Patricia looked almost frightened. I jumped when, out of the blue, she slapped her hand down on the table.
‘Pass! There are too many unresolved questions here, and I will make no headway unless some of them are answered. If it does transpire that Kristine Larsen either had a gun in her hand that was clearly visible, or she saw the handover of the tape, then I will start to take your theory that she is the murderer more seriously. In the meantime, however, I will concentrate on other possible solutions while you try to find someone who can give you more relevant information. The security service would seem to be the best lead now, but put increasing pressure on both Kristine Larsen and the other remaining Falkoists through the course of the afternoon.’
This was a very clear hint. I stood up to leave, but Patricia stopped me halfway with her hand.
‘Come back for supper at seven, if you can. And in the meantime, call me immediately if anything new crops up.’
I realized that Patricia’s voice was trembling – as was her hand. She noticed the surprise in my eyes and continued without prompting: ‘It could be my general fear of things I do not understand. It does have something to do with who or what scared Marie Morgenstierne so much, but more with the question as to why Falko disappeared and why he is not making himself known now. It seems to me that we are running against time to prevent an even greater catastrophe.’
This whisper of fear in Patricia made a strong impression on me. I followed the maid out of the room with unusual alacrity, and overtook her just before the front door.
VI
Once back in the office, I made the phone call I had been dreading most of alclass="underline" to the head of the police security service, Asle Bryne. I called him at home. I feared that he might not appreciate being called at home early on a Sunday afternoon, particularly when it concerned a difficult case, and had made up my mind to put down the phone if he had not answered after five rings. But he picked up the receiver on the fourth ring. The situation was not made any easier by the fact that instead of saying who he was, he opened the conversation with a curt ‘Who is it?’
His voice, however, banished any doubts I may have had that I had got the wrong number. I resisted the temptation to slam down the receiver, and instead launched myself out into deep waters.
‘This is Detective Inspector Kolbjørn Kristiansen. I met with you at your office yesterday. I apologize profusely for having to disturb you at home on a Sunday, but we have some new information in the murder case I am investigating, which could put the security service in a rather unfortunate light, should it become known. I thought I should discuss the matter with you immediately and try to minimize the negative consequences it could have for both our organizations.’
For a moment, there was silence on the other end of the telephone. I braced myself for a furious outburst that never came.
‘I see,’ Asle Bryne said, eventually. And then said no more.
After a few seconds I realized that he was waiting for me to continue in order to ascertain how much I knew. It felt as though I was teetering on the edge of the cliff in Valdres when I spoke: ‘The current investigation has first of all discovered that the murdered Marie Morgenstierne herself acted as a security service informant for a while. And secondly, and more importantly, a member of the security service appears to have been present at the scene of the crime when she was killed.’
Again, there was silence. Absolute silence. Delightful, liberating silence. And the silence lasted for a long time.
‘I see,’ Asle Bryne said, once more. And then was silent again.
I obviously had to launch myself into a new attack, and did so.
‘It is still my hope that we can keep this from the press and politicians. But then I need any information that may help to solve the case quickly, now.’
‘I see,’ Asle Bryne’s voice repeated. ‘What do you need, then?’ he added hastily.
‘I need to know the details of your contact with Marie Morgenstierne. But first and foremost, I have to speak to the man who was at the scene of the crime about what he might have seen and heard.’
‘I see,’ Asle Bryne said yet again, still sounding remarkably cool and collected.
‘Come to my office at six o’clock this evening, and I will give you all the help I can,’ he continued swiftly.
Then he put down the phone without waiting for confirmation.
I heaved a sigh of relief and looked at the time. It was still only half past two. I still had time for a couple of meetings with the group around Falko Reinhardt before the end of the working day. The one I wanted to speak to most was without a doubt Miriam Filtvedt Bentsen, but I had more crucial questions to ask Anders Pettersen. So in the end I dialled his number, and when I had established that he was at home, I headed over there.
VII
Anders Pettersen sat leaning forward in a chair beside his untidy coffee table and stared at me in disbelief. It was not a pleasant situation, and became even less so when he started to speak.
‘That is completely absurd. No one could honestly believe that Kristine would kill anyone, let alone a member of our group. If you believe that, you have either been duped by a conspiracy or are part of one yourself. Kristine is the most consistent, helpless pacifist I have ever met, and I have met quite a few. We all knew that she would not be up to much in the great struggle when world revolution reached Norway. She had been in touch with another revolutionary group before, but was told that they had no use for pacifists.’
The man was politically provoking and personally unbearable, but I chose to ignore both aspects for the moment. There was a considerable risk that he was right about Kristine Larsen and my chances of getting anything out of him about the rest of the group would not increase with confrontation. I therefore replied that the question as to whether Kristine Larsen would be charged or not was still open, but that there was much to indicate that jealousy and rivalry within the group had played a part. He looked at me with a little more interest when I said this.
So I then asked Anders Pettersen the same question that I had asked Trond Ibsen earlier in the day: if he had ever noticed any signs of romantic relationships within the group other than that between Marie Morgenstierne and Falko Reinhardt.
His reaction was more or less the same. He rolled his eyes and looked as though he was about to dismiss the whole question, but then paused for thought and frowned for a moment.
‘I never thought I would mention this to anyone outside the group, and certainly not to a policeman. But this is an extremely serious situation as one of us has been murdered, and I should do everything I can to disprove the clearly mistaken view that Kristine is the prime suspect.’
I nodded in agreement, said that he should absolutely do that, and assured him that for the time being it would be an unofficial statement and would not be written down or shared with the other members of the group. This prompted a sudden sense of confidentiality between us. Anders Pettersen leaned even further forward over the table and lowered his voice when he spoke.
‘I have never heard or seen anything to indicate that Kristine had any kind of romantic ties, if that is what you mean. Not with anyone, either in or out of the group. But there is a romantic secret in the group that you should perhaps know about, as it might be of some importance here…’
He looked at me, his eyes almost twinkling, and continued to talk even faster and more intensely, but in a whisper.
‘Our psychologist has a complex, and it is called women. Trond comes from a very good family, has plenty of money and a good education and all that. And, as far as others are concerned, he is without a doubt an extremely good psychologist. And as you have perhaps noticed, he appears to get on relatively well with other men. But his relationships with women have been less happy in all the years I’ve known him. As far as we know, he has never had a lover of any kind, through no lack of interest on his part. Trond is either too laid-back and distant, or too eager and intense in his dealings with women. In recent years, he seems to have focused more on his psychology and has been outvoted by the group more and more often. Since Falko’s disappearance, I’ve had a growing sense that he is part of the group not so much out of political interest, but rather romantic interest.’