‘Well, I was here, wasn’t I?’ Imo said. ‘I was working in the studio.’ I could tell from his voice that he was getting angry. ‘I sat up working for a while after Even had gone to bed. So yes, I do know. Plus, he wasn’t exactly in a state to move about very easily.’

The policeman turned back to me. I must have looked like shit, because something in his expression changed. He seemed to be reassessing the situation.

‘What the hell is going on?’ I asked.

Mork took a deep breath and looked at me. ‘Børre Halvorsen has been murdered.’

29

29

Yngve beat his hands against the steering wheel. His theory, which had seemed so valid just an hour before, was already crumbling.

Even had a solid alibi. At least, it appeared that way.

Yngve drove back to Fredheim, thinking about what to do next. It was almost two hours since the dead body of Børre Halvorsen had been discovered, and he’d lost valuable time searching for Even. First he’d been to the Tollefsens’ house on Granholtveien 4. Tobias had answered, telling Yngve that Even was spending the night at Imo’s. That trip alone had cost Yngve almost half an hour.

He parked up on the pavement at the foot of the bridge over the railway tracks. He wondered how many times in his life he’d walked or driven across it. Thousands, for sure. Now though – and forever after – he would think of the poor kid who had been found lying face down on the stony ground by a homeless man who sometimes slept down there.

Even though it was almost 2.30 a.m., people were gathered around the cordon the police had established when they had arrived at the scene. The steam pouring out of the crowd’s mouths glowed in the streetlights, making it look like the onlookers were trapped in a fog that had issued from a troll’s lair. It was as if they were extras on a dark, mysterious stage. Behind them, on the other side of the bridge, was Fredheim – quiet now, but it would soon be buzzing with angry, frightened voices.

Yngve wondered how long it would take for the complaints to pour in. At the press conference the day before he had said that, in all probability, the high-school murders were an isolated event. Now his credibility would be put to the test. The media would start to wonder whether he was the right man for the job. So would the inhabitants of Fredheim. Vibeke Hanstveit, the police attorney, would probably not question his level of commitment or his ability to get the job done, but as the person formally in charge of the investigation she would certainly be under a lot of pressure as well.

Better solve this thing quickly, he said to himself.