“I’m a surgeon at Ullevål Hospital. I called because we had a rather dramatic occurrence a while back. Complications arose during a birth and we had to perform an emergency caesarean. The mother had a man with her who said he was the child’s father, something the woman confirmed. And at first it looked as though he was going to be useful. When the mother found out that we needed to perform the caesarean she was extremely worried, and the man sat with her, stroking her forehead, comforting her and promising that it would all be very quick. And it’s true, it doesn’t usually take more than five minutes to get the baby out. But I remember it because I overheard him saying: ‘A knife in your stomach. Then it’s all over.’ Not an inaccurate description, but a somewhat unusual choice of words. I didn’t think any more about it at the time, seeing as he kissed her immediately afterwards. What was more unusual was that he wiped her lips after kissing her. And that he filmed as we performed the caesarean. But what was most unusual was that he suddenly pushed his way to the woman and wanted to remove the baby himself. When we tried to stop him, he inserted his hand right into the incision we had made.”
Katrine grimaced.
“Damn,” Harry said quietly. “Damn, damn.”
Katrine looked at him. Something was slowly dawning on her, but first and foremost she was confused.
“We managed to drag him away and perform the remainder of the operation,” Melhus said. “Fortunately there were no signs of infection in the mother.”
“Svein Finne. It was Svein Finne.”
Melhus looked at Harry and slowly nodded. “But he gave us a different name.”
“Of course,” Harry said. “But you saw the picture of him thatVGpublished this afternoon.”
“Yes, and I’ve no doubt at all that it was the same man. Especially not after I noticed the painting on the wall in the background. The photograph was taken in the waiting room of our maternity unit.”
“So why so late reporting the incident, and why to me personally?” Katrine asked.
Melhus looked momentarily confused. “I’m not reporting it.”
“No?”
“No. It isn’t unusual for people to behave in unpredictable ways under the mental and physical stress of a complicated birth. And he definitely didn’t give the impression that he wanted to harm the mother, he was just entirely focused on the child. It all calmed down and everything was fine, like I said. He even cut the umbilical cord.”
“With a knife,” Harry said.
“That’s right.”
Katrine frowned. “What is it, Harry? What have you realised that I haven’t quite got my head around yet?”
“The date and time,” Harry said, still looking at Melhus. “You’ve read about the murder, and you’ve come to tell us that Svein Finne has an alibi. He was in the maternity unit that night.”
“We’re in something of a grey area here when it comes to the Hippocratic Oath, which is why I wanted to talk to you in person, Bratt.” Melhus looked at Katrine with the professionally sympathetic expression of someone who has been trained to pass on bad news. “I’ve spoken to the midwife, and she says this man was present from the time the mother was admitted around 21:30, until the birth was over at five the following morning.”
Katrine put one hand over her face.
From the table came the sound of happy laughter, followed by the clink of beer glasses. Someone must just have told a well-received joke.
Part 2
24
It was just before midnight whenVGpublished the news that the police had released Svein Finne, “the Fiancé.”
Johan Krohn declared to the same paper that his client’s confession still stood, but that the police had, of their own volition, concluded that in all likelihood it did not relate to Rakel Fauke, but to another offence in which his client may have harmed a mother in childbirth and her baby. There were witnesses, and even video evidence, but no report had been filed about the incident. But the confession had been provided, his client had kept his side of the deal, and Krohn warned the police of the consequences if they didn’t keep their side and drop the charges in relation to the vague and groundless accusations of rape.
—
Harry’s heart wouldn’t stop hammering.
He was standing with water halfway up his ankles, panting for breath. He had been running. Running through the streets of the city until there were no streets left, and then he had run out here.
That wasn’t why his heart was so out of control. That had started when he left the Justice. The paralysing cold crept up his legs, over his knees, towards his crotch.
Harry was standing in the plaza in front of the Opera House. Below him, the white marble slid into the fjord like a melting ice cap, a warning of impending disaster.
—
