The Catalyst Killing - страница 23

The drawing room almost gave the impression that Martin Morgenstierne had had a happy but childless marriage. There was no trace of his daughter, though I suspected that at some point there had been. Below the photographs of himself and his wife were two lighter squares on the wooden panelling, telling of photographs that had been removed.

Martin Morgenstierne was clearly an intelligent man with good social skills. He followed my gaze around the room for the first thirty seconds or so, before breaking the silence.

‘You are no doubt somewhat surprised that I do not have any photographs of my only daughter here, and that I carried on working as usual after I had received the news of her death.’

I nodded my confirmation. He continued, still without a shadow of a smile.

‘My family has always had a strong sense of duty and work ethic. I have not missed a single day of work, other than trade holidays, for more than a decade. I have worked extremely hard all my life and my compulsion to work became even stronger after the death of my wife. I realized very quickly that I would go mad if I stayed at home on my own too much. So instead, I worked my way through the greatest sorrow I have ever experienced. And now I will do the same.’

He took a nip from the glass of cognac, and sat for a moment lost in thought. I was relieved to hear that Martin Morgenstierne did feel some grief at his daughter’s death, and I hoped that we were getting closer to something.

‘There were of course pictures of her on the walls for all the years she lived at home. And I left them there even though she rebelled and turned her back on all the values we held. But in the last few months that my wife was alive, her lack of respect was too much. I phoned Marie one Wednesday in September 1967 to say that her mother was deteriorating rapidly, and that my wife would like to meet her to see if they could be reconciled. Marie replied that it was highly unlikely that a meeting could lead to reconciliation at this stage, and that she in any case had a meeting that evening. She would see if she had the time to come by at the weekend. But by the time the weekend came, Margrete was dead. So there was a tragic end to a sad chapter in my family story. I hope that you understand and judge my reactions accordingly.’

I nodded. Even though I had only heard one side of the final chapter in the Morgenstierne family history, it was easy to understand that this would have made a deep impression on an old-school family man. The sudden use of her first name reinforced my impression that he had been deeply attached to his wife.

‘I continued to treat my daughter with the utmost respect, even though she perhaps did not deserve it. She inherited a quarter of million from her mother, fifty thousand more than was in the estate. But I could no longer bear to see her picture alongside that of her mother. So I put away all the photographs of Marie. I hoped that there would be better times ahead and that we would eventually find our way back to each other. But it seemed, as she said herself, highly unlikely. I sent her a Christmas card and received a card in response for New Year. Other than that, we have had no contact for more than a year now.’

He shook his head sadly and emptied the rest of the glass of cognac.

‘In retrospect, I have realized that the situation is in part fate and in part our own fault. Both Margrete and I came from conservative families with strong traditions. I followed in my father’s footsteps, serving as an officer in the army in my younger years, then going on to become a successful bank manager. I had great hopes for a large family and a son to carry on the family name. But Marie’s birth was difficult, and as a result, my wife could have no more children. So all our hopes and aspirations rested on Marie. It was perhaps too much for her. I have often thought about it in recent years.’

Martin Morgenstierne stood up and poured himself another glass of cognac. He was on a roll now, and carried on without any prompts from me.