‘I know. We also need to know if anyone saw Børre at school. If he did see Even Tollefsen there, then someone must have spotted Børre there, too, right? What was he doing there? It wasn’t his school. He goes to Fredly Junior High. Where did they see him? Did he talk to anyone?’

‘And if he did – who?’ Therese seemed to understand where he was going with this.

‘We need to find out exactly what Børre was doing between the show and last night. As of now, there is every reason to believe that his murder has something to do with the others, we’re just lacking a common denominator. A common motive. And Even Tollefsen has an alibi for last night, so the Børre’s sighting of Even seems to be irrelevant. At least for now.’

‘I’m on it.’

‘Good.’

Yngve fetched his jacket.

‘Where are you going?’ Therese asked.

‘To see Frode Lindgren.’

32

NOW

‘So Imo said he knew nothing about your mother’s disagreement with Ole Hoff?’

‘No.’

‘And you believed him?’

‘Of course. Why wouldn’t I?’

‘I guess you wouldn’t.’ Ms Håkonsen smiles at me briefly.

I can feel that I’m starting to lose my patience – both with her and with the whole trial. I didn’t expect her to focus on every single piece of information, every single little detail. I’m hot, I’m sad, I’m thirsty, I’m … I’m fucking exhausted.

‘So you went back home to see your mother.’

‘Yes,’ I say, breathing out as I speak.

‘Alright. Tell us how that went.’

33

THEN

It was a cold morning, but thankfully it was dry. Thick clouds moved across the sky, but there were patches of blue here and there, and some much-needed sunshine was breaking through, bathing the wet grass and leaves in a bright, golden light. A slight wind set the branches in motion, made them hiss as if they were trying to shake off the last few days of rain. To Susanne Tollefsen, it sounded like music.

She pulled her coat a little tighter around her, wondering when King Winter would arrive this year. Last year they’d had almost no snow at all. Not that it bothered her – she never went cross-country skiing or particularly liked the white stuff. The only good thing about winter, in her opinion, was that it was dark. She could stay inside all day long and not feel the slightest bit guilty about it. There would be no inner voice telling her to go outdoors, do some work in the yard or repair anything. She wouldn’t have to clean the shed or throw away some of her mum’s old stuff. Sometimes, though, like now, she did need to get out.