Hans Lahlum - The Catalyst Killing

Kristine Larsen had for one reason or another tidied her living room since my first visit. Her flat in Smestad reminded me of the late Marie Morgenstierne’s flat. This was also the home of a neat young woman who lived alone, and who lived a relatively well-regulated life and seldom had parties or overnight guests of any sort. The bed was made and the draining board was clear. The flat was smaller than Marie Morgenstierne’s flat, as were the bookshelves. A faint smell of smoke clung to the walls, which had not been evident in Marie Morgenstierne’s home. But otherwise, it occurred to me that in terms of their homes, Falko Reinhardt’s two women were almost interchangeable.

The only evidence of Falko himself was one single, rather unremarkable photograph of the group under an anti-Vietnam slogan. And the only other things on the walls were a black and white picture of an older couple who I presumed were Kristine Larsen’s parents, and a new colour photograph of a woman with a small child. Given the similarity in the shape of the face and stature, I guessed it must be her sister.

I only found one thing of possible interest to the investigation in Kristine Larsen’s home. But then, it was of considerable interest.

Under a pile of underwear on a shelf in the wardrobe was a brown envelope with two photographs in it. One was a picture of Kristine Larsen and Falko Reinhardt in light summer clothes, possibly taken with a self-timer at a cafe somewhere. She had her hand affectionately on his shoulder. She was looking at him adoringly and he was looking straight at the camera, full of confidence. But his hand was visible around her bare waist.

This picture confirmed what Miriam Filtvedt Bentsen and Kristine Larsen had told me: in other words, that Falko Reinhardt had embarked on a relationship with Kristine Larsen, who was now being held on remand. Her situation was no worse and no better as a result.

However, the other picture that I found hidden in her wardrobe made Kristine Larsen’s position far more vulnerable. It had obviously also been taken with a self-timer, but this time all the Falkoists were in the picture. It had clearly been taken on the trip to Valdres when Falko disappeared. The furniture in the Morgenstiernes’ cabin was easily recognizable.

I registered with slight relief that Miriam Filtvedt Bentsen was sitting on her own in a chair to the far right of the picture. Typically enough, Anders Pettersen was leaning forward over the table whereas Trond Ibsen was leaning back in his chair on the left-hand side. And even more typically, Falko was sitting in the middle of the sofa, between Marie Morgenstierne and Kristine Larsen. There was no physical contact between any of them. Kristine Larsen was sitting close to Falko, but looked calm and collected. So far, so good.

Kristine Larsen’s problem was, however, that an attempt had been made to eradicate Marie Morgenstierne from the picture with the aggressive use of a black felt pen.

I took both photographs with me when I locked the door and left Kristine Larsen’s flat. It looked very empty and lonely without her. But my belief that it would be some time before she returned had been reinforced by the discovery of the photograph.

Once I was back in the office I decided to telephone Falko Reinhardt’s supervisor, who, according to Miriam Filtvedt Bentsen, was also Trond Ibsen’s uncle. I took a gamble that Professor Johannes Heftye was not a regular churchgoer, and this proved to be true. He answered the telephone on the second ring, and without any hesitation said that he would be happy to answer a couple of quick questions in connection with the investigation.

There were a few moments of silence when I cut straight to the chase and asked if it was correct that he was Trond Ibsen’s uncle, and if so, whether they had at any point discussed Falko Reinhardt’s thesis.

The professor firstly confirmed that he was Trond Ibsen’s uncle. Then there were a few more moments of silence, before he confirmed that he had ‘once, and only for a few moments’ discussed Falko Reinhardt’s thesis with his nephew.

No names or other details from the research were discussed and he hastened to add that he could guarantee that the conversation was of no importance whatsoever to the investigation. The two had met at a ‘purely family do’ and had talked about mutual acquaintances, including Falko Reinhardt. Professor Heftye had taken it as given that Trond, who was in almost daily contact with Falko and shared his political vision, was familiar with the thesis. However, this proved not to be the case. Trond Ibsen had looked very bewildered when his uncle said that it would be interesting to see if there was anything to the theory that the old Nazi network from the war was still active.

Professor Heftye could only apologize for this ‘small indiscretion’, but added that he ‘had immediately closed the conversation’.

I told him honestly that it was very unfortunate all the same, in the light of later developments.

I could practically hear the professor squirming on the line as he assured me that it could not possibly have anything to do with the case, as his nephew was far too intelligent to get involved with anything criminal or to pass on something that should not be passed on. He hoped that it would not be necessary for the institute to hear about it, as he had some powerful and reactionary enemies from the Labour Party there who would be sure to use it against him.

I replied that there was certainly no reason to inform the university at the moment, but that the professor had to lay his cards on the table immediately if there was anything else he had forgotten to tell me.

He assured me that there was nothing more and that he had not tried to hide anything from me on purpose. He had deemed it a minor indiscretion that was of no particular relevance, and so had not wanted to waste my time by mentioning it.

Finally, I asked if the professor could remember the date on which this brief but rather unfortunate conversation with his nephew had taken place. He was quiet for a moment before he replied that it must have been in connection with his sixty-fifth birthday, on 28 July 1968.

I pointed out to him that it was then only a week before Falko Reinhardt disappeared. He sighed and said tersely that he realized this, and was extremely sorry. We both hung up at the same time without saying goodbye. And just then, there was a knock at the door.

Outside my door stood a constable, who said that a man had asked to speak to me immediately. This proved to be Trond Ibsen, who had once again turned up without being asked. I waved the constable off straight away and showed Ibsen into my office. Behind his placid exterior, I caught an inkling of the fervour I remembered from the end of our first meeting. His voice was controlled, but he started to speak before he even sat down.

‘An acquaintance of a friend called to say that a young woman from Smestad has been arrested in connection with the murder case. It can only be Kristine Larsen. And in that case I felt it was my duty to drive here immediately to point out there must have been a terrible mistake, which can only damage the police investigation in the long run.’

I looked at him and waited. He took a deep breath and continued, at an even faster pace, ‘Anyone with a basic knowledge of psychology would tell you that Kristine Larsen is about the least likely murderer you could find on the streets of Oslo. She is a vegetarian, a pacifist and opposed to any form of violence. We voted against her to kill an unusually irritating wasp on the windowsill in the cabin on the day that Falko disappeared. It is absolutely unthinkable that Kristine would have anything to do with Falko’s disappearance or Marie’s death. A court case against her would only end with her walking free, and would constitute a further blow to police credibility and a weakening of public trust.’