I wriggle in my chair. ‘I may … I have forgotten some things when I’ve had too much to drink,’ I say. ‘That’s pretty common though, isn’t it?’

‘I wouldn’t know,’ the prosecutor says. ‘What I do know, is that apparently it runs in the family. Your mother has experienced blackouts, too. She said so during her testimony yesterday. She had blackouts both on the day of the car accident that killed your father, but also on other occasions when she’d been drinking.’

‘I’m not my mother, though.’

‘Of course you’re not, but her blood runs through your veins, Even. You have her DNA. So it wouldn’t be unfair to claim that the two of you are somewhat alike, at least in that respect.’

I pick at a fingernail. ‘Is that … Is that a question?’ I stammer.

‘No, it’s just an observation. Do you remember what happened after you were sick that evening?’

I wait a beat before answering. ‘No, I don’t.’

‘What’s the next thing you remember, then?’

‘I … remember Yngve Mork standing over me.’

‘Police Chief Inspector Mork was standing over you?’

‘Yes. In my room. Or … in my room in Imo’s house.’

Ms Håkonsen is walking back and forth in front of me. ‘And precisely why was he standing over you?’

I need to take a deep breath before continuing: ‘Because there had been another murder.’

28

THEN

I was startled by a noise in the room. Then the flick of a switch made everything bright. I blinked ferociously for a second or two. Then I saw Yngve Mork bending above me.

At first I had no idea where I was or what had happened. Then I realised: I was at Imo’s. Mork said my name so loudly that I jumped and sat bolt upright in my bed. My whole body protested, my head was thumping – it felt like it was in a vice – and I still had the taste of vomit in my mouth.

‘What is it?’ I asked, still trying to adjust my eyes to the light.

‘Where were you this evening?’ Mork asked. His question was curt – his voice, hard and authoritative. He reminded me of a teacher I’d had in primary school. I tried to pull myself together, but the room was still spinning.

‘I was here,’ I stammered. ‘Why do you want to know? What time is it?’

Through the gap in the curtains I could see that it was still dark. But at this time of year that really didn’t mean much.

‘Is that true?’ Mork asked, and turned round to face Imo, who was standing in the doorway. ‘Is it true that he was here the whole evening?’

‘Yes,’ Imo said and nodded.

‘The whole time? He didn’t go out at all?’

‘No.’

‘Are you absolutely certain? You know for sure that he didn’t go out after you’d gone to bed?’