Blessed Are Those Who Thirst: A Hanne Wilhelmsen Novel by Anne Holt Read Free Book Online

anything at all. She simply wanted to stay at home, at home with her father. She wanted to lock all the doors and watch television. In any case, she didn’t want to have an attorney, but the detective inspector had insisted. She had shown her a list with the names of what she had called “counsel for the injured party” and cautiously indicated that Linda Løvstad would be a good choice. When she had nodded, shrugging her shoulders, Hanne Wilhelmsen had phoned on her behalf. Kristine Håverstad could come to lawyer Løvstad’s office as soon as ten thirty the following morning.
    Now she was standing outside the given address, trying to steel herself. The plaque bore scars where attorneys’ names had been scored out, but it was clear nonetheless. “Lawyers Andreassen, Bugge, Hoel, and Løvstad, first floor.” Black lettering on shabby brass.
    A dog approached her, wagging its tail, when she opened the glass door on the first floor. She flinched but was reassured by a man who couldn’t possibly be a lawyer, judging by his attire. Threadbare jeans and sneakers. Smiling, he caught hold of the dog’s collar and scolded the animal on his way into an office. Inside a long corridor lay another dog, a hulk of charcoal gray, with head in paws and mournful expression, as though demonstrating heartfelt sympathy for her ordeal. A slim, smartly dressed young woman at a combined switchboard and reception desk pointed her along the corridor toward the sad gray dog.
    “The second to last door on the left,” she said, smiling, in a quiet voice.
    “Come in,” she heard before she had even managed to knock.
    Perhaps the man with the first dog had been a lawyer after all. Linda Løvstad wasn’t wearing sneakers but flip-flops and jeans, and a blouse Kristine recognized from the Hennes & Mauritz department store. The office did not flaunt any notably luxurious features either. What’s more, there was a third dog in an alcove. Perhaps it was a precondition for working here. Owning a dog. This one was a mongrel, skinny, ugly, and coal black, with big, beautiful eyes.
    A massive curved work desk dominated the space. The simple bookshelves were sparsely filled, and on the floor, leaning against the built-in shelving, sat an enormous, comical stuffed cloth cat. It wasn’t pretty, and not especially amusing either, but combined with a toy police car, cheap pictures in clip frames, and impatiens in a white flowerpot, it contributed to making the place less intimidating.
    Standing up, the lawyer stretched out her hand as Kristine complied with her invitation to enter. She was tall and skinny as a rake, and flat as a board, with thin, flyaway pale blonde hair trying without success to appear thicker, piled up into some kind of topknot. Her face, however, was friendly, her smile attractive, and her handshake firm. She offered coffee, then picked up an empty light-brown folder and made a start by writing down her personal details.
    Kristine Håverstad had no idea what she was doing there. Under no circumstances would she be able to go through the whole explanation one more time.
    The woman was a mind reader.
    “You don’t need to tell me about the actual rape,” she reassured her. “I’ll get the documentation from the police.”
    A silence ensued, though not uncomfortable. It was actuallysoothing. The lawyer looked at Kristine with a smile, leafing through some papers that couldn’t relate to her, perhaps waiting for her to say something. Kristine remained sitting, her eyes on the stuffed cat, rubbing the arm of her chair. When the attorney still made no sign of speaking, Kristine shrugged her shoulders imperceptibly and looked down at the floor.
    “Are you getting help? Psychologist or something similar?”
    “Sure. Or, it’s a social worker, actually. Just as good.”
    “Is it helping?”
    “Doesn’t feel like it at the moment. But I know it’s important. From a long-term point of view, I think. So far I’ve only been to her