I don’t know how long we just sat there, but finally I said: ‘So aren’t any of you going to ask?’

They looked at me. ‘Ask you what?’ Oskar said.

‘If I did it. If I killed them.’

I noticed Fredrik glancing at my scabs. At the bloody piece of toilet paper I’d thrown on the floor. Right then and there it almost felt like I had done it. Like the evidence was right there in front of their eyes. I didn’t know how to explain the scabs and the blood, so I just said:

‘I didn’t.’

I saw them exchanging looks. ‘We never thought you did,’ Kaiss said, but it didn’t feel like he meant it. ‘Would we be here if we did?’

I didn’t know what to say to that.

For a moment or two we just sat there listening to Kaiss strumming the guitar, lost in our own thoughts.

‘The only positive thing about this is that the girls want to be hugged all the time,’ Fredrik said.

It made me laugh. Fredrik was desperate for a girlfriend.

‘So go on, then,’ I said. ‘What are the rumours? What are people saying? What are the police saying?’

‘Well,’ Oskar started, taking his time, ‘the police aren’t saying much. They want to talk to everyone who was at the show last night.’

‘That’s going to take forever,’ Fredrik said.

‘But what about the rumours – what’s everyone else saying?’ I asked.

‘They…’ Oskar exchanged looks with the others again. ‘People … don’t know.’ I could tell that he was lying. That he only wanted to spare me.

‘Lots of people have liked your post,’ he said, looking at his phone. I could tell that he was on Facebook. And then he frowned for a moment, and looked at me quickly.

‘What is it?’ I asked.

Oskar didn’t seem to know what to say. So he just handed me his phone. I looked at the screen and saw my own post about Mari and Johannes. Eighty-eight likes and thirteen comments. A lot of hearts and R.I.P.s. I scrolled to the bottom, and my heart almost stopped. Just a few minutes ago a guy called Børre Halvorsen had written:

You’re lying. I saw you.

17

NOW

‘What did you think when you read that?’

The prosecutor has her arms behind her back as she walks slowly up and down in front of me.

‘Well, I was shocked,’ I say. ‘Couldn’t really understand why he would write something like that. Or believe it.’

‘Did you know Børre Halvorsen well?’

‘Not really. I knew he was one of the taggers in town – the kids who do graffiti. But no, I didn’t know him. I’d never spoken to him. I suppose he might have known me, though. Because of the football, maybe. I’d been in the local newspaper quite a lot.’