The proposition was not at all unattractive. Her body was slim and her breasts looked firm in her uniform jacket, and her otherwise pretty face became mysteriously alluring when she now gave me a small, mischievous smile. But I had too much to think about and too many people to worry about to consider the possibility at any greater length. The receptionist vanished from my mind as soon as she vanished from my sight. On my way to the car, my thoughts ping-ponged between Miriam Filtvedt Bentsen and Patricia Louise I. E. Borchmann. And in the end, I drove back to the latter, with the to-do list and photograph on the seat beside me.
XII
‘Hmmhh,’ was Patricia’s surprisingly protracted response. It was now half past nine on what had turned into a long and hectic Sunday.
Patricia had drunk two cups of coffee while she listened in tense silence to my report from the hotel. Then she drank another half cup while she studied the photograph and to-do list that I had found there.
The coffee in my own cup was still warm and sweet, but Patricia now seemed cold and bitter. For a moment, she reminded me of a grumpy Norwegian teacher when she looked at Falko’s list one last time, then let it fall to the table.
‘Well, any schoolchild could understand the first bit. 1008 is the tenth of August, which is tomorrow. And KK is Kolbjørn Kristiansen, which is you.’
I nodded in agreement and pretended to have understood this all along. Patricia looked at me, somewhat taken aback, but was quick to continue.
‘So, Falko was planning to contact you tomorrow. That much is clear, and good news. But the rest is not so clear or such good news.’
‘So you have no idea either who this SP might be – or what is being planned?’
Patricia gave an almost annoyed shake of the head.
‘There is not much to go on here. It seems most likely that SP is someone’s initials, in which case we don’t know whose. There are presumably thousands of people in Oslo alone whose initials are SP, so it is like looking for a needle in a haystack. It could be that SP is the fourth person in the picture, but then we still do not have much to go on. And there might not be any connection between the photograph and the note, even though it is natural to assume that there is. By the way…’
Patricia stopped speaking and stared intensely at the faceless fourth person in the photograph, as if she was trying to scare the truth out of it.
‘By the way…’ I prompted tentatively.
‘By the way, I was wondering who might have taken the photograph and who has torn off the corner. Was the photograph already like that when Falko got hold of it, or was it he who tore off the corner? And if so, why did he do it? You must ask him if and when you speak to him. But for goodness’ sake, start by asking about this attack that someone is planning against someone else, somewhere out in the real world.’
The latter was said with resignation in her voice. Patricia had ventured beyond the safety of her home’s four walls, out into the world for what proved to be the very dramatic conclusion of our first investigation. The case had been solved, but only after a terrifying moment which I could only assume had plagued her for many nights since. We never talked about it. It was simply understood that Patricia’s place was here indoors. She had withdrawn from what she herself on occasion called the real world.
I did not want to talk about it now either. And as she had not mentioned the possibility that SP could stand for Miriam Filtvedt Bentsen, as a member of the SPP, I for some unknown reason had no wish to point it out. So I thanked her for her help and stood up to leave.
Patricia raised her hand hastily and I immediately sat down again in the chair opposite her like an obedient child.
‘One more thing it might be worth thinking about… I am constantly struck by how different this case is from our last ones. But there are still human flies and satellite people involved. Magdalon Schelderup, who was the first to be murdered in the last case, was a rich and powerful old patriarch, who had a great many people spinning round him like satellites. Marie Morgenstierne, on the other hand, was a young woman without a family or social status. There was no one spinning around her, and she was not a star. But her murder may have been a catalyst killing, and in that case, it may have even more dramatic consequences for others than the murder of Magdalon Schelderup.’
I looked at her, slightly confused. Her smile was utterly disarming.
‘I am sorry for using a concept that I made up myself, without thinking. I’ve used it so much that I forget it is not a given for everyone else. A catalyst murder is a murder that, intentionally or unintentionally, sparks or accelerates other dangerous processes. A catalyst murder can involve both very famous and completely unknown people. A prime example from world history is the murder of the Austrian crown prince, Franz Ferdinand, in 1914. It set in motion processes that only a few weeks later, with almost chemical predictability, sparked a world war that would cost millions of lives – without that ever having been the murderer’s intention. In much the same way, it feels as though the death of Marie Morgenstierne may have accelerated dangerous processes in several of the circles she moved in, either directly or indirectly, and the risk of an explosion will continue to increase by the hour until we find the murderer.’
I nodded and used the opportunity to impress her with some borrowed reason.
‘I perfectly understand what you mean. And the risk of an explosion is also mounting because Marie Morgenstierne moved in a grey zone between three circles that are all relatively small and driven by a perilously fervent belief in their cause.’
Patricia furrowed her brow and looked at me with something that resembled suspicion.
‘Did you come up with that by yourself? It is a valid point, and I have given it considerable thought myself. If you mean the old Nazis, young communists and police security service, we are talking about three extreme sectarian groups, each in their own way, where one or more individuals could easily get it into their head that the end justifies the means.’
I nodded again to show my agreement, without answering the question. It crossed my mind that Patricia and Miriam were in fact more similar than I had previously thought, despite being so different on the outside. And I definitely had no thought of mentioning that to either of them.
Patricia had finished her cup of coffee, but was still not finished for the evening.
‘It is difficult to say whether it was the intention of the person who shot Marie Morgenstierne or not. But something very dangerous is brewing in one or more circles out there. I have no doubt that we will find poor Marie Morgenstierne’s murderer within the next few days. But I am very worried that we may lose the fight against time with regard to preventing a greater catastrophe. We will get no further at the moment, but contact me as soon as you find any new information that I might be able to wrestle something more from.’
I took the hint, and stood up to leave just as the clock on the wall struck ten.
Despite our very different backgrounds, Patricia and I had started to understand each other rather well by now. As she talked, I had understood that she had a very definite theory about who had shot Marie Morgenstierne, but that she was not ready to air it yet. And after the day’s events, I shared her fear that the countdown to a major explosion might have started.
As I drove home alone through the dark, my thoughts continued to circle round the day’s events and tomorrow’s possibilities. It could prove to be a very interesting, if not very pleasant, Monday. I clearly had to speak to the two old Nazis again and put more pressure on the head of the police security service.