Hanstveit was the first person Yngve had told about Åse’s illness. Not just because they had worked together for so long, but also because she was a breast cancer survivor. Every week, and after every test Åse underwent, Yngve had asked Hanstveit for her opinion, how she had felt at the same stages of her treatment. She always gave him an honest assessment. And, once she knew that all hope was gone, she was still honest with him. Honest but gentle. Hanstveit was probably the only person who had seen him at rock bottom, who – every day since he’d come back to work – had watched for signs of how he was coping, whether he was doing better or worse.

‘We’re getting help from four precincts,’ she said now. ‘Jessheim, Årnes, Eidsvoll and Lillestrøm are sending us a few detectives each.’

‘Good,’ Yngve said, trying to sound positive. ‘When they get here, I want to set up somewhere they can interview as many people as possible … and as quickly as possible. The handball court might be the best place.’

‘Good idea.’

‘We need to get Principal Brakstad to alert the parents,’ Yngve continued. ‘I’m sure he has a procedure for that. And we should have him tell the kids who were here last night to come to the handball court as soon as possible. We have to get a preliminary sense of who left when, who they were with, and what kind of relationship they had with the victims. More importantly, we need to find out if anyone saw anything.’

‘We also have to make sure they have the opportunity to bring an adult along – parent, teacher, priest, whatever,’ Hanstveit said. ‘T he last thing we need right now is someone screaming about their rights not being observed.’

‘Of course,’ Yngve said. ‘We also need to start exploring the victims’ friends and social networks.’

‘I talked to Weedon about that,’ Hanstveit said. ‘I knew you’d need it. He’s already on the job.’

‘Good.’

They were silent for a moment.

A woman in a protective forensics outfit entered the building with a small suitcase in her hand.

‘Did you know that Mari Lindgren was seeing Even Tollefsen up until a few days ago?’ Hanstveit said. Yngve looked at her. ‘The football player?’

‘The very same.’

‘Fuck,’ Yngve said.

‘Yeah, that’s what I said as well. We need to talk to him. Fast.’

6

6

Fredheim High School was about three kilometres from our home on Granholtveien. No matter the weather, I always cycled. Fredheim was small – there were only about 7,500 of us living here. But the town was growing: the sawmill on the outskirts had attracted a lot of workers over the years, and we were only something like half an hour’s drive away from Oslo Gardermoen Airport.