Hans Lahlum - The Catalyst Killing

‘But today’s finding also makes it far more likely that Kristine Larsen is the murderer after all. She had a clear motive if she saw the tape changing hands, and in that case, Marie Morgenstierne also had reason to fear her reaction. And what do you say to this? I found it in her wardrobe.’

I laid the photograph, in which Marie Morgenstierne had been blacked out with a felt pen, on the table. Patricia looked at it and gave a pensive nod.

‘Not very nice. And not very smart either, if after shooting Marie Morgenstierne, Kristine Larsen left this in a place where it obviously would be found in the event of a house search. She is definitely guilty of being vehemently jealous of Marie Morgenstierne, but still highly likely not to be guilty of her murder.’

I noted the formulation ‘highly likely not’ and commented that it was still a possibility that could not be ruled out.

Patricia squirmed restlessly in her wheelchair, but granted me a reluctant nod.

‘In this case, we should both be aware that nothing can be ruled out. And one should never trust pacifism either, in the case of a jealous woman in love. But I still cannot get it to tally with the overwhelming fear that seized Marie Morgenstierne on the street. The man from the police security service was a fair way behind her, and the blind woman was between them. So the tape must have been handed over a good deal earlier. If Marie Morgenstierne realized that Kristine Larsen had seen the handover and understood the significance of it, why did she then only start to run a few hundred yards later? Could the sight of Kristine Larsen have been so terrifying, even if Marie Morgenstierne did not know that she had seen the handover? Or…’

Patricia fell silent – into deep thought. She had definitely forgotten about her slice of cake now, even though it was only half eaten. I could see her mind processing the new information at top speed, running through the various possibilities.

‘Or…’ I prompted.

‘Or it was the far more surprising sight of Falko Reinhardt waiting in one of the side streets that frightened her. Or someone else in another side street or behind a hedge, whom neither the blind woman nor Kristine Larsen could see. There are still a number of possibilities. But either Kristine Larsen is lying so much that her nose will soon start to grow, or Falko Reinhardt is at large somewhere out there. And if that is the case, the mystery is greater than ever. Why has he not contacted the police, given that he was then an eyewitness to his fiancée’s murder, or now that his lover has been arrested?’

‘The most likely explanation in the latter case would simply be that he was not there, because the whole story about him being there was made up by Kristine Larsen to deflect any suspicion from herself,’ I said, cautiously.

Patricia seemed both to nod and shake her head.

‘That is possible, of course. But it strikes me as being equally likely that Kristine Larsen did in fact see Falko, and that he is out there, but he is waiting for something to happen before making contact. This Falko chap seems to be a rather self-centred person with a sense of melodrama. But what on earth could he be waiting for? It must be something major if he first hides away for two years, and then continues to do so even after a murder.’

Patricia looked almost frightened. I jumped when, out of the blue, she slapped her hand down on the table.

‘Pass! There are too many unresolved questions here, and I will make no headway unless some of them are answered. If it does transpire that Kristine Larsen either had a gun in her hand that was clearly visible, or she saw the handover of the tape, then I will start to take your theory that she is the murderer more seriously. In the meantime, however, I will concentrate on other possible solutions while you try to find someone who can give you more relevant information. The security service would seem to be the best lead now, but put increasing pressure on both Kristine Larsen and the other remaining Falkoists through the course of the afternoon.’

This was a very clear hint. I stood up to leave, but Patricia stopped me halfway with her hand.

‘Come back for supper at seven, if you can. And in the meantime, call me immediately if anything new crops up.’

I realized that Patricia’s voice was trembling – as was her hand. She noticed the surprise in my eyes and continued without prompting: ‘It could be my general fear of things I do not understand. It does have something to do with who or what scared Marie Morgenstierne so much, but more with the question as to why Falko disappeared and why he is not making himself known now. It seems to me that we are running against time to prevent an even greater catastrophe.’

This whisper of fear in Patricia made a strong impression on me. I followed the maid out of the room with unusual alacrity, and overtook her just before the front door.

Once back in the office, I made the phone call I had been dreading most of all: to the head of the police security service, Asle Bryne. I called him at home. I feared that he might not appreciate being called at home early on a Sunday afternoon, particularly when it concerned a difficult case, and had made up my mind to put down the phone if he had not answered after five rings. But he picked up the receiver on the fourth ring. The situation was not made any easier by the fact that instead of saying who he was, he opened the conversation with a curt ‘Who is it?’

His voice, however, banished any doubts I may have had that I had got the wrong number. I resisted the temptation to slam down the receiver, and instead launched myself out into deep waters.

‘This is Detective Inspector Kolbjørn Kristiansen. I met with you at your office yesterday. I apologize profusely for having to disturb you at home on a Sunday, but we have some new information in the murder case I am investigating, which could put the security service in a rather unfortunate light, should it become known. I thought I should discuss the matter with you immediately and try to minimize the negative consequences it could have for both our organizations.’

For a moment, there was silence on the other end of the telephone. I braced myself for a furious outburst that never came.

‘I see,’ Asle Bryne said, eventually. And then said no more.

After a few seconds I realized that he was waiting for me to continue in order to ascertain how much I knew. It felt as though I was teetering on the edge of the cliff in Valdres when I spoke: ‘The current investigation has first of all discovered that the murdered Marie Morgenstierne herself acted as a security service informant for a while. And secondly, and more importantly, a member of the security service appears to have been present at the scene of the crime when she was killed.’

Again, there was silence. Absolute silence. Delightful, liberating silence. And the silence lasted for a long time.

‘I see,’ Asle Bryne said, once more. And then was silent again.

I obviously had to launch myself into a new attack, and did so.

‘It is still my hope that we can keep this from the press and politicians. But then I need any information that may help to solve the case quickly, now.’

‘I see,’ Asle Bryne’s voice repeated. ‘What do you need, then?’ he added hastily.

‘I need to know the details of your contact with Marie Morgenstierne. But first and foremost, I have to speak to the man who was at the scene of the crime about what he might have seen and heard.’

‘I see,’ Asle Bryne said yet again, still sounding remarkably cool and collected.

‘Come to my office at six o’clock this evening, and I will give you all the help I can,’ he continued swiftly.