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There are things in life that suddenly turn everything upside down. A comma in the wrong place, a plus or a minus that changes the whole equation.

A lot of the evidence pointed to Imo being the killer. The fact that he had confessed was one piece. The fact that Johannes’ microphone case was found in his home was another. The story he’d told me about sitting down with Mari and talking about my dad and her own mother – he knew all the details.

So what was it that didn’t fit?

I could tell that Ole had discovered something, that he was struggling with how to present it to me. ‘Did you know that Imo was ill?’ he asked.

I cocked my head. ‘Ill? What do you mean?’

‘He had Parkinson’s,’ Ole said. ‘Still early-stage though. You know what Parkinson’s is, don’t you?’

I knew that it was a disease that made it difficult to control your limbs. Which explained Imo’s shaking hands and all the medicine in his bathroom cabinet. I had just assumed they were pills he needed for his back problems.

‘Parkinson’s is a terrible disease to live with,’ Ole said. ‘Basically, it’s just a very slow death.’

‘So you think … that he … that Imo took the blame for what happened, because he wasn’t going to live for a long time anyway?’

I was cold after standing in the churchyard, but that was not why I was now shaking.

‘It’s a possibility, yes,’ Ole said. ‘And while I don’t think your uncle killed Mari, I am pretty sure he killed Johannes Eklund and Børre Halvorsen.’

I felt my eyes growing wider and wider. I had no idea what he was talking about, and he didn’t explain, either.

But then the penny dropped and I found the mistake in my own equation – the plus that should have been a minus.

I understood what Ole meant.

I buried my face in my hands. ‘Oh no,’ I said. ‘God no.’

NOW

‘What did you do then?’

‘First I had to pull myself together a bit – I was in shock. Then I called Victor Ramsfjell. Børre Halvorsen’s best friend.’

‘Why did you do that?’

‘I … needed to ask him about something. A detail that would confirm Ole’s suspicions.’

‘And which detail was that?’

I take another look at my Mum. She is crying. Uncontrollably.

84

NOW

THEN