‘I know what you’re thinking,’ Fauke said. ‘But I
was a soldier who had been given orders to kill. If
I hadn’t been given the orders, I wouldn’t have
done it. But this I do know: my family were among
the ranks of those who cheated our country.’
Fauke looked straight at Harry. His hands round
the coffee mug were no longer shaking.
‘You’re wondering why I killed them all when
my orders were to kill only one,’ he said. ‘The
problem was they didn’t say which one. They left
it to me to be the judge of life or death. And I
couldn’t do it. So I killed them all. There was a
guy at the front we called the redbreast. Like the
bird, the robin redbreast. He had taught me that
killing with the bayonet was the most humane
method. The carotid artery runs from the heart to
the brain and when you sever the link, the brain
receives no oxygen and the victim is instantly
brain-dead. The heart pumps three, maybe four
times, but then it stops beating. The problem is that
it is difficult. Gudbrand – that was his name – was
a master of his art, but I struggled with my mother
for what seemed an age and only managed to cause
her flesh wounds. In the end I had to shoot her.’
Harry’s mouth was dry. ‘I see,’ he said.
The meaningless words hung in the air. Harry
shoved the coffee mug across the table and pulled
out a notebook from his leather jacket.
‘Perhaps we could talk about the men you were
with in Sennheim?’
Sindre Fauke stood up immediately.
‘I apologise, Inspector. I hadn’t intended to
present it so coldly and brutally. Let me just
explain to you before we go on: I am not a brutal
man. This is only my way of dealing with things. I
needn’t have told you about it, but I did so because
I cannot afford to duck the issue. That is also why
I’m writing this book. I have to go through it every
time the topic is brought up, explicitly or
implicitly. To be absolutely sure that I am not
hiding from it. The day I hide, fear will have won
its first battle. I don’t know why it’s like this. A
psychologist could probably explain it.’
He sighed.
‘But now I’ve said all I’m going to say on the
matter. Which is probably already too much. More
coffee?’
‘No, thank you,’ Harry said.
Fauke sat down again. He supported his chin on
clenched fists.
‘OK. Sennheim. The hard kernel of the
Norwegians. In fact, a mere five people, including
me. And one of them, Daniel Gudeson, died the
same night I deserted. So, four then: Edvard
Mosken, Hallgrim Dale, Gudbrand Johansen and
me. The only one I’ve seen since the war is Edvard
Mosken, our section leader. That was the summer
of 1945. He was given three years for treason. I
don’t even know if the others survived. But let me
tell you what I know about them.’
Harry turned over a fresh page in his notebook.
42
POT. 3 March 2000.
G-U-D-B-R-A-N-D J-O-H-A-N-S-E-N. HARRY TYPED THE
letters with his index fingers. A country boy.
According to Fauke, a nice, somewhat feeble
character, whose idol and big-brother surrogate
was Daniel Gudeson, who was shot during the
night watch. Harry pressed ENTER and the program
started.
He stared in the direction of the wall. At the wall.
At a small picture of Sis. She was pulling a face;
she always did when she was being photographed.
One summer holiday many years ago. The shadow
of the photographer was on her white T-shirt.
Mum.
A little peep from the PC signalled that the search
was over and he focused on the computer screen
again.
The national registration office had two
Gudbrand Johansens registered, but the birth dates
showed they were under sixty. Sindre Fauke had
spelled the names for him, so it was unlikely he
had got them wrong. That could only mean either
Johansen had changed his name, or he lived
abroad, or he was dead.
Harry tried the next one. The section leader from
Mjøndalen. The one with small children back
home. E-d-v-a-r-d M-o-s-k-e-n. Disowned by his
family because he had gone to the front. Double
click on search.
The ceiling lights suddenly came on. Harry turned
round.
‘You should switch on the lights when you’re
working late.’ Kurt Meirik stood in the doorway
with his finger on the switch. He came in and
perched on the edge of the table.
‘What have you found out?’
‘That we’re looking for a man well over seventy.
Who probably fought at the front.’
‘I mean about these neo-Nazis and Independence
Day.’
‘Oh.’ There was a new peep from the PC. ‘I
haven’t had time to look into that yet, Meirik.’