The Catalyst Killing - [3]

DAY TWO: Three parents, four students – and one slightly problematic witness

I

On the morning of Thursday, 6 August 1970, I woke before seven and realized that I was far too excited to go back to sleep. Following yesterday’s encounter with the woman on the Lijord Line, I felt some of the same obsessive thrill that I had experienced in connection with my first two murder cases. The first investigation had been at as good as a standstill for two days before I met Patricia Louise I. E. Borchmann, following a very timely phone call from her father. I waited no longer than necessary to call her, and felt a surge of relief when, at twenty past seven, I heard her clear, confident voice after only three rings.

Patricia, of course, did not know about the discovery of a dead woman on the train tracks at Smestad late the previous evening. She listened with increasing interest to my account, and whistled with appreciation when I mentioned the deceased’s name. ‘Falko Reinhardt’s fiancée,’ we both said at the same time. Then we sat in comfortable silence for a few thoughtful moments.

I broke the silence by adding: ‘Which can hardly be a coincidence.’

Patricia sniffed so loudly down the telephone that I could just imagine the look of disdain on her face.

‘I can most certainly promise you that it is not. You have of course already checked the date on which Falko Reinhardt disappeared?’

I had to come clean and admit that I unfortunately had not, but tried to excuse myself by saying that surely the date was of no importance here.

Patricia’s voice held a note of triumph when she replied: ‘Perhaps not. But the fact is that Falko Reinhardt, dead or alive, disappeared into the storm in the Valdres mountains on the night of 5 August 1968. And where I come from, that would certainly not be called a coincidence.’

I felt an icy shiver down my spine as my pulse started to race. And I heard myself agree that suddenly the date was of the utmost importance, and that it would not be called a coincidence in my workplace either.

There was nothing to stop Patricia’s morning inspiration and she fired away: ‘Change is the spice of life, even in murder cases. In the 1960s, we dealt with locked-room mysteries and old men. And now at the start of a new decade, you call me about a young woman and an open-space mystery. I must warn you straight away that this could be more difficult terrain. There were only six flats and a total of seven suspects in 25 Krebs Street. And only eleven people sat down to dine at Magdalon Schelderup’s mansion in Gulleråsen. Whereas, in theory, practically anyone could have been at Smestad station last night. Hopefully there will, in practice, be a more limited number of suspects, and I can already give you the names of some of them, having read about Falko Reinhardt’s disappearance at the time. But it is important that we find out as much as possible about what happened in the last hours of Marie Morgenstierne’s life, and who might have been in the area at the time. Find out what she was doing at Smestad yesterday evening and who she met there, and do not delay in requesting any witnesses who might have seen her walking to the station to come forward. Come here for supper at six o’clock this evening and bring with you anything of interest in connection with Marie Morgenstierne’s death and Falko Reinhardt’s disappearance. Will that be possible?’

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.

II

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.