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.