Frode looked at Cecilie. All of a sudden his eyes seemed angry.

‘The accident in which Jimmy Tollefsen was killed,’ he said.

‘Even’s father,’ Yngve said, for confirmation.

‘Yes,’ Frode said. ‘I didn’t know much about it, so I suggested she should go and ask Ole. He was already working at the Fredheim Chronicle back then.’ Frode’s voice had picked up some pace and intensity.

‘So … you did know that Mari was working on that particular story.’ Yngve said it as something between a remark and a question.

Seconds passed before Frode said: ‘Yes, I…’ Then he shook his head. ‘I’m sorry. This is all a bit too much for us right now. I hope you can appreciate that.’

‘Of course,’ Yngve said.

He waited a few seconds, then nodded and got up slowly.

‘I want you to call me if you can think of anything that might be important to the investigation. Anything at all. I’m available around the clock. I’m usually awake, too, so it’s really no bother if you call.’ He handed Frode his business card. ‘Thanks for agreeing to talk to me.’

Cecilie neither replied nor moved as Yngve headed for the hall and put on his shoes. Frode walked him out.

‘Is it alright if I send a team over to take a look at Mari’s room?’ Yngve asked. ‘They might find something important.’

‘Yes, of course,’ Frode said. ‘That’s perfectly alright.’

Yngve offered his hand. Frode took it with a firm grip.

‘Take care of each other now,’ Yngve said. ‘You and Cecilie.’

Frode opened his mouth as if to say something, but he stopped himself and looked away.

‘Just … catch that son-of-a-bitch,’ he said. ‘You hear me, Mork? Just get that bastard.’

‘We’ll do everything we can,’ Yngve said. ‘You have my word on that.’

20

20

Yngve drove straight back to the handball court, which was located in a separate building a few hundred yards away from the school’s main entrance. It was raining so hard as he arrived, it was almost impossible to see through the car windows.

Yngve parked right in front of the entrance to the court. He ran up the stairs to avoid the rain, but he was still wet through in seconds, and not for the first time today.

Inside he met up with Vibeke Hanstveit.

‘We’ve conducted thirty-four interviews so far,’ the police attorney said.

‘Good,’ Yngve said as he took off his police jacket and hung it up to dry. ‘Anything interesting yet?’

‘I don’t know. I’ve only just collected them.’

A student – a girl with long, straight hair – came out of one of the changing rooms, a woman beside her. Yngve assumed it was her mother. Both looked at him nervously.