‘I don’t see how it can,’ Yngve said at first. ‘I worked that case myself over a decade ago. I remember it well, too. There was nothing suspicious about it. Jimmy had a turn of some kind. Susanne, his wife, tried to take over the wheel, but it was too late. Crash, boom…’

Another student entered the building, accompanied by a man. Hanstveit approached them and showed them where to go.

‘But I guess it wouldn’t hurt to look at that report again,’ she said when she got back. ‘Just in case.’

‘By all means,’ Yngve said. ‘I don’t think we’ll find anything, though.’

They drank their coffee in silence for a little while. Yngve moved another piece of paper from the pile and started at the top of another interview.

‘Johannes’ parents wondered if we’d found his microphones,’ Therese said after a beat. ‘He always brought them in some kind of case. They were special, the microphones. Expensive.’

‘Their kid’s been murdered, and that’s what they ask you?’ Yngve said.

‘They asked me all kinds of things, but as far as the microphones go, I think they had some kind of sentimental value to them; don’t ask me how. They wanted them back, though, if we could find them.’’

Yngve tried to recall the crime scene. No, he hadn’t seen a case anywhere. He put down his coffee cup and prepared to leave.

‘Where are you going?’ Therese called after him.

‘To talk to the forensics team,’ he said.

‘Wait, I’ll come with you.’

Back inside the school Yngve and Therese managed to find Ann-Mari Sara from the Kripos team on the second floor, outside the music room. Yngve asked her if they had found a microphone case. Sara consulted a large form inside a see-through plastic folder.

‘Nope,’ she confirmed. ‘No case.’

Yngve turned to Therese. ‘I want you to find out exactly what that case looks like,’ he said. ‘Pictures, preferably from all angles, would be perfect. If Johannes Eklund was careful about his microphones, it’s likely that he had them with him when he was leaving the school premises last night. He obviously got into a fight with his killer,’ he said, ‘so the killer might have torn it from his hands.’

‘And since we haven’t found any cases here…’

‘…then that may well be our murder weapon.’

21

21

I spent the rest of the afternoon in bed, staring at the ceiling, thinking about the murderer – who was still out there somewhere. I tried to wrap my head around what had happened, and why. My brain was working at full speed. It was impossible to shut it down. I kept seeing Mari in front of me. Alive and well. Sometimes my mind went crazy and imagined all kinds of ways she had been killed. I wondered what she had looked like when the police found her. The thoughts made me nauseous.