Chapter 4Frode had a hard time getting air into his lungs. His entire apartment was trashed. There wasn’t any furniture still standing, no drawer not emptied, and not a single plate or glass not smashed on the floor.
“Frode!” Imre’s voice shook the staircase, and Frode narrowed his eyes as he studied the shards on the kitchen floor. Had they quivered at Imre’s shout? He should get some sleep. Imre’s voice didn’t cause earthquakes.
Half a second later, Imre rushed into the apartment. He didn’t slow until he had curled a massive hand around Frode’s elbow.
“What the f**k?”
“Break-in.” Frode didn’t like the way his voice shook.
“This is no break-in; this is trashing a place. Have you called the cops?”
Shaking his head, Frode studied Imre. He looked a little like in the book. There was no
