‘Yeah, I know. I didn’t quite understand it. Maybe she just needed some space from it all. From us and our family.’

‘You drove back to Oslo after the show?’

‘Yes. And Mari and I never got to talk things through before…’ He was unable to finish the sentence. He sighed. ‘I’ve just been walking the streets feeling sorry for myself these last couple of days. I’ve been angry. I’ve been so angry, Mork, you have no idea. I’ve tried to find answers. I’ve tried to move the pain away from here…’ he pointed to his chest ‘…to somewhere else.’ He looked at his hands. ‘But it still hurts like hell.’

Yngve knew how Frode felt.

Yngve’s phone rang. It was Weedon.

‘Sorry, I’ve got to take this,’ Yngve said and lifted his phone to his ear.

‘Hey, boss,’ Weedon said. ‘I went through the CCTV recordings one more time, looking for a way to identify our guy going in at ten forty-nine p.m.’

‘Yes?’

‘I think I may have found something. Where are you?’

‘Oslo.’

‘OK. I need to show you, it’s easier that way. How quickly can you be here?’

‘Pretty quick, if it’s important.’

‘I think it is.’

‘Alright, stay put, I’ll be there as soon as I can.’

Yngve hung up and looked at Frode. ‘I’ve got to head back to Fredheim. You’re going to be alright now, yes? You’re not going to start another fight with the walls or the Somali congregation down on Grønland anytime soon?’

Frode smiled briefly. ‘Don’t worry,’ he said. ‘A day in a cell has a sobering effect.’

‘Good. Go home to your brother. Charge your phone. I bet a lot of people have been trying to reach you.’

It didn’t look as if Frode really wanted to speak to anyone.

‘I’ll call you as soon as I have any news about the case,’ Yngve added.

‘Thanks.’

Weedon was half asleep when Yngve entered his office.

‘Oh, sorry,’ Weedon said in a gravelly voice, sitting up straight.

‘What did you want to show me?’

Weedon moved over to the bank of three computer monitors.

‘I went through the images we have of our guy going in, frame by frame, trying to find something that could help us identify him. Look at this.’

He clicked his mouse. Zoomed in on a reflection in the window showing the man’s jacket. Weedon enhanced the image, repeating the operation a few times, then waited a few seconds for the software to bring the picture back into focus.

‘What does that look like to you?’ Weedon asked and pointed to a yellowish colour on the screen, and something that looked like the picture of a car. Yngve leaned in closer and squinted. It was the letters of a logo.

It said TAXI.

He stood up suddenly.

‘He’s a cab driver.’

‘Certainly looks like it.’