Yngve walked as close to the gutter as he dared, trying to wipe away some of the water that was streaming down his face. At the far end of the roof there was a fire-escape ladder. He walked over to it, knelt down, leaned over the edge and stared at the ground below. A white van was parked close to the wall. The janitor’s vehicle, probably. There was only room for one car. Yngve tried to imagine which direction the perpetrator would have taken. There were several possible escape routes. But if the killer had had blood on him, Yngve thought, after the fight with Johannes Eklund, which was most likely, he would have tried to get rid of his clothes as quickly as possible. Outdoors, preferably. Underneath a cluster of trees, perhaps.

Yngve’s eyes searched the area and stopped at a red object that seemed to be stuck to a nearby branch. A piece of fabric, maybe. He decided to climb down to get a closer look. The ladder was slippery and cold against his fingers. Finally on the ground, he made for the object he’d seen from the roof. On closer inspection it turned out to be a piece of rubber from a broken balloon. Yngve cursed under his breath. He couldn’t see any footprints on the ground, either, no sign to show the killer had stood here to undress. Maybe he just removed his jacket, Yngve reasoned. Or maybe he had managed to sneak his way home, wearing his bloodied clothes, without being seen. It had been raining heavily the previous night. And it had been dark.

Yngve walked over to the white van, examining it more closely. It was, indeed, parked on a spot marked JANITOR. He peeked inside. It was filled with empty soda cans and rubbish. No traces of blood.

Yngve glanced at the windowless door right next to the parking space. He tried it, only to find it locked. He thought about Tic-Tac for a brief second, then returned to the other side of the building, where he was once again bombarded with questions from reporters, pupils and staff. Yngve ‘no-commented’ his way back inside.

At the main entrance Vibeke Hanstveit met him with a quizzical gaze. As Yngve explained what he had done, deep furrows scored her forehead.

‘You could have fallen,’ she said when he was finished. ‘You could have hurt yourself badly.’

‘I could have, yes,’ he said. ‘But I didn’t.’

‘Yngve…’ She shook her head.