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.
X
‘The cook has not outdone herself today, to be fair, but you are still eating suspiciously little,’ Patricia remarked halfway through the main course.
I dutifully took another couple of mouthfuls of the delicious venison, and thoughtlessly excused myself, saying that I had had to eat a little something earlier in the afternoon in connection with the investigation.
Patricia looked at me with raised eyebrows, but fortunately did not ask any questions.
I gave her a simplified account of the afternoon’s developments, without saying that I had asked Miriam Filtvedt Bentsen out for something to eat. It was not something I wanted to tell Patricia, nor did it feel like something she would want to know. We eagerly talked about the case over the rest of the meal.
‘The case is of course complicated, and enough to make you lose your appetite,’ I said.
She nodded vigorously.
‘I absolutely agree. The picture is now somewhat clearer regarding the police security service, but they are still holding so much back that one could be forgiven for wondering if they are hiding something serious. Let us hope that this can finally be cleared up when you talk to the man with the suitcase tomorrow.’
I stared at Patricia, astounded.
‘And how exactly do you think I am going to do that? The head of the security service seemed very unwilling to cooperate on that point.’
Patricia let out a great sigh.
‘Have you really not considered the reason why the head of the security service seems so unwilling to cooperate and would not let you meet the man with the suitcase? You tell the good Mr Bryne tomorrow that you know that this man has a large mole on his face and remind him of the potential scandal that might ensue should it ever get out that he was also at the cabin in Valdres on the night that Falko Reinhardt went missing. My guess is that you will be able to talk to him pretty quickly after that. I am less certain, however, about how much help it will be.’
I felt as though I had been punched in the stomach. It struck me that if Patricia’s intelligence had increased from the time she was eighteen until she was twenty, so had her arrogance. Fortunately, she continued in a softer tone.
‘The picture is becoming more detailed, but also more complex and confusing. The same is true of the picture at the scene of the crime on the evening that Marie Morgenstierne was shot.’