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Chapters (99)
  1. Cover
  2. PRAISE FOR THOMAS ENGER
  3. Inborn
  4. Contents
  5. Publisher’s note:
  6. PROLOGUE
  7. NOW
  8. THEN
  9. 3
  10. 4
  11. 5
  12. 6
  13. NOW
  14. THEN
  15. NOW
  16. THEN
  17. NOW
  18. THEN
  19. NOW
  20. THEN
  21. NOW
  22. THEN
  23. NOW
  24. THEN
  25. 19
  26. 20
  27. 21
  28. NOW
  29. THEN
  30. 24
  31. 25
  32. 26
  33. NOW
  34. THEN
  35. 29
  36. 30
  37. 31
  38. NOW
  39. THEN
  40. 34
  41. 35
  42. 36
  43. 37
  44. NOW
  45. THEN
  46. 40
  47. NOW
  48. THEN
  49. 43
  50. 44
  51. 45
  52. 46
  53. 47
  54. NOW
  55. THEN
  56. 50
  57. 51
  58. 52
  59. NOW
  60. THEN
  61. 55
  62. 56
  63. NOW
  64. THEN
  65. 59
  66. NOW
  67. THEN
  68. 62
  69. 63
  70. 64
  71. 65
  72. 66
  73. NOW
  74. THEN
  75. 69
  76. 70
  77. NOW
  78. THEN
  79. 73
  80. 74
  81. 75
  82. 76
  83. 77
  84. 78
  85. NOW
  86. THEN
  87. 81
  88. NOW
  89. THEN
  90. 84
  91. NOW
  92. THEN
  93. 87
  94. NOW
  95. EPILOGUE
  96. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
  97. ABOUT THE AUTHOR
  98. ABOUT THE TRANSLATOR
  99. Copyright

From halfway along the passage Yngve could see a leg and a shoe. As they approached the stairs, more and more of the body became visible. Thin legs, blue jeans. Dark-red stripes that seemed to form a neat pattern on the young boy’s skinny fingers. There was blood on his coat, too, and on his other hand, arm. On the stairs, the wall.

Tic-Tac was right, Yngve thought to himself. There really was blood everywhere.

Fredheim was a small place, but Yngve had seen a lot during his tenure as a police officer here. Body parts in ripped-apart cars, corpses that had been rotting away in the forest throughout the winter. He had seen what people looked like after they’d been hanging by a rope from the ceiling for a couple of weeks, images that sometimes haunted him on nights when sleep was hard to find.

But this…

The young boy’s face looked like mince. Skin, blood, muscle. Teeth coloured red.

‘It’s Johannes Eklund,’ Tic-Tac said.

‘How can you tell?’ Yngve asked without taking his eyes off the kid.

‘His coat,’ the janitor said. ‘The logo on his chest.’

Yngve spotted it now, sewn onto a pocket: an old plane in the middle of a turn, an ‘S’ and a ‘C’ on each wing.

‘He was the singer of Sopwith Camel,’ Tic-Tac added. ‘He had a stunning voice. You should have seen him last night. A genuine star.’

‘There was a show here yesterday?’

‘Yeah. In the auditorium. Opening night of the annual school theatre show.’

‘When?’

‘Between eight and ten, roughly.’

‘And you were here? You watched the show?’

Yngve turned to look at the janitor, who was scratching his left palm.

‘I watched a little bit of it, yes.’

‘What time did you leave?’

He seemed to be thinking for a moment. ‘I don’t know, long before the show was over. I knew I had an early start today.’

‘So you didn’t lock the doors before you left?’

Tic-Tac shook his head violently. ‘There was no need. The doors lock automatically at eleven. Everyone should have made their way out by then.’

‘Evidently, not everyone did, though.’

The janitor didn’t reply.

‘What happens if someone does stay behind after eleven? Can they still get out?’

Tic-Tac hesitated for a moment, now scratching his left temple. ‘They can, of course, but it triggers the alarm, and if the alarm goes off, the security company will be here in minutes. We have two surveillance cameras on the outside wall as well, pointing towards the entrance, so it’s easy to find whoever’s responsible. And they get the bill.’

’The alarm didn’t go off last night, did it?’

‘No.’

‘So if people want to avoid triggering the alarm … can they?’