Hans Lahlum - The Catalyst Killing

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.

‘One could cancel all public engagements for the king, the prime minister and the opposition leader for the next two days. But one cannot lock them and all other potential targets up for the whole summer and autumn. Norway is an open country, full of important people who are constantly expected to make public appearances. If the attacker wants to take innocent lives, he could attack any holiday village or scout camp. And there are windows everywhere, so Falko’s final words are not of much use to us either.’

We had to accept that there were an alarming number of possibilities for a person who was well prepared and wanted to carry out an attack, and that we would not get any further that evening. I promised to ring her as soon as there was any news in the morning, and said that I still hoped and believed that we could solve the case without any further deaths. My voice sounded more confident than I was. The car felt unusually lonely and the dark unusually threatening as I drove home that night.

It was well past midnight by the time I got home, but I still had one more telephone call to make – to my boss.

My boss was also obviously affected by the frustration of this potentially dangerous situation in which we knew that something was being planned, but had no idea about who was going to attack, or where and when. He answered the telephone as soon as it rang, and asked me to update him on the latest developments. He had only heard a brief announcement on the radio, in the last news of the day, that there had been a couple of deaths in Valdres.

I told him what had happened, and expanded on Patricia’s theory about possible connections – without mentioning her name, or being as cocksure.

My boss was impressed, much to my relief, in particular that I had thought about the missing jacket and the possible significance of this.

‘You have obviously thought of most things and done a good job. No one could have done better. But all the same…’

I felt my throat tightening. I knew what was coming and hated it intensely.

‘… All the same, we now have three unsolved murders and the danger of further action. There will be a tidal wave of questions tomorrow from our own people and the press. And I cannot justify letting you continue with the investigation without reinforcements.’

I was about to protest, but realized it was pointless. My boss had given me his trust for many days now, with no results. And it would seem odd if the investigation was not stepped up and prioritized following two more murders. So I said that I perfectly understood, but hoped that I would still be allowed to lead the investigation. He replied straight away.

‘Of course. I have absolute confidence in you and ask that you continue to report to me. You will be our contact with the local police in Vestre Slidre, and you can decide how many people you need here in Oslo. But from tomorrow, Detective Inspector Danielsen will be your deputy in the investigation. You can decide yourself how best to use him, but he will be part of the team.’

This made my blood boil, but I managed to control myself enough to thank my boss for allowing me to continue leading the investigation, and to say that I was sure I could find useful things for Danielsen to do. In a flash of inspiration, I said that the two Nazis should be called in for questioning again the next day, and that perhaps Danielsen could do that. My boss agreed and then wished me good night.

I could not help but chortle when I thought of Danielsen’s new task, but my good humour did not last long. I fell asleep around two o’clock in the morning of Tuesday, 11 August 1970. It was six and a half hours until I would greet what had the potential to be a very demanding day at work, with a still entirely unpredictable outcome.

At a quarter to eight on Tuesday, 11 August 1970, I was once again on my way to the office, having wolfed down my breakfast. I had woken half an hour before the alarm clock, and immediately decided that I wanted to be in control of the agenda by being in the office before Danielsen.