‘Therese, can you make sure the press gets a photo of that piece of leather we found?’

‘I’m on it.’

Yngve went back downstairs. Rumours had apparently spread that he was going to come out and talk because there were now at least twenty-five reporters gathered around the entrance. Their microphones almost hit him in the face, and he noticed from their logos that journalists from Sweden and Denmark had now made their way to Fredheim as well. Vibeke Hanstveit had called him the night before to let him know that the town was making headlines all over Europe.

He gave them a quick update, which really didn’t consist of any details they didn’t already know. He reassured them that the police were taking every measure possible, and that he had every confidence they would be able to apprehend the person or persons responsible for the killings.

‘Are the three murders connected?’

‘Are you closing in on any suspects?’

‘Mr Mork, are you going to call in specialists to help you out with the investigation?’

He didn’t answer any of the questions that were thrown at him, but insisted that they were still in the early stages of the investigation, and that the press would be kept updated as soon as there were any new developments in the case.

‘I’m sorry,’ he added. ‘That’s all I can say at this point.’

As Yngve hurried back inside he found Åse waiting for him at the top of the stairs.

‘I know,’ he said. ‘I could have handled it better.’

I think you managed quite well. I know you don’t like large crowds, especially with cameras around. You even looked kind of handsome in front of all those reporters.

‘Ha,’ Yngve snorted. ‘I most certainly did not.’

Inside Yngve left his jacket on his stool, before stepping into Weedon’s office. The tech analyst was a ginger-haired, heavy-set man in his early thirties. When Yngve entered the room, the large man’s face was so close to one of his three computer screens he was almost touching it. Behind him the surveillance tape detective from Lillestrøm was leaning in, watching over Weedon’s shoulder. The room smelled of old food and sweat.

A picture on Weedon’s screen was enhanced almost to the point of no recognition, but as Weedon zoomed out, the figure in the image became more and more clear. It was a man, and he looked to be of average height. He wore a jacket that might have been black, might have been blue, with no clear logos or notable designs on it. His trousers were almost identical in colour. A group of teenage girls were standing close by. The image was taken from one of the CCTV cameras outside Fredheim High School, and was pointing towards the entrance.

‘Who’s this?’ Yngve asked.

The detective from Lillestrøm – Yngve now recalled his name was Davidsen – spoke: