After he buried Åse, Yngve had wondered what it would be like to set his foot inside a church again. He wondered how he would respond to seeing other people grieving for their lost ones, how he’d react to the sombre mood that always seemed to reside inside God’s house. The hushed conversations. The slow, melancholic music. People wearing dark clothes. Men and women taking careful steps between tombstones afterwards, as though afraid of disturbing the dead.

It wasn’t as bad as he’d thought it would be – not even at the first funeral. Yes, she’d been on his mind the whole time. He’d even seen her, right next to the altar, paying her respects to Johannes Eklund’s family, but he hadn’t spoken to her. Not even when he stopped by her grave after the ceremony. He didn’t need to. Didn’t need her to say anything, either. He was fine.

After Mari Lindgren had been put to rest, Yngve was sitting in his office, looking through some interview records, when the receptionist notified him that Ole Hoff and Even Tollefsen needed to see him.

‘Send them in,’ Yngve said and put the paperwork away inside a manilla folder. He met them at the front door to the main office. Yngve could see that something had happened.

‘What is it?’ he asked.

Ole looked around to see if anyone was listening. Therese Kyrkjebø was sitting at her workstation, looking up, her face slightly ashen, but clearly intrigued by their sudden presence. Yngve also caught Vibeke Hanstveit’s inquisitive eyes looking out from behind the glass wall of her office.

Soon all five of them were standing inside her office. Even and Ole presented their story, what they had discovered. And Yngve had to admit, what they said did sound plausible, however shocking it was. The question was, how were they going to prove it?

‘I think I know how to get a confession,’ Even said.

‘Really?’ Hanstveit was sceptical.

‘Yes, really.’

Yngve looked at the boy’s clenched fists. The muscles in his chin, tight as a knot.

‘We need an admissible one,’ Hanstveit protested.

‘I’m sure you can get that afterwards,’ Even said. ‘When you know.’

Then he explained his plan.

Yngve had to admit it was a good one. And Even seemed to be full of courage and determination – desperation maybe. There was also a generous helping of anger in there too. It was like he needed to do this, for his own sake. His father had been dead for ten years. Imo was gone now as well, having shocked the whole of Norway. Mari, Even’s ex-girlfriend and half-sister, had also been murdered. And less than a week ago, Tobias, Even’s brother, had tried to commit suicide.

‘I’m not very comfortable about sending you in there like this,’ Yngve said, before looking at Even. ‘It might be dangerous.’

‘I can handle it.’