The Catalyst Killing - страница 4

It sounded more like an order than a question. I replied immediately that it would.

‘Did Marie Morgenstierne throw herself on the tracks, did she fall, or was she pushed?’ I asked.

I should not have done that. Patricia let out a deep sigh, and answered rather pointedly: ‘No. She was shot.’

Thus I could confirm with alarmed relief that Patricia was clearly as on the ball as she had been the year before. She waited until I asked for more details, and then replied without hesitation, ‘I would be very surprised if Marie Morgenstierne was not shot only seconds after the train you were on pulled away from the station. And I think it is highly unlikely that she was shot with a hunting rifle of this year’s model. But hopefully you will know more about that when we meet this evening.’

I replied that I had every hope that I would. Then I put the phone down and left the flat straight away. My mind was already slightly scrambled, but I did have the clarity to realize that I would not be spending much time at home over the next few days.

At the office I was informed that a routine examination of the scene of the crime and door-to-door enquiries around Smestad had come up with nothing. So I called the national radio station and asked them to make an announcement calling for possible witnesses in Smestad area the evening before. I quickly established that the newspapers had not yet picked up on the death. The headlines were dominated by the new mid-distance running star Arne Kvalheim’s victory in a race at the Bislett Games, and the one hundred or so demonstrators who had set up camp in order to prevent the planned development of a power plant in Mardøla in Møre and Romsdal municipality.

Having looked through the papers, I sat for a while deep in thought. There were no files of any sort on Marie Morgenstierne in the police records and the census records only contained a single sheet of paper that was of little help. She was simply recorded as living at an address in Frogner, the most desirable part of Oslo.

It occurred to me that it was rather odd that we had heard nothing from her parents or other relatives. When I looked in the telephone directory, I discovered that a Martin Morgenstierne lived at the same address, and he was listed as bank manager. I dialled the number several times and let it ring for a long time, without getting an answer.

In anticipation of the family getting in touch or of finding any information about Marie Morgenstierne, I threw myself into the rather thick file regarding her fiancé’s disappearance in August 1968. It was exciting stuff and, like Patricia, I found it hard to believe there was no connection between Falko Reinhardt’s disappearance and Marie’s death.

Falko Reinhardt, Marie Morgenstierne and four other young people from radical student circles at the University of Oslo had travelled together to a cabin in Vestre Slidre in Valdres on Saturday, 3 August 1968. The statements were unanimous in that Falko had been the one who initiated the trip, the purpose of which was to have four uninterrupted days to plan the autumn’s anti-Vietnam demonstrations and other activities, as well as spend time together. The first two days of the trip had passed without incident.

On Monday, 5 August Falko had left the cabin for a few hours, without saying before or afterwards where he had gone. In the evening a storm had blown up, with driving rain and wind, and the six students had stayed indoors. Some alcohol had been consumed, but as they later remembered it, it was not a lot. The storm had instilled a growing feeling of unease. This had been triggered by an episode earlier in the evening when one of the young women claimed to have seen a face wearing a black eye mask look in at the window. The students had gone out into the storm together, but found no trace of anyone. ‘Incident very odd indeed, but statements credible nonetheless’ was written across the report from the hearings. I noted this down and continued to read with keen interest.