‘Shut up or I’ll shoot you now!’ Smith shouted, and aimed the revolver at Harry’s head while he kept one eye on the road.
Harry bit.
Felt the pain of the pressure on his gums, felt the metallic taste that had been there ever since he had stood in front of the table in the auditorium with his back to Smith and quickly picked up the iron teeth and put them in his mouth before putting the handcuffs on. How strangely easily the sharp teeth sank into Hallstein Smith’s wrist. Smith’s scream filled the car and Harry felt the revolver hit his left knee before falling to the floor between his feet. Harry tensed his neck muscles and pulled Smith’s arm to the right. Smith let go of the wheel and punched Harry in the head, but his own seat belt prevented him from reaching properly. Harry opened his mouth, heard a gurgling sound, and bit again. His mouth filled with warm blood. Perhaps he had hit the artery, perhaps not. He swallowed. It was thick, like drinking brown sauce, and tasted sickeningly sweet.
Smith grabbed hold of the wheel again with his left hand. Harry had been expecting him to brake, but instead he accelerated.
The Amazon spun on the ice before racing off down the slope. The plank across the boathouse snapped like a matchstick when it was struck by more than a ton of vintage Swedish car, and the doors were torn off their hinges.
Harry was thrown forward in his seat belt as the car slammed into the back of a twelve-foot metal boat that was forced into the doors at the end of the boathouse facing the water.
He noticed that the car key had snapped in the ignition before the engine died. Then he felt an intense pain in his teeth and mouth as Smith tried to pull his arm free. But he knew he had to hold on. Not that he was doing much damage. Even though he had punctured the artery, it was – as every self-harmer knew – so thin at that point in the wrist that it could take hours for Smith to bleed to death. Smith jerked his arm again, but more weakly this time. Harry caught a glimpse of his face out of the corner of his eye. Smith was pale. If he couldn’t stand the sight of blood, maybe Harry could get him to faint? Harry clamped his jaws together as hard as he could.
‘I see that I’m bleeding, Harry.’ Smith’s voice was weak but calm. ‘Did you know that when Peter Kürten, the ‘Vampire of Düsseldorf” was about to be executed, he asked Dr Karl Berg a question? He asked if Berg thought Kürten would have time to hear his own blood squirt from his decapitated neck before he lost consciousness. And if so, that pleasure would triumph over all other pleasure. But I’m afraid this isn’t enough to count as an execution, and it’s only the start of my pleasure.’
With a quick movement Smith released his seat belt with his left hand, and leaned over Harry, putting his head in his lap as he reached down to the floor. His hand fumbled over the rubber mat, but couldn’t find the revolver. He leaned further, then turned his head towards Harry as he pushed his arm deeper under the seat. Harry saw a broad smile spread across Smith’s lips. He had found the revolver. Harry lifted his foot and stamped down hard with it. He felt the lump of metal and Smith’s hand through the thin sole of his shoe.
Smith groaned and looked up at him. ‘Move your foot, Harry. Otherwise I’ll fetch the slaughter knife and use that instead. Do you hear? Move y—’
Harry loosened his bite and tensed his stomach muscles. ‘Assh you woosh.’
He raised both legs with a jerk, using the taut seat belt to help him as he forced his knees, and Smith’s head, up towards his chest.
Smith felt the revolver come free beneath Harry’s shoe, but as he was lifted up by Harry’s knees he lost his grip on it. He had to reach his arm further down, and managed to touch the hilt with two fingers just as Harry let go of his right arm. All he had to do was pick up the revolver and turn it round to point at Harry. Then Smith realised what was happening, and he saw Harry’s mouth open again, saw the glint of metal, saw him lean down towards him, felt warm breath on his neck. It was as if icicles were drilling through his skin. His scream was cut short as Harry’s jaws locked around his larynx. Then Harry’s foot came down again and stamped on his hand and the revolver.
Smith tried to hit Harry with his right hand, but the angle was too tight for him to get any force in the blow. Harry hadn’t bitten through his carotid artery, because then the jet of blood would have hit the roof, but he was blocking his airway, and Smith could already feel the pressure in his head building. But he still didn’t want to let go of the revolver. He had always been like that, the boy who never let go. The monkey. The monkey. But he had to get some air, otherwise his head was going to burst.
Hallstein Smith let go of the revolver, he could grab it again later. He raised his right hand and hit Harry on the side of his head. Then with his left hand, across Harry’s ear. Then again with his right, Harry’s eye, and he felt his wedding ring tear the policeman’s eyebrow. He felt his rage rise at the sight of the other man’s blood, it was like petrol on a fire, felt himself gain new strength, and let loose. Fight. Keep fighting.
‘So what do I do?’ Mikael Bellman said as he stared out across the fjord.
‘To begin with, I can’t actually believe you’ve done what you have,’ Isabelle Skøyen said, walking up and down behind him.
‘It happened so fast,’ Mikael said, focusing on his own reflection. ‘I didn’t have time to think.’
‘Oh, you had time to think,’ Isabelle said. ‘You just didn’t have time to think long enough. You had time to think that he’d shoot you if you tried to intervene, but not that the entire media would shoot you if you didn’t intervene.’
‘I was unarmed, he had a revolver, and it wouldn’t even have occurred to anyone that intervention was an option if Truls Berntsen, the idiot, hadn’t got it into his head that this was a good time to play the hero.’ Bellman shook his head. ‘But then the poor bastard has always been head over heels in love with Ulla.’
Isabelle groaned. ‘Truls couldn’t have done any more damage to your career if he’d tried. The first thing people are going to think, whether or not it’s fair, is cowardice.’
‘Hold it there!’ Mikael snapped. ‘I wasn’t the only one who didn’t intervene, there were police officers there who—’
‘She’s your wife, Mikael. You were sitting next to her in the front row, and even if you’re at the end of your tenure, you are still Chief of Police. You’re supposed to be their leader. And now you’re supposed to become Minister of Justice—’
‘So you think I should have got myself shot? Because Smith did actually shoot. And Truls didn’t rescue Ulla! Doesn’t that prove that I, as Police Chief, made the correct judgement while Constable Berntsen, acting on his own initiative, got it badly wrong? In fact he actually put Ulla’s life in danger.’
‘Obviously that’s how we’re going to have to try to present this, but all I can say is that it’s going to be difficult.’
‘And what’s so damn difficult about it?’
‘Harry Hole. That he volunteered himself as hostage and you didn’t.’
Mikael threw his arms out. ‘Isabelle, it was Harry Hole who provoked the whole situation. By unmasking Smith as the puppet master he practically forced Smith to grab that revolver, which was just sitting there in front of him. By offering himself as a hostage, Harry Hole was merely taking responsibility for something that was his fault anyway.’
‘Yes, but we feel first and reason afterwards. We see a man who doesn’t intervene to rescue his wife, and we feel contempt. Then along comes what we think is cold, objective reflection, but is actually us trying to find new information to justify what we felt initially. It may be the contempt of stupid, unreflective people, Mikael, but I’m pretty sure that’s what people are going to feel.’