My boss whistled and looked at me wide-eyed.
I was afraid that he would ask me for more details about where exactly I had been, so I hastily continued: ‘But yes, the murder of Marie Morgenstierne remains unsolved, even though her father has now been arrested for two other murders.’
My boss was back on track.
‘Yes, that’s where we were. Danielsen mentioned that he thought it was one of the other communists, that is to say Anders Pettersen or Trond Ibsen, who was behind it. And if you would like a day off after today’s drama, I could of course get him to follow this up tomorrow . . .’
I shook my head and assured him that I had every hope that we could clear up the remaining murder as well in the course of the week, given today’s developments. My boss smiled his approval.
‘Excellent. Then you will of course continue to be head of the investigation, and can use Danielsen wherever needed tomorrow.’
I nodded eagerly. When I got up to leave, the atmosphere was almost buoyant. So I jumped all the more when the phone rang again.
My boss picked up the receiver and immediately looked very grave. He answered: ‘Yes, he’s here. One moment, please.’
He passed the phone over to me.
‘From the hospital,’ he said.
The voice at the other end was just as I remembered it.
‘This is Bernt Berg, the head surgeon from Ullevål Hospital. You asked me to phone as soon as there was any news on the operation.’
Yes,’ I said, and held my breath.
‘The operation was successful and the bullet has been removed.’
‘Thank you so much for letting me know. But are the chances still fifty-fifty, as you said before the operation?’ I asked, forcing myself to breathe.
Yes. The next few hours are critical, but if there are no complications, this will improve,’ the monotone voice at the other end of the line told me.
I thanked him as politely as I could and asked once again if he could ring me if and when there were any changes.
‘Yes,’ he replied.
Then we both put the phone down.
I felt both relief and a whisper of optimism. But I knew all the same that there was still a danger that she might die in the course of the evening or overnight, and that it would now be even harder to accept.
I told my boss that there had been an improvement, but that the patient’s condition was still critical. Then I asked if I could take the rest of the day off, and continue with the investigation tomorrow. My boss immediately agreed to this and congratulated me again on the day’s extraordinary outcome.
It was undoubtedly well meant. But it occurred to me that poor, sweet Miriam Filtvedt Bentsen’s fate was of far less consequence to everyone else than the fact that an important man had escaped an attempted assassination unharmed.
XVII
I was eventually able to call Patricia at five to eight. She was once again in control of her mood, but seemed unexpectedly muted. I told her that I had got there just in time to prevent Trond Bratten from being shot. She replied, slightly sarcastically, that she had now heard that twice on the radio and again on the evening news on television.
I apologized for not having rung her sooner, but explained that the situation had been a bit chaotic, what with the arrest of a double murderer and a critically wounded onlooker.
Patricia’s voice softened a little when she said that the onlooker had been mentioned on the television, but no details had been given.
I told her that it was Miriam Filtvedt Bentsen, and that she had been shot while warning Trond Bratten not to go on stage.
‘Oh,’ Patricia stuttered, obviously taken aback, but still not sounding particularly concerned. Only after a short pause did she ask which hospital she was at, and how she was.
I told her that Miriam Filtvedt Bentsen was at Ullevål Hospital and that the first operation had been a success, but that there was still a risk that she might not live through the night.
Patricia pulled herself together. She said brusquely that it was of course perfectly understandable that I had not been able to call before, and that one could only hope that the patient would get better.
I came to her aid, thanked her once again for her invaluable contribution and asked if we should perhaps meet this evening or tomorrow to discuss the continued hunt for Marie Morgenstierne’s murderer.
Her reply was unexpectedly swift.
‘As soon as possible this evening, if you can. I have every hope then that we can solve the mystery by midnight. But first you must drive over to see Trond Ibsen and ask him what he was doing yesterday, and see what else he has to add.’
I felt my head was still spinning, but looked at the clock and suggested that we should try to meet at half past nine. She said that would be fine, but that she would be there all the same if I could get there any earlier.
To my surprise, Trond Ibsen was still in his office at a quarter past eight, and picked up the telephone. I said that it had been a long and dramatic day, as he might have heard, but that I was now following a lead on Marie Morgenstierne’s murder and had to talk to him as soon as possible.
I added that I would be happy to send Detective Inspector Danielsen, but had understood that he would prefer to give a statement to me. Trond Ibsen sighed, then replied that he would most definitely prefer to give his statement to me, and that he was currently alone in his office if I could come there.
XVIII
Trond Ibsen was sitting in a large armchair behind his desk when I came in, and immediately put aside the patient journal he was reading. I stayed well away from the sofa, but felt rather inferior all the same when I sat down on a far smaller chair in front of the desk.
But this time, the psychologist did not seem particularly arrogant. For a change, he seemed rather nervous. His hand trembled as he congratulated me on the day’s breakthrough, which he had also heard on the radio. He had not been aware that the person who had been critically wounded was Miriam Filtvedt Bentsen, and this news seemed only to increase his unease. He repeated twice that he sincerely hoped that she would survive, and also that he himself still knew nothing about any of the murders.
I replied that yesterday’s murders had now been solved, but that where he had been himself the day before remained a mystery. He let out a deep sigh.
‘I hoped that would be of less interest now that the murderer had been caught. So, well, I was absolutely not in the Valdres area. I was in fact indoors with a woman here in Oslo, and for personal reasons I had hoped that I would not need to tell the police or anyone else about her.’
His eyes begged me.
A thought fluttered through my mind. Kristine Larsen was still being held on remand yesterday, and there were not many other young women involved in the case. A terrible thought was forming.
‘Are you saying that you were with . . . a former female member of the group yesterday?’
He shook his head and sank even deeper into the chair.
‘No, if only that had been the case, I would gladly have told you. I did try my luck once upon a time, but there was never any interest from her side. But she was more gracious in her rejection that either Marie Morgenstierne or Kristine Larsen were. I really do hope that she pulls through.’
My nodding agreement was perhaps a little too enthusiastic, so I peered at him sternly.
‘In that case, I have no idea who it might be and why it might be so troublesome. If the woman concerned is married, we must surely be able to check your alibi without her husband knowing about it?’
Trond Ibsen drew an even heavier sigh and sank still further into the chair.
‘Strictly speaking, I cannot rule out that the woman I spent yesterday evening with was not married, though I would be very surprised. The problem is that I in fact don’t know her name and she would hardly be a reliable witness if the police were to find her. But I couldn’t claim that I had been at home alone, because if that had then come out in the papers, she could
accuse me of making false statements.’
He sent me a pleading look, then buried his face in his hands. It was only then that I understood the situation.
‘So what you are telling me is that you spent yesterday evening with a woman you had paid to keep you company?’
His head and hands nodded for a couple of seconds. Then suddenly, everything poured out.
‘Tactfully put, yes. It would be extremely embarrassing and potentially a disaster for my practice if it were to get out. My relationship with women is hopeless. I have never been caressed by a woman other than those I have paid. And believe it or not, this was the first time I had actually done it. It was my first ever physical encounter with a woman, and I have regretted it ever since. But this murder investigation has just made everything even more unbearable, and reminded me of my last and greatest humiliation.’
My mind started to put the pieces together.
‘Of course, when Marie Morgenstierne finally got over Falko, she chose Anders Pettersen and not you?’
He nodded. This was followed by another furious outpouring. The psychologist was obviously letting all his pent-up frustrations out now.
‘That was the final and hardest straw. The fact that Kristine Larsen preferred the missing Falko was less of a blow. Anders is politically simple, generally lazy, constantly broke and not particularly talented as an artist. And he gloated in the most disgusting, arrogant way. I don’t understand what she saw in him, and it felt like the greatest and most demeaning of all my failures with women!’
This was said with great indignation. I feared he was going to explode, and allowed him some time to settle down again before I continued.
‘So what you are saying now is that Anders Pettersen had managed to do what you wanted most in the world, that is, to go to bed with Marie Morgenstierne. And that it is very likely that he is the father of her unborn child?’
His nod was instant and, it seemed to me, a little spiteful.
‘Yes. That fits with the timescale. It was at the start of June. I saw it in his smile first. And then he told me straight out: by the way, I have now been where you have always wanted to go. A delightful, undulating landscape. I might just settle there for good. I understood immediately what he meant, and hated him more than ever.’
Trond Ibsen had now hit rock bottom, only to bounce back. When he carried on speaking, he suddenly became the psychologist, with only the hint of an undertone in his voice.
‘Bedding her was possibly Anders’ greatest physical achievement. He felt that he was Falko’s successor in both political and personal terms. He no doubt wanted their relationship to be public, but I don’t for a moment imagine that he wanted to become a father. He often said that having children was a form of egotism that could not be combined with revolutionary work, and should therefore be left until after the revolution. So it could well be that you now have the motive and the murderer you are looking for.’
I nodded.
‘It will be followed up. But you do understand that this does not exonerate you? Based on what you have just said, jealousy could be your motive, and that clearly does not rule out the possibility that you killed Marie Morgenstierne.’
Trond Ibsen gave yet another deep sigh, but looked me squarely in the eye when he replied.
‘Formally, you are of course right. But then I would definitely have killed him, and not her. And, given my history with her and others, I obviously wouldn’t want any kind of investigation that involved us. I have always feared that it would end like this, with me being acquitted of murder, but exposed to ridicule. As far as women are concerned, I’m useless and I know it. But I have honestly never killed any of the women who have rejected me, even though there are quite a few now, and some of them have been very cruel.’
This was said with great emotion. Trond Ibsen’s mask was definitely crumbling in front of my eyes. The man who emerged was complex, and held secrets that no one would have expected. But even when I saw Trond Ibsen unmasked, I still did not see a murderer.
So I said that I would do my utmost to prevent the secrets of his private life from getting out. He brightened up visibly, thanked me and said once again that he had now told me things that could cause him great embarrassment and spell disaster for his new practice.
So our conversation ended on a relatively good note. He promised that he would be available for further questions over the next few days, should that be necessary, and wished me luck with the investigation. I made my way home, feeling a mixture of sympathy and contempt for him. But I was remarkably sure that Patricia was right, and that Danielsen’s theory that Trond Ibsen was the murderer was a red herring.
XIX
To my astonishment, I was asked to wait for a moment – a rare occurrence indeed – when I turned up at Patricia’s as agreed at half past nine. When I was shown into the room three minutes later, Patricia was sitting waiting with coffee and cakes, and apologized that she had had to take an unexpected phone call.
She had fully regained her composure, and congratulated me straight away on the day’s great success. But it did strike me that there was something, if not exactly unfriendly, perhaps rather slightly brusque about her this evening. She listened dutifully to my detailed account of the drama at Frogner Square, and repeated afterwards briefly that one could only hope that the patient would recover.
While waiting to hear more from the hospital, I tried to think as little as possible about Miriam Filtvedt Bentsen. So instead I congratulated Patricia on her brilliant reasoning that had foiled the attempted assassination of the leader of the Labour Party. She shrugged dismissively, and looked uncomfortable.
‘I should have picked up on the time and place earlier. As soon as I knew that Bratten was going to give a speech at Frogner Square today and heard the words Heftye 66, I should have realized that it was the street and not the person. The fact that it might refer to the age of one of the parties involved was distracting, but I should have seen the connection. And I should have guessed earlier that the SP stood for Super Pater. The pieces only fell into place suddenly when I discovered the explanation for the letters in Henry Alfred Lien’s diary. B fitted perfectly with bank manager, who was also the man Falko had called Super Pater, and what’s more, he lived in Frogner. I have not been very focused for the past couple of days, so please excuse my outburst; it’s simply frustration at myself.’
We then moved on to discuss the investigation of Marie Morgenstierne’s murder.
Patricia nodded approvingly when I told her about my visit to Trond Ibsen and then swiftly took up the thread.
‘Just as I thought – so the solution should be just around the corner now. We can rule out the idea that Falko Reinhardt was the father of Marie Morgenstierne’s unborn child. And Trond Ibsen’s history is such that it gives us every reason to believe that he was certainly not Marie Morgenstierne’s lover.’
I interrupted her and asked how she could so categorically dismiss the possibility that Falko was the father. She lit up with an almost childish grin.
‘The simple fact that he was still a long way from Norway, according to the tickets found in his pocket, when some man peeled off his fiancée’s panties here in Oslo. On the other hand, there is more and more to indicate that Anders Pettersen was there when that happened. Confront him with it, and with the fact that he was standing in one of the side streets when she started to run. I don’t know if he saw Falko, or if Falko saw him; nor do I know if Marie Morgenstierne saw either of them. But I am almost certain that it was him standing there.’
I stared at Patricia, baffled, and asked how she could be so sure of that.
‘A theory that I have had more or less from the start. As I pointed out at an early stage, Marie Morgenstierne was walking extremely slowly and apparently happily towards the station, even though she was wearing a watch and knew that she would not make the next train. She was secretly hoping to bump into someone. And that someone was Anders Pettersen, who would have had th
e time to cycle round, precisely because she was walking so slowly. The fact that she said no to a lift from Trond Ibsen could of course have been a decoy, if she wanted to meet him in secret. But she also had to hand over the recording first. If it was Trond Ibsen she was going to meet, there would be no need to walk so slowly. As he had a car, he would have got there long before her anyway. This all fits with the other pieces that are gradually falling into place.’
I looked at her with admiration, and thought with a silent sigh that Danielsen might have the last laugh after all. But when I asked Patricia straight out if she thought that Anders Pettersen was Marie Morgenstierne’s murderer, she drew out her answer.
‘That is not what I said, nor, for that matter, my conclusion. As Falko said, there are two possibilities. And he no doubt thought that both were sad or tragic. The one decidedly sad alternative is that Falko’s best friend and admirer Anders Pettersen killed his fiancée, and thus also his own child. But there is still another alternative, which is no less sad or tragic . . .’
Patricia sat for a moment and stared gravely at something in the air in front of her. Then she drained her coffee cup and turned her focus back to me.
‘No matter how you look at it, there are a number of family tragedies here. The Morgenstierne daughter is murdered along with her unborn child, and the father is jailed for two other murders. Falko Reinhardt leaves behind him a broken-hearted lover and two depressed parents. Henry Alfred Lien was never forgiven by his son, although he longed and deserved to be. I can only imagine what the son will think when he hears the story.’
‘And, not to be forgotten, Miriam Filtvedt Bentsen is hovering between life and death. I wonder how her parents are feeling now,’ I added.
Patricia nodded, and promptly carried on.
‘So, let’s follow Marie Morgenstierne’s murder through to the end, no matter how sad the truth might prove to be. Go and see Anders Pettersen, tonight if you can, and confront him with the fact that he was Marie Morgenstierne’s lover and the father of her unborn child. Ask him if he knew about the child, and if so, how he found out. And ask him who else knew about his relationship with Marie Morgenstierne, and when they found out. Come back here afterwards: then I should hopefully be able to tell you whether it was Anders Pettersen, or the other possible murderer, who shot Marie Morgenstierne. You can come no matter how late it might be.’
The Catalyst Killing (K2 and Patricia series Book 3) Page 29