‘Yes, it is an odd coincidence, and one should be wary of ruling things out in such circumstances. But all the same, the idea of an assassin being employed by the police security service does seem a bit unlikely. And how did Falko then get the person’s name? And why did he not just tell us?’
I had to admit that I had no answers. Instead, I asked her about the other note that referred to Heftye, which could hardly mean anyone other than Falko Reinhardt’s supervisor, given the number 66? There were not many other Heftyes left in Oslo, I dared to add.
Patricia pulled out the telephone directory for Oslo and Akerhus from the shelf behind her, and looked it up.
‘Eleven, including the professor. That is not many. But the number sixty-six is only nearly right – if the professor celebrated his sixty-fifth birthday a few days before Falko disappeared in 1968, then he must have turned sixty-seven a couple of weeks ago. A somewhat distracted Falko could of course have thought that he was still sixty-six. Do check with the professor where he was today, and what his plans are for tomorrow. But what on earth would he have to do with an attack? If I were to imagine an old radical left-wing history professor being involved in a terrorist attack, it would certainly not be in cooperation with old Nazis. And I do not understand why Falko would use the abbreviation ‘SP’ for Professor Johannes Heftye. Nor, for that matter, why he would then write out the name when he otherwise appears to use abbreviations for people in his notes.’
And neither did I. The new note was more and more mysterious.
‘What happened in Valdres, then?’ I asked.
For a moment, Patricia looked confused, but then she straightened up and leaned across the table.
‘Sorry, I thought that was fairly obvious. All the pieces fit here. We have discussed at length who was the security service’s mole in Falko Reinhardt’s group – but not who was Falko Reinhardt’s mole in the Nazi network. But it was obviously Henry Alfred Lien, who saw this as his chance to be forgiven by his anti-Nazi son. It is possible that this was the main reason for him taking up again with his friends from the war years. He and Falko Reinhardt were both useful to each other. Falko Reinhardt was tipped off by Henry Alfred Lien in 1968 that the Nazi network was considering some form of action. Relations within the group may also have contributed to Falko Reinhardt’s decision to disappear. After discussing this with Henry Alfred Lien – and possibly with some practical assistance – he escaped from the cabin in the most ingenious way, and disappeared down the mountain and out of the country. The incident in the local history yearbook certainly corroborates the theory of cooperation. Henry Alfred Lien knew the old story and Falko, with his sense of drama, got an idea that he could not resist. Falko dreamed about coming back as a national hero; Henry Alfred Lien hoped he would be forgiven by his son. They kept in touch, and Falko returned when he heard earlier this summer that an attack by the former Nazis was imminent. Are you following so far?’
I nodded, and waited with bated breath for the continuation.
‘Today, Falko was due to have a final meeting with Henry Alfred Lien before his meeting with you, when he would tell you what he knew about the planned attack. The plot is so big that he expected to be some kind of national hero if he single-handedly uncovered it. But Henry Alfred Lien’s role as double agent had been discovered, possibly because Christian Magnus Eggen and Frans Heidenberg found out about the photograph. Henry Alfred Lien had set the table for his meeting with Falko when he suddenly stood face to face with someone completely different altogether: someone who had come to kill him, and did so. Falko arrived just after this, and was unarmed and suddenly facing an armed murderer. They both immediately understood the context and gravity of the situation. Falko must have run out of the house in a blind panic, and was pursued and shot, first in the foot and then in the chest. In the meantime, he managed to lose the note that you found. The murderer then, in cold blood, dragged the wounded Falko the last few yards to the cliff, stuffed the gun into his pocket and pushed him over the edge. It was an impressively quick-witted attempt to make it look as though Falko Reinhardt had shot Henry Alfred Lien and then taken his own life, or at least to cover his own tracks. Both bodies could have lain there for days, until it was all over, if you had not been there.’
She had convinced me. I could, having been there myself, imagine the scene, but I still could not see the murderer’s face.
‘And no one else would have been able to see the connection, if you had not been here!’
Patricia nodded, but her smile was reluctant.
‘Thank you, but it remains to be seen how far it will get us. We still do not have the most important information, and I cannot squeeze much more out of what we already know.’
‘What about the missing page from the diary?’
Patricia’s nod was keener this time.
‘Presumably it says all that we need to know and is one of the things we can hope to find now. If the murderer took it, we are likely never to see it again. But if the diary contained something important about the plans, it is far more likely that Falko knew about the diary rather than the murderer. Imagine for a moment that Falko found Henry Alfred Lien dead, but thought that the murderer had gone and that he was alone in the house. He would then find the diary to safeguard it. He met the murderer on the way out. There is every reason to hope that this might have happened.’
‘But then what happened to the diary page? Falko did not have it when he died, in which case it is possible that the murderer took it from him.’
Patricia nodded, with a grim expression on her face.
‘It is not only possible, it is highly likely. But is it really the case that Falko only had the pistol in his pocket when you found him?’
It was my turn to nod.
‘He was not wearing a jacket and the pistol was the only thing I found in his trouser pockets.’
Patricia gave a crooked smile.
‘Then we have another mystery, which could either be irrelevant or our saving grace. Where on earth is Falko’s jacket?’
I looked at her astonished. She continued quickly.
‘Falko had a car, but no car keys. And he had pockets, but no wallet. He must have had a jacket with him, and both the wallet and the keys must still be in the jacket. And probably also the page from the diary – if, as we hope, he had it. Where is the jacket? Did the murderer take it? Or did he leave it in the house, or did he lose it somewhere on the way to the cliff? It is perhaps clutching at straws, but it might work. Could you check with the sheriff in Vestre Slidre?’
I nodded. Patricia pushed the telephone across the table towards me.
I got hold of the sheriff just as he was going to bed. The deceased’s jacket had not been found, but he agreed that its absence was strange, and said that he would personally organize a search for it as soon as he went back to the scene of the crime in the morning. They had found nothing of note, but he promised to phone immediately if they did.
I thanked him, and put the receiver down. Patricia and I then sat in oppressive silence for a while. It was close to midnight and the situation was electric, but neither of us had anything more to say about it.
I thought that the possibility of the jacket was brilliant, but it was a very thin straw indeed. And otherwise, we had no clues about the murderer, and were not likely to find any here tonight.
I realized, without either of us saying anything, that Patricia was thinking the same. We were getting to know each other rather well by now.
So I thanked her for her help and said that I had to call my boss and get a few hours’ sleep, but that I would telephone her as soon as anything of importance cropped up. She said that she would be sitting waiting by the phone from half past seven, and that we could only hope that we would get some new information in time to identify the murderer and prevent a catastrophe. Otherwise we were facing a hopeless fight against time and evil, she remarked with a sigh.