Hans Lahlum - The Catalyst Killing

My boss whistled and looked at me wide-eyed.

I was afraid that he would ask me for more details about where exactly I had been, so I hastily continued: ‘But yes, the murder of Marie Morgenstierne remains unsolved, even though her father has now been arrested for two other murders.’

My boss was back on track.

‘Yes, that’s where we were. Danielsen mentioned that he thought it was one of the other communists, that is to say Anders Pettersen or Trond Ibsen, who was behind it. And if you would like a day off after today’s drama, I could of course get him to follow this up tomorrow…’

I shook my head and assured him that I had every hope that we could clear up the remaining murder as well in the course of the week, given today’s developments. My boss smiled his approval.

‘Excellent. Then you will of course continue to be head of the investigation, and can use Danielsen wherever needed tomorrow.’

I nodded eagerly. When I got up to leave, the atmosphere was almost buoyant. So I jumped all the more when the phone rang again.

My boss picked up the receiver and immediately looked very grave. He answered: ‘Yes, he’s here. One moment, please.’

He passed the phone over to me.

‘From the hospital,’ he said.

The voice at the other end was just as I remembered it.

‘This is Bernt Berg, the head surgeon from Ullevål Hospital. You asked me to phone as soon as there was any news on the operation.’

Yes,’ I said, and held my breath.

‘The operation was successful and the bullet has been removed.’

‘Thank you so much for letting me know. But are the chances still fifty-fifty, as you said before the operation?’ I asked, forcing myself to breathe.

Yes. The next few hours are critical, but if there are no complications, this will improve,’ the monotone voice at the other end of the line told me.

I thanked him as politely as I could and asked once again if he could ring me if and when there were any changes.

‘Yes,’ he replied.

Then we both put the phone down.

I felt both relief and a whisper of optimism. But I knew all the same that there was still a danger that she might die in the course of the evening or overnight, and that it would now be even harder to accept.

I told my boss that there had been an improvement, but that the patient’s condition was still critical. Then I asked if I could take the rest of the day off, and continue with the investigation tomorrow. My boss immediately agreed to this and congratulated me again on the day’s extraordinary outcome.

It was undoubtedly well meant. But it occurred to me that poor, sweet Miriam Filtvedt Bentsen’s fate was of far less consequence to everyone else than the fact that an important man had escaped an attempted assassination unharmed.

I was eventually able to call Patricia at five to eight. She was once again in control of her mood, but seemed unexpectedly muted. I told her that I had got there just in time to prevent Trond Bratten from being shot. She replied, slightly sarcastically, that she had now heard that twice on the radio and again on the evening news on television.

I apologized for not having rung her sooner, but explained that the situation had been a bit chaotic, what with the arrest of a double murderer and a critically wounded onlooker.

Patricia’s voice softened a little when she said that the onlooker had been mentioned on the television, but no details had been given.

I told her that it was Miriam Filtvedt Bentsen, and that she had been shot while warning Trond Bratten not to go on stage.

‘Oh,’ Patricia stuttered, obviously taken aback, but still not sounding particularly concerned. Only after a short pause did she ask which hospital she was at, and how she was.

I told her that Miriam Filtvedt Bentsen was at Ullevål Hospital and that the first operation had been a success, but that there was still a risk that she might not live through the night.

Patricia pulled herself together. She said brusquely that it was of course perfectly understandable that I had not been able to call before, and that one could only hope that the patient would get better.

I came to her aid, thanked her once again for her invaluable contribution and asked if we should perhaps meet this evening or tomorrow to discuss the continued hunt for Marie Morgenstierne’s murderer.

Her reply was unexpectedly swift.

‘As soon as possible this evening, if you can. I have every hope then that we can solve the mystery by midnight. But first you must drive over to see Trond Ibsen and ask him what he was doing yesterday, and see what else he has to add.’

I felt my head was still spinning, but looked at the clock and suggested that we should try to meet at half past nine. She said that would be fine, but that she would be there all the same if I could get there any earlier.

To my surprise, Trond Ibsen was still in his office at a quarter past eight, and picked up the telephone. I said that it had been a long and dramatic day, as he might have heard, but that I was now following a lead on Marie Morgenstierne’s murder and had to talk to him as soon as possible.

I added that I would be happy to send Detective Inspector Danielsen, but had understood that he would prefer to give a statement to me. Trond Ibsen sighed, then replied that he would most definitely prefer to give his statement to me, and that he was currently alone in his office if I could come there.

Trond Ibsen was sitting in a large armchair behind his desk when I came in, and immediately put aside the patient journal he was reading. I stayed well away from the sofa, but felt rather inferior all the same when I sat down on a far smaller chair in front of the desk.

But this time, the psychologist did not seem particularly arrogant. For a change, he seemed rather nervous. His hand trembled as he congratulated me on the day’s breakthrough, which he had also heard on the radio. He had not been aware that the person who had been critically wounded was Miriam Filtvedt Bentsen, and this news seemed only to increase his unease. He repeated twice that he sincerely hoped that she would survive, and also that he himself still knew nothing about any of the murders.

I replied that yesterday’s murders had now been solved, but that where he had been himself the day before remained a mystery. He let out a deep sigh.

‘I hoped that would be of less interest now that the murderer had been caught. So, well, I was absolutely not in the Valdres area. I was in fact indoors with a woman here in Oslo, and for personal reasons I had hoped that I would not need to tell the police or anyone else about her.’

His eyes begged me.

A thought fluttered through my mind. Kristine Larsen was still being held on remand yesterday, and there were not many other young women involved in the case. A terrible thought was forming.

‘Are you saying that you were with… a former female member of the group yesterday?’

He shook his head and sank even deeper into the chair.

‘No, if only that had been the case, I would gladly have told you. I did try my luck once upon a time, but there was never any interest from her side. But she was more gracious in her rejection that either Marie Morgenstierne or Kristine Larsen were. I really do hope that she pulls through.’

My nodding agreement was perhaps a little too enthusiastic, so I peered at him sternly.

‘In that case, I have no idea who it might be and why it might be so troublesome. If the woman concerned is married, we must surely be able to check your alibi without her husband knowing about it?’

Trond Ibsen drew an even heavier sigh and sank still further into the chair.