The Catalyst Killing (K2 and Patricia series Book 3) (25 page)

Falko Reinhardt had promised to come back again in a few days, and had asked to borrow the keys to his father’s car in the meantime, which they of course gave him. He had let them take one single picture and then, despite his parents’ protests, disappeared into the night as suddenly as he had come. He had assured them that everything was under control, but in their flustered state, they did not know if they dared to believe that. They had begged him to contact me and he had told them that he planned to do that, without giving any more details.

We finished the call at a quarter to eleven, with a mutual agreement to let one another know immediately if anything important happened.

I felt as confused as Arno Reinhardt sounded in those late evening hours. Things were hotting up on the trail of Falko Reinhardt in Oslo. But not only was it still unclear where he was hiding, but also whom it was he feared, and what he was waiting for before contacting me.

XIV

At eleven o’clock I decided that there was not much more I could do on the case that Sunday evening, and that the best thing would be to go to bed so that I was well rested for what would no doubt be a demanding Monday. I was in bed by ten past eleven, but was still lying wide awake at a quarter to twelve. The ongoing investigation was in danger of becoming an obsession.

And at ten to twelve, the telephone rang again. I jumped out of bed and raced into the sitting room to get it.

I reached the telephone after the sixth ring. The first thing I heard was some pips that told me that the call was being made from a telephone box. The second thing I heard was a voice that I had never heard before, but immediately recognized. It was just as I had imagined: educated and confident, with only a hint of an accent, but otherwise grammatically perfect Norwegian.

‘My apologies for calling so late, but as I am sure you understand, I have had a rather hectic day. My name is Falko Reinhardt, and I have reason to believe that you would still like to talk to me?’

I very quickly assured him of this and asked where he was now. The answer was accompanied by quiet laughter.

‘The answer to that is obviously that I am in a telephone box right now, and I don’t have any more change than the two krone coins that I’ve already put in. But we should definitely meet tomorrow. And for reasons that will become apparent, we should meet in Valdres. Can you meet me at the bottom of the cliff there at six o’clock tomorrow evening?’

I croaked out a yes.

‘Great stuff. See you tomorrow, then. I will definitely be there, and will tell you everything. But there are a couple of things I need to confirm first. I also have to apologize for my rather hasty departure from the hotel room earlier on today, but I feared for my life and didn’t dare to trust that it was really the police. If I had walked into a trap today, there is so much that could have gone wrong, for the country as well as me.’

I told him to take good care of himself tomorrow as well, and asked whether he was certain that there would be no action before we met. To my relief, his voice was just as calm and confident when he continued.

‘I have of course considered the possibility. An attack is planned that will shake Norway, but it will not happen until the day after tomorrow at the earliest. Just come to Valdres tomorrow at six, and we will be national heroes, you and I, by the end of the week.’

There was no denying it sounded like an attractive opportunity, and Falko’s calm confidence certainly worked its magic – even on me, and even on the telephone at close to midnight. Just then, however, it was interrupted when the telephone pips were drowned out by the single tone that warned that your time was soon up.

I realized that he did not want to say any more tonight about the planned attack, so instead asked in a flash whether he had seen another man he knew when his fiancée was shot.

‘I saw a man I knew in another side road. In fact, I saw several people I knew at the scene. There are two possibilities as to who shot Marie, and both are very tr . . .’

The line went dead.

I sat there with a warm receiver in my hand and a cold dialling tone in my ear. And even more unanswered questions. Despite the potential drama involved in the planned attack, my thoughts drifted back to my encounter with the woman on the Lijord Line four days earlier.

What was it that Falko had tried to say about two possible answers to who shot Marie Morgenstierne? That both were troubled? Both were tragic? Both were now threats? Whatever the case, it felt natural to believe that Falko Reinhardt had, from where he was standing, recognized the man in the side road and had inferred that he might have murdered Marie. But it was also possible that he had seen and recognized Kristine Larsen, and that meant it could also have been her.

I decided that it was too late to ring Patricia that evening, but I needed to talk to someone, as I was in no state to sleep following my dramatic conversation with Falko Reinhardt. So at two minutes to midnight, I used the permission I had to telephone my boss if the situation so required.

My boss was awake, and after listening to a brief summary of the most important events of the day, he thanked me for the update, much to my relief. I suggested that indications of an imminent attack were now so concrete that we should perhaps inform the government. Then I hesitated slightly before saying exactly what I thought: that we should above all else try to prevent an attack that would shake up the whole country, and that we could put ourselves in a very vulnerable position if there was a catastrophe and it got out that we had not heeded the warnings. Again, to my relief, my boss agreed.

‘I will contact Asle Bryne first thing tomorrow morning. And if he is in agreement, we will then contact the prime minister and opposition leader – and the royal family,’ was his conclusion at ten past midnight. It was only then that it dawned on me just how serious this case was. It was half past twelve before I got into bed again, and a quarter to two before I finally fell asleep on the morning after Sunday, 9 August 1970.

DAY SIX

By the cliff – and near boiling point

I

To my surprise, I was able to eat breakfast without being interrupted by any telephone calls on Monday, 10 August 1970. The newspapers had nothing new or alarming to report. The main focus was once again on international politics. The prospects of a so-called SALT agreement on nuclear disarmament were suddenly so good that the German chancellor Willy Brandt had had to cut short his holiday in Norway to travel to Moscow for further negotiations. The broadsheet
Aftenposten
had managed to snap him just before he left from the military airbase at Gardermoen. Otherwise, yesterday had been a dramatic day in the Norwegian Football Cup, with Gjøvik-Lyn beating Rosenborg as the greatest surprise.

The feeling that this was the calm before the storm intensified when I got to the station at half past eight. My boss was sitting waiting in my office, together with a besuited and very serious man I had never seen before.

‘Bryne agrees that there is every reason to be cautious. We have set up an appointment with Prime Minister Peder Borgen in his office at eleven o’clock, and then with the leader of the Labour Party, Trond Bratten, at Young’s Square at midday,’ my boss told me in an unusually formal manner.

‘But first of all, please tell the Head of Royal Security what he needs to know about our information, and what we have grounds to fear might happen within the next few days,’ he added promptly.

If the man sitting opposite me was a policeman, I had certainly never met him before. His posture hinted at a more military background. I guessed that he must be around fifty, and his face was devoid of any expression. His handshake was firm, but he did not introduce himself and I saw no reason to ask him any questions. Instead, I quickly told him the parts of the story that involved the risk of a future attack.

My boss and I both looked at our guest in anticipation when I had finished talking. His face was just as expressionless and grave.

‘The threat remains somewhat diffuse, but the situation is definitely to be taken seriously. Thank you for keeping us informed,’ he said, following a short pause. His voice was just as expressionless as his face, but was slightly more animated when he continued.

‘The crown prince is on a sailing holiday and has no official duties this week. We will, however, ensure extra cover for the coastal guard over the coming days. His Majesty the King only has two official engagements this week. He is due to open a new swimming pool in Asker at six o’clock this evening, and at the same time tomorrow evening will be the guest of honour at an event hosted by the Military Association of Oslo. Both events have been in the calendar for a long time. They can of course be cancelled on the grounds of illness or suchlike, but that might easily result in unfortunate rumours and speculation. With your knowledge of the case, do you have any thoughts as to whether His Majesty should cancel his appearance at one or both of the events, or not?’

I had not expected the question, and the whole situation suddenly felt rather absurd. The thought that the king might be subject to an attack was so dramatic that I nearly advised them to cancel everything. But then, the thought of being held responsible for disappointing the crowds of people who had turned up to see the king, with no good grounds, was not very appealing either.

In the end, I said that I would advise that the day’s event should go ahead as planned with reinforced security, and to wait and see how the situation developed before making any decision about the event tomorrow. I realized that I was now simply pushing the problem ahead to the next day, but also that I trusted Falko Reinhardt’s judgement that the possibility of an attack today was unthinkable.

To my relief, the man with the stony face nodded his approval.

‘I will monitor the situation over the course of the day, but I think I agree with your opinion as long as there is no direct threat to the royal family. Please make sure that I am informed immediately of any new information that might give grounds for concern.’

Without waiting for a reply, he stood up and left the office, accompanied by my boss.

I was left sitting in the office on my own, with an ever greater sense of responsibility for the case and its potential for catastrophe.

Two minutes after my boss had left the office, I checked my pulse just to make sure, and it was still racing at 150. And that was even before I started to dial the number of the head of the police security service, Asle Bryne, at Victoria Terrace.

II

Asle Bryne gave a stifled sigh when he heard my voice on the telephone. It was just the encouragement I needed to complete my offensive.

‘I am sorry that I have to disturb you again, but you really have put both me and the investigation in a very difficult situation.’

‘I see,’ he said. His voice sounded somewhat resigned, but also guarded in anticipation of how much I knew.

‘I have every reason to believe that the security service agent was not only present on the evening that Marie Morgenstierne was shot, but also on the evening when Falko Reinhardt went missing. The agent is easy to identify physically, even though it seems he was running around in Valdres wearing a mask. One can only imagine what the press will make of it should the story get out.’

For the last time, I expected an outburst that never happened. There was an embarrassing silence on the line. I smiled at the phone and mentally chalked up Patricia’s win over the security service, 3–0. Asle Bryne gave what could only be described as a heavy sigh before he continued.

‘It is unfortunately true that one of our agents has overstepped his authority and made some mistakes in this case. But he is an excellent agent who for many years has contributed to the security of our land and its people. And you can take my word for it that he has nothing whatsoever to do with either the murder of Marie Morgenstierne or the disappearance of Falko Reinhardt!’

I heard myself say that I of course did not doubt his word, but that, given the developments in the case, I now had to meet this man in confidence to hear what information he could give me.

Then I heard Asle Bryne reply in a very faint voice that he totally understood that, and that the most important thing now was to make sure that the press and politicians did not get wind of it, and that I could of course meet the man in private if I came to Victoria Terrace at midday. To which I replied that I unfortunately already had a meeting at midday that was of crucial significance to the country and its people, but that one o’clock should be fine.

Asle Bryne’s reply was even curter than usual: ‘Fine,’ he said, and put down the telephone.

I sat with the receiver in my hand and laughed out loud. But it was not long before I was serious again. It was now past nine o’clock, and on my list of people to speak to before my meeting at eleven with the prime minister were two former Nazis and an elderly couple.

III

By five past nine, I had decided to drive over to Falko’s parents in Grünerløkka first, and then, if time permitted, to Frans Heidenberg and Christian Magnus Eggen.

But just as I stood up, the telephone on my desk started to ring. I registered that the mounting pressure in the case now resulted in a quickening of my pulse every time the telephone rang.

The first thing I heard was the pips from a telephone box. I waited for a moment, expecting to hear either Falko Reinhardt’s voice from the evening before, or an unknown, threatening man’s voice. But it was in fact Miriam Filtvedt Bentsen’s pleasant, measured voice that spoke: ‘Hi. I’m sure you are very busy today, so I won’t keep you long. But the library has just opened and I checked in the book, as I promised I would. And it really was on 5 August 1868 that Karl jumped, fell or was pushed over the cliff in Vestre Slidre. Source: Local history yearbook for Valdres, 1955, page 14.’

As Miriam Filtvedt Bentsen spoke, several things occurred to me in rapid and rather messy succession. First of all, she had obviously recognized my voice and taken it for granted that I would recognize hers. And secondly, her matter-of-fact voice had a calming effect on me in the midst of all the chaos. Thirdly, she must have been standing ready at the entrance when the library opened in order to have got this information by five past nine. And fourthly, I was going to Valdres again that day and wanted to ask her to come with me.