When I asked about possible connections with the American intelligence services, Jesper Christopher Haraldsen leaned forward over his desk and his voice took on a steel edge. He found it inappropriate that such convoluted conspiracies against our most important ally were triggered by the mere fact that there was an American diplomat living in the same building. He also felt that it was illustrative of the younger generation that they did not view a convicted Nazi who also lived there with the same suspicion. He claimed to have no knowledge as to whether Olesen had had any significant contact with the American intelligence services. And added that I could be certain that if such had existed, he would most certainly have known and remembered.
As far as Haraldsen knew, Harald Olesen had always been a forward-thinking man in terms of foreign policy and was therefore a loyal friend of the USA. It was utterly unthinkable that the Americans would participate in any form of political assassination in Norway. And what was more, it was even more inconceivable, if possible, that they would then target an old friend who no longer held a position. Anyone of more than average intelligence must realize that. If he, based on his own long experience, were to give me some advice, it would be to look for the perpetrator in marginalized extremist circles, be that far right or far left. Far-right and far-left dictators were equally insane, and he was sorry to say that he would have to be in court shortly for an important case. I took the hint, shook his hand and beat a hasty retreat.
I now had definite proof that the rumours regarding Haraldsen’s forceful character and intelligence were true. But I also had to admit, somewhat unwillingly, that the rumours about his arrogance and obstinacy were not without basis. In terms of the investigation, I noted grimly that nothing had come to light that might indicate a link with either the victim’s work as a cabinet minister or as a leader of the Home Front in the Oslo area.
I descended the stairs from Jesper Christopher Haraldsen’s office and made my way to meet another of the idols from my youth, whom I hoped would be able to cast more light on Harald Olesen’s political history and the possible significance of the USA lead.
III
Although my parents now belong to the upper class, and the family on my mother’s side is decidedly bourgeois, both my father and my paternal grandfather were former representatives of the Labour Party. My own political affiliation also lay here, though it went no further than a party membership and a low-level position in the police union. I had grown up with stories about the party’s great leaders. And among them, the now ageing Haavard Linde held a special position, thanks to his former far-sighted fight against dictators and for military rearmament in Norway. So I was fraught with anticipation when I entered the Labour Party’s offices to meet this party legend. It was obvious that he was still held in high esteem by the employees. The middle-aged secretary who came to meet me lit up when his name was mentioned and assured me that he would do his best to help me.
I entered Party Secretary Linde’s office with some trepidation: he too had a reputation for being a temperamental man. I was, however, pleasantly surprised. Haavard Linde was casually dressed in jeans and a checked shirt, and was apparently in a very good and relaxed mood. He beamed and squeezed my hand, and to my surprise knew immediately who I was talking about when I mentioned my father. ‘Now there’s a good man!’ he exclaimed enthusiastically. He was even happier when he realized that I myself was a party member and union official. Without hesitation, he intimated that it was young people like me that the party needed in these critical times. I had no desire to know precisely what he meant by that and moved the conversation promptly on to the murder investigation.
Haavard Linde’s expression saddened when Harald Olesen was mentioned. For a moment I thought I saw tears in his eyes, but his voice was firm when he carried on speaking. Harald Olesen had been a ‘good man’ who had done so much for the party over the years, and his death had been a shock. It had to be said that he was past his prime when he became a cabinet minister, and that his performance there was not his greatest achievement. But he was still someone you could rely on and who had helped form the country and party into what they were today.
The very idea that anyone in the party may have wished to kill Harald Olesen was inconceivable to Haavard Linde. Olesen had never been a divisive politician, was well liked by everyone and had not been part of the disagreements that had so blighted the 1960s. The thought that anyone in the party would want to physically harm someone else in the party seemed equally ludicrous.
In answer to my question whether someone in politics outside the Labour Party might have harboured a deep hatred of Harald Olesen, Haavard Linde had little to say. He thought about it and said that one never knew with the communists and the various groups attached to them. But he could think of no reason why they should hate Harald Olesen and so could not name any person or group who might be responsible. The old communist party was on its last legs. And he simply sneered at the new communist party, which he called the Socialist People’s Party, but did add that given their anti-military stance, they could hardly be suspected of an armed attack.
As soon as we touched on the USA, the hitherto pleasant conversation abruptly gathered pace. When I asked whether Harald Olesen had had any special contact with the Americans, Haavard Linde instantly replied that he had never heard of any such thing. However, his curiosity was piqued by this and he wondered from where I had got such a strange idea. I answered that so far it was not based on anything concrete, but was still a possibility that was being considered. Not least because of the strange coincidence that an American diplomat was living in the same building. Saying this to Haavard Linde was like turning the knob on a hotplate – the temperature rose fast. Within five seconds he had launched into a long and increasingly passionate tirade about the Americans being our friends and most important allies, and that I could dismiss any suggestion that they in any way had anything to do with the murder.
A minute later, I was told that the very idea that American intelligence would do any such thing in Norway was unthinkable, and we youngsters must never for a moment believe anything else, no matter what the communist propaganda machine churned out. And furthermore, he had himself met Darrell Williams on a couple of occasions and he was a good man whom no one could accuse of wrongdoing. Haavard Linde’s voice got louder and louder, his face got redder and redder, and his movements more and more animated. I quickly realized that it would be impossible to continue the conversation, but remained seated, intrigued, and listened to his impassioned lecture.
There followed a rather chaotic, but nevertheless extremely interesting, fifteen-minute tour of the interwar period, the Second World War and the Cold War. Then all of a sudden, Linde burned out and collapsed onto his chair. He was perhaps not in such good shape as he had been in his heyday in the 1940s and 1950s, but he still looked impressively dynamic. I gingerly gave my thanks and left the party office in a bit of a rush.