XIII
I locked the door to my flat in Hegdehaugen at twenty past ten. At twenty-five past ten, I got an unusually late telephone call.
The voice at the other end, which I had heard before, asked if this was ‘Detective Inspector Kolbjørn Kristiansen’. But the voice sounded different on the telephone and the man who was calling was far more confused than when I first spoke to him. I knew who he was before he even said his name.
‘Please forgive me for phoning at this time, but it is because I have something that might help you with the investigation and could be very important. My wife and I have discussed it and neither of us felt it was right not to call you, even though it is late. This is Arno Reinhardt. And something absolutely incredible has just happened!’
He stammered and swallowed. I gave him the time he needed. Then suddenly everything tumbled out.
‘Falko came back to see us this evening! He’s alive and unharmed. At around nine o’clock, there he was standing at the door, out of the blue. He looked exactly the same as before, it was as if he had not been gone a day. My wife and I both thought it was a dream. But we hugged him and even took a picture of him before he disappeared again!’
It was easy to imagine the scene. And it was very moving, in the middle of a murder investigation.
I told him how pleased I was, and said that it must be an enormous relief for him and his wife. His voice sounded happy when he continued, but it also sounded bewildered and anxious.
‘Yes, thank you, it was the greatest moment of our lives, after taking him home with us in 1945, of course. But now he’s vanished again, and the mystery of who might have shot his fiancée remains… So we’re overjoyed, but worried about him all the same. We thought that we should tell you immediately, and ask you to let us know if there is anything we can do to help solve the case.’
I threw myself at this opportunity straight away and asked if Falko had said anything about where he had been or where he was going. However, it transpired that his parents, in a state of shock, surprise and joy, had not grasped much other than that their son was alive. He had told them in brief that he had first gone to the Soviet Union and from there on to China, as Norway was under great threat, and that he had come back now, despite this danger, because he had an important task to fulfil. The future of the nation might depend on it, he had said.
Falko Reinhardt had promised to come back again in a few days, and had asked to borrow the keys to his father’s car in the meantime, which they of course gave him. He had let them take one single picture and then, despite his parents’ protests, disappeared into the night as suddenly as he had come. He had assured them that everything was under control, but in their flustered state, they did not know if they dared to believe that. They had begged him to contact me and he had told them that he planned to do that, without giving any more details.
We finished the call at a quarter to eleven, with a mutual agreement to let one another know immediately if anything important happened.
I felt as confused as Arno Reinhardt sounded in those late evening hours. Things were hotting up on the trail of Falko Reinhardt in Oslo. But not only was it still unclear where he was hiding, but also whom it was he feared, and what he was waiting for before contacting me.
XIV
At eleven o’clock I decided that there was not much more I could do on the case that Sunday evening, and that the best thing would be to go to bed so that I was well rested for what would no doubt be a demanding Monday. I was in bed by ten past eleven, but was still lying wide awake at a quarter to twelve. The ongoing investigation was in danger of becoming an obsession.
And at ten to twelve, the telephone rang again. I jumped out of bed and raced into the sitting room to get it.
I reached the telephone after the sixth ring. The first thing I heard was some pips that told me that the call was being made from a telephone box. The second thing I heard was a voice that I had never heard before, but immediately recognized. It was just as I had imagined: educated and confident, with only a hint of an accent, but otherwise grammatically perfect Norwegian.
‘My apologies for calling so late, but as I am sure you understand, I have had a rather hectic day. My name is Falko Reinhardt, and I have reason to believe that you would still like to talk to me?’
I very quickly assured him of this and asked where he was now. The answer was accompanied by quiet laughter.
‘The answer to that is obviously that I am in a telephone box right now, and I don’t have any more change than the two krone coins that I’ve already put in. But we should definitely meet tomorrow. And for reasons that will become apparent, we should meet in Valdres. Can you meet me at the bottom of the cliff there at six o’clock tomorrow evening?’
I croaked out a yes.
‘Great stuff. See you tomorrow, then. I will definitely be there, and will tell you everything. But there are a couple of things I need to confirm first. I also have to apologize for my rather hasty departure from the hotel room earlier on today, but I feared for my life and didn’t dare to trust that it was really the police. If I had walked into a trap today, there is so much that could have gone wrong, for the country as well as me.’
I told him to take good care of himself tomorrow as well, and asked whether he was certain that there would be no action before we met. To my relief, his voice was just as calm and confident when he continued.
‘I have of course considered the possibility. An attack is planned that will shake Norway, but it will not happen until the day after tomorrow at the earliest. Just come to Valdres tomorrow at six, and we will be national heroes, you and I, by the end of the week.’
There was no denying it sounded like an attractive opportunity, and Falko’s calm confidence certainly worked its magic – even on me, and even on the telephone at close to midnight. Just then, however, it was interrupted when the telephone pips were drowned out by the single tone that warned that your time was soon up.
I realized that he did not want to say any more tonight about the planned attack, so instead asked in a flash whether he had seen another man he knew when his fiancée was shot.
‘I saw a man I knew in another side road. In fact, I saw several people I knew at the scene. There are two possibilities as to who shot Marie, and both are very tr…’
The line went dead.
I sat there with a warm receiver in my hand and a cold dialling tone in my ear. And even more unanswered questions. Despite the potential drama involved in the planned attack, my thoughts drifted back to my encounter with the woman on the Lijord Line four days earlier.
What was it that Falko had tried to say about two possible answers to who shot Marie Morgenstierne? That both were troubled? Both were tragic? Both were now threats? Whatever the case, it felt natural to believe that Falko Reinhardt had, from where he was standing, recognized the man in the side road and had inferred that he might have murdered Marie. But it was also possible that he had seen and recognized Kristine Larsen, and that meant it could also have been her.
I decided that it was too late to ring Patricia that evening, but I needed to talk to someone, as I was in no state to sleep following my dramatic conversation with Falko Reinhardt. So at two minutes to midnight, I used the permission I had to telephone my boss if the situation so required.
My boss was awake, and after listening to a brief summary of the most important events of the day, he thanked me for the update, much to my relief. I suggested that indications of an imminent attack were now so concrete that we should perhaps inform the government. Then I hesitated slightly before saying exactly what I thought: that we should above all else try to prevent an attack that would shake up the whole country, and that we could put ourselves in a very vulnerable position if there was a catastrophe and it got out that we had not heeded the warnings. Again, to my relief, my boss agreed.