Imo smiled and put his hands to his back as he stood up. One of his hands was shaking. I had noticed it before, too, but I didn’t want to ask what was wrong – if he was ill or something.

‘I’ll make some breakfast anyway,’ Imo said, walking towards the kitchen. ‘You might change your mind.’

I wasn’t looking forward to getting home. Mum quite often exploded for no reason, only to regret it when she had sobered up.

I followed Imo into the kitchen and forced myself to drink some coffee. I wondered once again what the people of Fredheim would think about the murders – and about me. I checked Facebook and the other feeds at regular intervals. The feeling of being slowly strangled got worse by the minute, as more and more people connected Børre’s name to mine.

‘They’re having a memorial service at school later,’ Imo said. ‘Are you thinking of going?’

‘Yes,’ I said. ‘I have to.’

‘Are you sure that’s wise?’ my uncle asked me. ‘I mean…’ He stopped himself, but I knew what he was thinking.

‘I’m not going to hide,’ I said firmly. ‘No fucking way.’

Imo looked at me for a few seconds. ‘OK,’ he said and held up his hands. ‘I’m not going to try and stop you. More coffee?’

‘No, thanks, I’m good.’

I decided to send a message to Ida Hammer, Mari’s best friend. I kept it simple: just asking if we could talk. Of course, I wanted to know how she was – if she’d recovered from her violent reaction the day before. But I also needed to know how Mari had been in the days before she was killed. Maybe Ida knew why Mari had broken up with me and why she had Ole Hoff ’s business card in her pocket when she was found.

A minute passed then my mobile phone pinged. A reply from Ida:

Not really, considering.

Right. I couldn’t be bothered to ask for an explanation; I was pretty sure I knew it.

‘You know Ole Hoff, the journalist?’ I said to Imo.

‘Mhm.’

Imo had been in the local paper a lot because of his music and Ole and Imo were about the same age. ‘Do you know what Mum might have against him?’

‘Against Ole?’ Imo laughed. ‘No, I have no idea. Why do you ask?’

‘Yesterday, she wasn’t happy about me talking to him.’

‘Probably because he works at the Chronicle,’ Imo said. ‘Your mum doesn’t like any focus on the family. And certainly not the kind of attention you’ll be getting now.’

Maybe that was what she’d tried to tell me. I didn’t know. I wasn’t sure I even cared.

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