Yngve could tell that Therese wanted to say something as they were walking towards the entrance to the police station. But there was no opportunity: Yngve had tried to ward off the press, but they were hanging on to them like stray dogs around a bone.

‘Let me just get inside and meet with my team,’ Yngve said to the reporters, ‘Then I’ll come back out and talk to you. Briefly.’

Therese opened the door for him, as Yngve was carrying heavy bags of files and papers that he’d brought from home. Once inside, Therese finally spoke: ‘There has to be another reason why Børre Halvorsen was murdered. Something other than saying he’d seen Even Tollefsen at a window in the school that night.’

‘I’ve been thinking the same thing.’

They started up the staircase to their offices. ‘And anyway that sighting doesn’t prove anything,’ Therese continued. ‘Even if Even Tollefsen lied about being there that night, it doesn’t automatically make him a killer.’

‘No, but it weakens his credibility,’ Yngve said.

‘Still. And why kill him? It only makes Even look more guilty.’

Yngve had to agree with that.

‘Are you going to tell the press about the piece of leather we found?’ Therese asked.

‘Yes I am. A single observation, someone seeing someone with a glove that matches the general description, could be enough.’

‘We’re going to get thousands of calls.’

‘I know.’

’And we will have to follow up on every single lead.’

‘I know that too.’

The detectives Vibeke Hanstveit had managed to round up had gathered in the large conference room. They were all drinking coffee or tea as Yngve entered the room. He greeted them all and thanked them for their efforts the previous day. By the looks of things, some of them had needed to vent a little last night. He could smell a faint odour of alcohol in the room. As long as they did their job, Yngve thought, he didn’t care. They all had their coping mechanisms.

He gave them the same, tiring task as the day before: interviewing everyone at the school, this time the emphasis would be on their whereabouts the previous night.

The handball court was being used for the memorial service, which was scheduled for 11 a.m. So Yngve had asked for permission to use the arts centre in the middle of Fredheim, as it had several conference rooms suitable for interviews. What they needed now was word of the change of venue to get to the good people of Fredheim. Yngve was counting on Mr Brakstad, the principal of Fredheim High, to help out.

‘I made some headway last night on the surveillance tapes,’ one of the detectives from Lillestrøm said. ‘I think I’ve found something interesting.’

‘Very good,’ Yngve said. ‘I’ll just give the press a quick briefing, then I’ll come and look at it with you.’

The detective nodded.