The Catalyst Killing (K2 and Patricia series Book 3) (22 page)

I showed her the defaced photograph from Kristine Larsen’s flat. She took it in, and then offered the same opinion as Patricia – that it proved a deep jealousy, but that the leap from there to murder was enormous. Particularly for a young woman who, as far as one could see, had never handled a gun before.

I caught myself nodding in agreement. My belief that Kristine Larsen was the murderer was ebbing.

So far, I was on relatively safe ground with regard to what I had told her. The arrest of Kristine Larsen was in the process of becoming semi-official, as was Marie Morgenstierne’s pregnancy.

Towards the end of the conversation, however, I crossed a new threshold with Miriam Filtvedt Bentsen. And this happened when I lowered my voice and said that the investigation was very demanding because there was reason to believe that a major attack of some kind or other was being planned.

Miriam Filtvedt Bentsen now completely forgot her food and looked me directly in the eye. I hurried to say that it was still very uncertain what this involved, and that I could not say anything more about it at present. She nodded in understanding, and asked whether I knew which of the groups involved had initiated it.

I shook my head lightly.

She stared straight ahead, deep in thought, showing little interest in the food, and remarked that it must be hard to say anything about it.

‘From what you have told me, there seem to be three groups involved that all comprise a small cluster of people who believe that they have an almost God-given mission, and that the means are justified by the ends in each case. That is always a very dangerous situation,’ she concluded, pensively.

‘The Nazis, the communists – and who else were you thinking of?’ I asked.

‘Surely you have been in touch with the police security service by now!’ was her wry remark. She smiled mischievously and met my eyes again.

I could not help smiling, and even laughed for a moment. There was a lot of magic in the glance of this odd and charming young SPP member.

But the magic passed; she looked away, and then resumed eating. It did, however, still feel as though we were now a little closer. Enough for a quick hug and a longer ‘good luck with the next stage of the investigation’ when we parted outside the cafe around five.

Miriam Filtvedt Bentsen had obviously been given food for thought as well. I noted with a small chuckle that she walked past the party office on the way back. As I drove on, I speculated on whether she was thinking about me, or the case. I hoped it was the former, but guessed it was the latter.

Whatever the case, I felt remarkably calm having spoken so openly with her. I felt much the same way as I did about Patricia, though different at the same time: that Miriam would not betray my trust. I had to admit, thinking of my previous murder case, I had misjudged a couple of young women in the past, but I felt almost a hundred per cent certain that I had not done so this time.

IX

I arrived at Victoria Terrace at five to six, and was shown into Asle Bryne’s office without delay. He was waiting there in his swivel chair, his smoking pipe and bushy eyebrows in place. To my disappointment, he was alone in the room.

Patricia had obviously guessed correctly that the man with the suitcase was a member of the security service, but that was not enough to coax him out into daylight.

We did not shake hands; Asle Bryne nodded curtly at the chair in front of the desk, and I sat down in the spirit of cooperation. We looked at each other across the desk for quite some time. This time, it was he who broke the silence.

‘You are to be praised for your work and for the discreet manner in which you have handled this new information so far. There are no doubt others, both at the main police station and in the military intelligence, who would instead have tried to use the case to blacken the name of both myself and the police security service.’

I nodded to show my continued cooperation. He puffed on his pipe and his voice was a touch sharper when he continued.

‘I have decided, all the same, to have this meeting with you alone. I alone am the head of the security service. It is my responsibility and I cannot under any circumstances put the life of an employee who has simply done his duty for his country and organization on the line, as is the risk here.’

I tightened my lips and was about to say something, without having any idea of exactly what, but Asle Bryne stopped me and quickly carried on talking himself.

‘Since we spoke this morning, I have, however, been in touch with the employee in question and taken a written statement from him. This is for strictly confidential use only and you may read it here and now, when only we are present. If you have any further questions once you have read it, we will then have to see if I can answer them on behalf of the security service. Are the conditions clear?’

Without waiting for an answer he opened the desk drawer, took out two typewritten pages, and placed them, text down, on the desk between us.

This was less than I had hoped for, but definitely more than I had feared. And even though I now had some pretty good cards up my sleeve, I still wanted to avoid a confrontation with the head of the security service, if at all possible. So I nodded and turned the pages over.

The statement was quick to read. The undersigned, ‘XY’, confirmed that he was the man with the suitcase at the scene of the crime on the evening of 5 August and that he had received a tape from Marie Morgenstierne only minutes earlier. The handover took place as she walked past him on the road. At the time of the handover, there was no one to be seen behind them, and in front they could only see a woman with a guide dog.

As was usual, XY had then continued to walk down the road once he had received the tape, but at a slower pace than Marie Morgenstierne. A man with a walking stick and wearing a long coat had come between them at the crossroads. The man had been too far away for XY to see any detail. He had assumed, given the stick, that the man was either old or had trouble walking, and had not identified him as a risk.

A tall, fair-haired woman had then passed him from behind. He recognized her as Kristine Larsen from earlier observations. She passed him at great speed, and was as good as running after Marie Morgenstierne. Both Kristine Larsen’s hands were visible and she was not carrying a weapon of any description, and looked so harmless that she had not introduced any drama into the situation.

XY had heard Kristine Larsen shout ‘Marie’ at more or less the same moment that Marie Morgenstierne suddenly broke into a run. He had instinctively started to run himself, only to bump into the blind woman. XY had then stopped running, as he saw that Kristine Larsen had also stopped. Following his instructions to avoid all possible attention, he had held back with the tape while Marie Morgenstierne ran on, apparently with no one in pursuit.

The people that XY had seen at the scene of the crime were listed at the end of the report. In addition to Marie Morgenstierne, this included Kristine Larsen, who had stopped running; the man with the long coat and stick, who carried on walking unperturbed at a steady pace; and the blind woman, who also stopped and seemed very bewildered. There were also two men down two opposite side roads.

The latter two were both too far away for XY to say anything as to their identity, other than that they were both young, dark-haired men who were above average height. He was, however, slightly taken aback by the fact that they were both standing waiting, rather than walking. As far as he could tell, neither of them made any attempt to follow Marie Morgenstierne. XY thought that she had seen the train and was running to catch it, and had, despite some confusion, not deemed the situation to be dramatic.

I read through the report twice, with interest and frustration. It confirmed a lot of what I already knew, without adding much else. Any suspicions against Kristine Larsen now foundered on the fact that she could apparently not have seen the tape being handed over and clearly did not have a gun in her hand. It was difficult then to understand why the sight of her might have provoked such a sudden and terrible fear in Marie Morgenstierne. There were also purely technical issues that undermined the theory that Kristine Larsen was the murderer, including the fact that she came to a standstill when Marie Morgenstierne started to run.

I had to admit to myself that XY’s report supported not only Kristine Larsen’s statement, but also Patricia’s theory regarding Falko Reinhardt. It was tempting to believe that he was one of the two men who, according to XY’s report, had been standing in one of the side streets. The only remaining question of any importance was: who was the other man, whom I had not heard about before? I concluded, in brief, that the rather sketchy description did not rule out either Trond Ibsen or Anders Pettersen, but could equally fit ten thousand other men in the Oslo area. I understood now what Patricia had meant by the curse of public space.

Asle Bryne showed unexpected patience as he waited in silence while I read the report through twice. He was enveloped in a thick cloud of smoke when I looked up.

I said in all honesty that the report was very informative with regards to events at the scene of the crime, but that I needed more information about Marie Morgenstierne’s earlier contact with the security service.

Asle Bryne filled his pipe again and puffed pensively a couple of times. Then he replied that it would be dangerous and potentially damaging to recruitment if the police security service were to give out information about their contact with informants.

I retorted that as one of his informants had now been shot, it would certainly not be positive in any way should it get out that a member of the security police had been present at the scene of the crime. It would be even less positive if it got out that they then did not do everything they could to help solve the crime.

Bryne gave a curt nod, let out a heavy sigh and put his pipe down on the desk. Suddenly he seemed like a tired old man, a grandfather havering as to which family secrets he should divulge to younger generations. He looked at me in anticipation before drawing breath and speaking.

‘You may well be right about that. We never recruited Marie Morgenstierne – she volunteered herself. Exactly where she was later shot, and to the same person that she met there on this occasion. According to our man’s report of 12 September 1968, it was a few weeks after her fiancé disappeared. Our man had followed her after a political meeting. Just by the station at Smestad, she stopped, waited for him to catch up, then said: ‘You’re from the police security service, aren’t you, so maybe we can help each other? I think Falko is dead or has been abducted, and I suspect that one of the others in the group is behind it!’ Then she offered to help us with information that might help to solve the mystery.’

We were both silent for a moment. Asle Bryne lit his pipe again and continued to puff pensively on it.

I asked, with a rising pulse, whether Marie Morgenstierne had at any point indicated whom she suspected. Asle Bryne shook his head glumly.

‘She did not want to tell us whom she suspected, nor why she had her suspicions. It was our job to find out if there was anything to it, she said. So that is how the partnership started. She discreetly handed over recordings of their meetings. She never asked for a penny in return, and was never offered it either. I never met her myself. Her only contact was the person she gave the recordings to. We did not like her and never trusted her, and the feeling was no doubt mutual. She was, as far as we can understand, a fervent communist to the end. But we needed the tapes and she seemed to be obsessed with finding out what had happened to her fiancé and who was responsible.’

‘And she never got an answer?’

‘Not as far as we know, and certainly not from any of us. The information she gave us never provided an answer as to what had happened to her fiancé and we never managed to establish which of the others might be responsible. The security service is none the wiser about what might have happened to him and has mainly focused on the potential threat to society that the activities of the remaining members of the group might pose.’

‘Have you otherwise found any evidence that this group constitutes a threat to Norwegian society?’

Asle Bryne livened up again, thumped his pipe down on the table and leaned forward.

‘Of course they constitute a threat to society. One never knows what a group of fanatical, revolutionary communist sympathizers like that might decide to do. They are at worst traitors to their country, and at best useful idiots for other traitors. It is alarming enough in itself that the group is interested in international issues relating to Vietnam and other countries in Asia, as well as the Soviet Union. We have not yet found anything to confirm that the group or members of the group are planning any definite action. But we have every reason to fear that they might, and as such it is our duty to our country and people to keep an eye on them!’

I was about to answer, but bit my tongue at the last moment. I remembered Patricia’s remarks that a major action might be in the planning, but that it was difficult to say by whom or against what. I had some new, important information: Marie Morgenstierne had definitely been an informant for the security police, but only after her fiancé had disappeared. And most important of all, she had later suspected one of the other four of being responsible for her fiancé’s death or abduction. The faces of Trond Ibsen, Anders Pettersen, Miriam Filtvedt Bentsen and Kristine Larsen flashed through my mind.

For a brief moment I regretted having been so open with Miriam Filtvedt Bentsen earlier in the afternoon; nevertheless, my suspicions were still focused largely on the other three. I wondered whether Trond Ibsen or Anders Pettersen might be the other mystery man down the side road at the scene of the crime, and changed my mind yet again about Kristine Larsen being a potential murderer. I thanked the head of the police security service for the information and left Victoria Terrace, deep in thought.