the room. ‘I didn’t like who I was in the little village where I grew up. As soon as I got away I applied to change my surname from a much too common -sen. I justified my application by saying, as was the truth, that Robert Altman was my favourite director. And the case officer must have had a hangover that day because it was passed. We can all do with being reborn once in a while.’
‘The Player,’ Harry said.
‘Gosford Park,’ Altman said.
‘Short Cuts.’
‘Ah, a masterpiece.’
‘Good, but overrated. Too many themes. The direction and editing make the plot unnecessarily complicated.’
‘Life is complicated. People are complicated. Watch it again, Harry.’
‘Mm.’
‘How’s it going? Any progress on the Marit Olsen case?’
‘Progress,’ Harry said. ‘The guy who did it was arrested today.’
‘Jeez, well, I can understand you celebrating.’ Altman pressed his chin to his chest and peered over his glasses. ‘I have to confess I’m hoping I can tell my grandchildren that it was my information about ketanome that cracked the case.’
‘By all means, but it was a phone call to one of the victims that gave him away.’
‘Poor things.’
‘Poor who?’
‘Poor all of them, I assume. So why the haste to see your father right now, tonight?’
Harry put his hand in front of his mouth and produced a noiseless belch.
‘There is a reason,’Altman said. ‘However drunk you are, there’s always a reason. On the other hand, that reason is none of my business, so perhaps I should keep my mou—’
‘Have you ever been asked to carry out euthanasia?’
Altman shrugged. ‘A few times, yes. As an anaesthetic nurse, I’m an obvious choice. Why?’
‘My father asked me.’
Altman nodded slowly. ‘It’s a heavy burden to place on someone. Is that why you came here now? To get it over with?’
Harry’s gaze had already wandered around the room to see if there was anything alcoholic to drink. Now it did another round. ‘I came to ask for forgiveness. For not being able to do it for him.’
‘You hardly need forgiveness for that. Taking a life is not something you can demand of anyone, let alone of your own son.’
Harry rested his head in his hands. It felt hard and heavy, like a bowling ball.
‘I’ve done it once before,’ he said.
Altman’s voice sounded more surprised than actually shocked. ‘Carried out euthanasia?’
‘No,’ Harry said. ‘Refused to carry it out. To my worst enemy. He has an incurable, fatal and very painful disease. He is slowly being suffocated by his own shrinking skin.’
‘Scleroderma,’ Altman said.
‘When I arrested him, he tried to make me shoot him. We were alone at the top of a tower, just him and me. He had killed an unknown number of people and hurt me and people I love. Permanent damage. My gun was pointing at him. Just us. Self-defence. I didn’t risk a thing by shooting him.’
‘But you preferred him to suffer,’ Altman said. ‘Death was too easy for him.’
‘Yes.’
‘And now you feel you’re doing the same with your father, you’re making him suffer rather than allowing him release.’
Harry rubbed his neck. ‘It’s not because I hold with the principles of the sanctity of life or any of that bullshit. It’s weakness, pure and simple. It’s cowardice. Christ, you haven’t got anything to drink here, have you, Altman?’
Sigurd Altman shook his head. Harry wasn’t sure if it was in answer to his last question or the other things he had said. Perhaps both.
‘You can’t just disregard your own feelings like that, Harry. You, like everyone else, are trying to leapfrog the fact that we are governed by notions of what’s right and wrong. Your intellect may not have all the arguments for these notions, but nonetheless they are rooted deep, deep inside you. Right and wrong. Perhaps it’s things you were told by your parents when you were a child, a fairy tale with a moral your grandmother read, or something unfair you experienced at school and you spent time thinking through. The sum of all these half-forgotten things.’ Altman leaned forward. ‘Anchored deep within is in fact a pretty apposite expression. Because it tells you that you may not be able to see the anchor in the depths, but you damn well can’t move from the spot, that’s what you float around and that’s where your home is. Try and accept that, Harry. Accept the anchor.’