I nodded in agreement. He looked at me with something akin to gratitude.
‘The way he behaved was so morally shocking and provocative. And it did not help that she had obviously remained loyal to her fiancé, and suspected that one of the others had betrayed him. So I felt sorry for her, and had wondered on a couple of occasions whether I should tell her or not. I had not until then, but could not say no when she asked me directly.’
It was my turn to lean across the table and say in an equally quiet voice: ‘And I take it as given that communist women are not your personal preference, even if they are informants and have been badly treated by their fiancés. Certainly not officially, and when your boss is present.’
I feared an angry explosion, but to my relief he simply nodded slowly.
‘Well observed. Based on what I knew and what I saw, I became fond of her. But nothing ever happened, and it was never discussed. The leap was too great for both of us.’
I nodded. That sounded reasonable enough.
‘But as I am being honest with you… Well, I once asked her a question that might be of interest to you…’
I told him that all questions relating to Marie Morgenstierne were of interest to me now, and that nothing that he told me would be passed on to anyone else, unless strictly necessary. He nodded gratefully and continued in a whisper.
‘I saw that pompous psychologist, Trond Ibsen, hanging around her on several occasions. I wondered if it was him she was afraid of. So on one occasion I used the opportunity to ask if he was perhaps getting a bit close for comfort. She smiled and said that maybe he was, but that there was no danger that he would get any closer. He was bothersome, but definitely not dangerous, she said.’
‘So he was not the one she suspected of having something to do with Falko’s disappearance?’
He shook his head.
‘No, that certainly did not seem to be the case. What I said was true, she never actually told me who she thought it was. I don’t know for sure. But if you were to ask me, unofficially, who I thought she suspected…’
He looked at me expectantly, with an almost teasing smile. I immediately asked him who he thought it was that she suspected, but underlined that this was in no way official.
‘… then I would say that it was Kristine Larsen. Marie certainly said: “That’s what I thought. Thank you!” She did not appear to be angry or concerned, more relieved, in a way. I think it was something she had mulled over for a long time.’
I pondered these words. When I looked up again, Stein Pedersen was gone. I took it in good faith. I had, after all, got answers to my questions. And I could not be certain whether he had said goodbye or not.
VII
The jacket had still not arrived when I got back to my office at five to two. At two o’clock on the dot, I rang Prime Minister Peder Borgen, as arranged. He greeted me in a jolly voice, but then became thoughtful when I said that we would soon have to make a final decision regarding his talks. His relief was tangible when I said that we had not received any threats in connection with his engagement today.
We concluded that he would give his talk to the Norwegian Farmers’ Union, and that I would ring straight away should there be any reason to cancel the evening’s event. He was very pleased about this, and said that I could ring at any time. He repeated that other than these two events, he had practically nothing else in his diary this week.
At a quarter past two, a younger, slimmer version of the calm sheriff from Valdres came to my door with a sealed bag and gave a breathless apology, explaining that he had had a puncture near Hønefoss. I thanked him for his efforts and asked him to give my greetings to his father, then wished him a safe journey home. He once again apologized for the delay and then gingerly asked for my permission to go and see Karl Johans Gate, the main street in Oslo, before driving back.
The bag contained a light-coloured sports jacket, and the contents of its pockets were just as the sheriff had said. In the right-hand pocket was a key ring with two car keys. In the left-hand pocket was a wallet containing three hundred and fifty kroner in Norwegian banknotes, some Russian rubles and around ten German marks. I also found a Norwegian driver’s licence, issued in 1967, and a boat ticket that showed that Falko had arrived in Oslo on 26 July, following a ten-day voyage from Moscow via Kiel. This fitted well with the picture we had drawn so far, but got me no further.
It was the diary page that grabbed my attention. The writing was unmistakably that of Henry Alfred Lien, and the style characteristically brief. In 1970, he had only made three notes:
17 May 1970: Met A, B, and D. A and D strongly in favour of implementation, B hesitant.
7 June 1970: Another meeting with A, B and D. A and D almost aggressive in applying pressure. B still sceptical, but in agreement – feared consequences for families.
8 August 1970: Telephone call from A. Had talked to D and B, and reported that B was now ready for action!
I noted that the date of the middle entry in Henry Alfred Lien’s diary coincided with the date on Falko Reinhardt’s photograph – and given that they were both dead, this could not be down to chance. But other than that, I had to admit that the sheriff had been right. There really was not much here that would help us to identify the people mentioned. And there was certainly no lead on what it was they were planning, or when it would be implemented.
The page reminded me of Falko’s note with the mysterious reference to ‘Heftye 66’. I rang Professor Johannes Heftye and confronted him with this. The professor sounded genuinely bewildered, but confirmed that he had been sixty-six until only a few weeks ago. He had, however, turned sixty-seven now and he had no idea why his former student should have this handwritten note. He had not had any form of contact with Falko since he disappeared, and had certainly not made any arrangements to meet him during the next few days.
When I asked him about the previous day, Professor Heftye told me that he had been working at home. He lived alone and, other than a couple of telephone calls in the early afternoon, he had not spoken to anyone, so unfortunately he did not have an alibi from two o’clock for the rest of the day. He hastily added that he did not have a car, and could not drive anymore, even if he had had one – and so, in short, could not have been to Valdres.
I assured him that he was not suspected of anything at all, but that we had to check these things as a matter of procedure following the last two deaths. He said he understood, though his voice was a touch sceptical. As for today, the professor said that he had been in his office all day so far, and reckoned that he would stay there until late this evening. He added somewhat brusquely that he had never in his life owned a firearm of any sort, and certainly had never been suspected of using one.
It felt as though the relationship between Professor Heftye and myself had taken an unfortunate turn after a more promising start. I found it hard to imagine, however, that he was a criminal, and even harder to imagine him as a murderer running around in the mountains of Valdres. Falko’s note remained a mystery.
It was nearly a quarter past three by now, and there was still little progress to report on my part. Despite my growing anxiety about an imminent attack, I quietly hoped that Danielsen had not made much progress either.
VIII
I took it as a good sign that I was in the boss’s office before Danielsen this time. He arrived, however, two minutes late and at great speed, with an unnerving grin on his face. I felt my heart pounding when I asked if there was any news from his side.