Yes. On someone else's orders, but yes, his was the hand that pulled the metaphoric trigger.

[Fink lingers over the portrait, staring at it far too possessively, before putting it beneath his arm. Rosalind's diary is set down on the bedside table, and he presses the button, playing back the recording.

Rosalind's voice fills the area, and Fink smiles. The biological urge to leave one's mark is strong. And it is not an impossibility . . .]

He kept it in his bedroom. The diary, I mean. And Robert's portrait.