The Catalyst Killing - [28]

Miriam Filtvedt now looked at me with open curiosity and admiration. But her voice was just as calm, and her reply just as measured: she had turned out the light around midnight, but had not been able to sleep, and had thus lain awake. To avoid disturbing her roommate, she had been as still as she could. And given an academic proviso that she might have dropped off or confused people’s footsteps, she could therefore confirm Kristine Larsen’s claim that Falko Reinhardt’s footsteps had not been heard out in the hallway in the hours before he disappeared.

She could not help asking how I, two years later, could know that she had been awake. But then she answered this herself in the same breath, saying that I presumably could not say in light of the ongoing investigation.

I nodded meaningfully, noted down her answers, and reserved the right to contact her again should any more questions arise. She nodded, said that I now knew where to find her if that was the case, and then disappeared back into the library as if to illustrate the point.

Miriam Filtvedt Bentsen left half a cup of coffee and some cake on the table in her wake. They reinforced the feeling that she had now been given something to think about, even though I could not for the life of me see her as guilty of murder – or any other crime, for that matter.

IV

After Miriam Filtvedt Bentsen had gone back to the library, I treated myself to another cup of coffee and a couple of rolls for lunch. In the time it took me to eat this, I decided that I would follow up the old Nazi lead before going to the police security service. I was mentally putting it off, and used the excuse that it might be handy to have a clear overview of all the possible threats first.

I therefore went straight from the refectory to the history department. Professor Johannes Heftye was, as luck would have it, alone in his office and said straight away he would be happy to talk to me. He was a grey-haired, grey-bearded and well-dressed man in his sixties, with the Second World War as his speciality. He had also once been a Communist Party politician.

The professor’s memory was impressive, as far as I could tell. He immediately remembered not only Falko Reinhardt, but details about his unfinished thesis and the last supervision he had had with him. The thesis was about an NS network from the Second World War, a subject that both the student and supervisor thought was fascinating and important. Falko had called the professor out of the blue one evening during the holidays and asked if he could get guidance as soon as possible about some sensational new findings.

Professor Heftye’s curiosity was immediately piqued and they had met here at the university on 2 August – three days before Falko Reinhardt’s disappearance. Falko had been unusually excited and said that he had discovered things that might indicate that parts of the network were still active. He had then added in a hushed voice that it looked as though some of them were discussing options for a major offensive of some sort.

His supervisor got the impression that this might be an assassination or sabotage of some kind, but the usually so self-assured Falko Reinhardt was uncharacteristically vague about what kind of plans they might have and when it might happen. When, in addition, Falko Reinhardt did not want to say where he had got the information, his supervisor asked him to think about it and check all the information again, then come back when he had more to report.

Falko had explained that one of the sources made things a bit complicated, but assured the professor that this was something really big. He had seemed uneasy, almost frightened, in a way that his supervisor had never seen before. On his way out, Falko had said in a quiet voice that he now seriously feared for his own safety. The professor had asked if he was talking about the Nazi network. Falko had replied that the right-wing extremists were a possible danger, but with a self-deprecating smile he had added that he no longer felt safe with left-wing radicals either.

And they were the last words he had heard Falko Reinhardt say, the professor remarked gloomily as he puffed on his pipe. He had more or less dismissed the comment about left-wing radicals as a joke. But he regretted not taking the information about the Nazi network more seriously, and still believed that there had to be some kind of connection with Falko Reinhardt’s disappearance. He had, without much joy, tried to explain this to the rather unappealing young detective inspector who investigated the disappearance, he added.

I nodded cautiously in agreement. It was easy to believe that Detective Inspector Danielsen had not found the right tone as easily with the radical professor as he had with the reactionary bank manager Martin Morgenstierne.

The first draft of Falko Reinhardt’s thesis, around ninety pages long, still stood between two thicker works on Professor Heftye’s shelf. He assured me that he had a copy stored away safely at his house, and handed me the thesis as soon as I asked if I could borrow it for the investigation. He added that it was a pleasure to meet a policeman who appreciated the value of history. I was more than welcome to contact him whenever I wished for further information. I thanked him, picked up the thesis and beat a hasty retreat.