Yngve hung up and rubbed his eyes. The man who’d just phoned the hotline had informed him that his next-door neighbour used to wear his leather gloves every day when he went out to pick up the morning newspaper, but today that hadn’t happened. ‘I don’t know if it’s any help or not, but … I thought I’d just mention it…’

Yngve was prepared for a lot of nonsense, but he’d hoped for some substance at least. One woman, probably in her late seventies, had even called in to suggest that the murders of Børre Halvorsen might have something to do with the high-school killings.

His mobile phone rang now. It was Reidar Lindgren.

‘Frode isn’t in my apartment,’ he said. ‘I don’t know where he is. He hasn’t left me a note or anything.’

‘So he has a key to your apartment?’

‘Yeah, I gave him one last night, before he went out.’

‘Do you know where he was going? Last night, I mean?’

‘No, but … I had the impression that he was going out-out. You know, for a night out. He asked if I could think of any cheap bars in the city. I don’t go out much, but I do know a few. Everything’s so damned expensive around here.’

It wasn’t uncommon to drown one’s sorrows in alcohol, Yngve thought to himself. After Åse died, he’d downed a few bottles as well, but he’d preferred to do it on his own. People dealt with death in different ways.

‘Why was he with you in the first place?’ Yngve asked.

The phone went quiet for a beat. ‘I don’t know what had happened,’ Reidar Lindgren said eventually. ‘But I think it had something to do with the family. With Cecilie. They’d had a falling-out of some kind. At least that’s what I thought.’

‘Had there been any problems in the marriage before?’

‘Not that I know of. Nothing major, anyway. This time, though … I’ve never seen him quite like this. So … angry. So distraught.’

‘Did you ask him why?’

‘Yes, but he didn’t want to talk about it. I respected that.’

‘OK,’ Yngve said. ‘Thanks for calling and helping out. If you see him, can you have him call me?’

‘Will do.’

‘Thanks.’

So Frode Lindgren was angry, Yngve thought. At his wife, first and foremost. But even if he was mad at Cecilie, Frode had still made the trip back to Fredheim two days after he’d left the family home, in order to go to the school theatre show. He did have a number of missed calls to his daughter as well, so maybe that was why. He wanted to talk to her. But she, for some reason, didn’t want to talk to him.