“From Oleg,” Finne went on. “Branded into a breadboard hanging on the wall between the top cupboards and the coffee machine.”
The only sound in the silence that followed was the metronome-like dripping.
“There’s your confession,” Finne said, coughing and spitting again. “That gives you two options. You can take me into custody and get me convicted under Norwegian law. That’s what a policeman would do. Or you can do what us murderers do.”
Harry nodded. Crouched down again. Picked up the dice. He cupped his hands and shook it before letting it roll across the concrete floor. He looked at it thoughtfully. Put the dice in his pocket, grasped the knife and stood up. The sunlight shining in between the planks glinted off the blade. He stopped behind Finne, put his left arm around his forehead and locked his head to his chest.
“Hole?” The voice was slightly higher now. “Hole, don’t…” Finne jerked at the cuffs, and Harry could feel his body trembling.
Finally, a sign of angst in the face of death.
Harry breathed out and dropped the knife into his coat pocket. Still holding Finne’s head tight, he pulled a handkerchief from his trouser pocket and wiped Finne’s face with it. He wiped the blood from around his nose, mouth and chin. Finne sniffed and cursed, but didn’t try to struggle. Harry tore two strips off the handkerchief and stuck them in his nostrils. Then he put the handkerchief back in his pocket, walked around the bench and looked at the result. Finne was panting as if he’d just run the 400 metres. Because Harry had mostly had Finne’s T-shirt wrapped round his fist when he hit him, there were no cuts, just swelling and the nosebleed.
Harry went outside and put some snow in the T-shirt, then went back inside and held it to Finne’s face.
“Trying to make me presentable so you can claim this never happened?” Finne said. He had already calmed down.
“It’s probably too late for that,” Harry said. “But whatever punishment they give me will be based on the amount of damage, so let’s call it damage limitation. And you provoked me because you wanted me to hit you.”
“I did, did I?”
“Of course. You wanted to get some physical evidence to prove to your lawyer that you were assaulted when the police were questioning you. Because any judge would refuse to allow the police to present evidence acquired using unlawful means. That’s why you confessed. Because you assumed the confession would get you out of here but still wouldn’t cost you anything later.”
“Maybe. At least you’re not thinking of killing me.”
“No?”
“You’d already have done it by now. Maybe I’m wrong, maybe you haven’t got it in you after all.”
“You’re suggesting I should?”
“Like you said yourself, it’s too late now, an ice pack isn’t going to fix this. I’ll end up walking free.”
Harry picked his phone up from the bench. Switched the recording off and called Bjørn Holm.
“Hello?”
“It’s Harry. I’ve got Svein Finne. He’s just confessed to me that he murdered Rakel, and I’ve got it recorded.”
Harry heard a baby crying in the pause that followed.
“Really?” Bjørn said slowly.
“Really. I want you to come and arrest him.”
“What? Didn’t you say you’ve already arrested him?”
“Not arrested, no,” Harry said, and looked at Finne. “I’m suspended, aren’t I, so right now I’m just a private citizen holding another private citizen here against his will. Finne can always file a complaint, but I’m pretty sure I’d be treated fairly leniently given the fact he murdered my wife. The important thing now is that he’s arrested and questioned properly by the police.”
“I get it. Where are you?”
“The German bunkers above Sjømannsskolen. Finne’s sitting cuffed to a bench in here.”
“I see. What about you?”
“Mm.”
“No, Harry.”
