‘Put it down, Even,’ Imo said, nodding at the phone. His hand was trembling again. ‘Right now.’

I looked at Ole. His eyes were shut tight. Sweat was forming along his hairline.

Imo came towards me, still holding the gun. I put the phone back in my pocket.

‘So you were really going to turn me in?’ Imo licked his lips and shook his head.

‘Please,’ I said, ‘I’m sure we can find another way out of this.’

Imo came closer, his hand still shaking. Was he just nervous? I’d seen his hand tremble like this before, so maybe not.

‘We can,’ he said. ‘We can call the police and I can tell them that it was you who asked me to kill Mari. That you were mad because she’d split up with you, and you were jealous of Johannes.’

I was dumbfounded.

‘And you can deny it all you like, but it will be your word against mine.’ Imo ran a hand over his sweating brow.

‘You wouldn’t do that to me,’ I said. ‘You wouldn’t do that to Mum. Not if what you say is true – that you’ve done all this to protect her.’

He lowered the gun for a few moments, apparently thinking about what I’d just said. His hand was still shaking, as though the gun was too heavy to hold.

‘Last chance, Even. Get him to his feet.’

I said no.

‘Come on!’ he said again. ‘We don’t have much time.’

I stood stock-still on the concrete floor and stared at him in silence.

‘Fine,’ he said with a sigh as he tucked the gun into the back of his trousers. ‘I’ll just do it by myself then.’

He grabbed Ole by the arms, but he tried to fight Imo’s every move. My uncle was as strong as a bull, though. I had seen him toss pigs and fodder bags around as if they weighed nothing. No matter how hard Ole kicked or struggled, Imo kept a firm grip under his armpits and dragged him across the floor.

It was as if I was glued to the floor. Everything was happening so fast. As soon as Imo opened the pen gate, the pigs’ grunting became deafening. It was then that I realised why Imo hadn’t simply shot Ole already – there was no floor cover out here so it would be hard to wash the blood off the concrete. In the pen, the pigs scuffled about on hard, wrinkly plastic.

Imo suddenly jerked up straight and yelled out in pain. It must have been his back.

‘Even, do something!’ Ole shouted, then managed to twist himself free.