The Catalyst Killing - [7]

Moreover, Trond Ibsen was of the opinion that ‘dark mood’ was perhaps an imprecise description. It was absolutely clear to him, however, as he had studied psychology, that Falko had had something on his mind. Falko had been very aware of his responsibility as leader in such situations – he preferred to grapple with things alone until he had come to some conclusion, and not to bother others unnecessarily. But given the force of his personality and sharp intellect, he normally found the answer within a few hours, or certainly within a couple of days. This time, it had been hanging over him for several weeks, so it must have been something extremely difficult and important. Trond Ibsen finished with a serious note in his voice.

As far as Marie Morgenstierne was concerned, Trond Ibsen did not like to use the word ‘incomprehensible’ about anything to do with humanity, but he almost had to here. It was hard to imagine why anyone would want to take the life of such a friendly and kind person. By a process of elimination, one might think that it was the group itself that was the target. But why she would have been killed first was a mystery. As far as he was aware, Marie Morgenstierne had had no personal enemies either within their political movement or otherwise – if she did, it would have to be her capitalist father, with whom she had had strained relations for years now. But it seemed highly unlikely that he would have killed his own daughter. Parents rarely killed their own children, and if they did they were usually alcoholics or people who were seriously mentally ill, the psychologist explained. Marie Morgenstierne’s mother had died a few years ago, and she had no siblings. When she had had a glass or two, Marie sometimes complained that it was hard enough to be the child of two reactionary capitalists, let alone the only child. Marie Morgenstierne could be very open with the other members of the group in such situations, but was otherwise quiet and reserved, he added swiftly.

Yesterday’s meeting had lasted no more than an hour and nothing of note had happened. The members had first talked about the fact that it was the second anniversary of Falko’s disappearance, and had then gone on to discuss the autumn’s events and demonstrations and other work. There had been no disagreement worth mentioning. The meeting had finished at ten o’clock and the four participants had left and gone their separate ways. Trond Ibsen was the only one with a car and had, as usual, asked if he could give anyone a lift, but they had all declined. Kristine lived only a few hundred yards away, Anders was on his bike and Marie wanted to take the train. She had set off alone in the direction of the station, and he had seen neither of the others or anyone else go in the same direction. He quickly added that it was some way to walk, so anything could have happened later.

Before we finished, I took the opportunity to ask Trond Ibsen if the addresses of the other members were still correct. He looked quickly at the list and gave a short nod. ‘As far as I know,’ was his comment when he pointed at Miriam Filtvedt Bentsen’s name.

That prompted me to ask why she had not been at the meeting. This triggered a slightly uneasy and irritated expression on Trond Ibsen’s face.

‘Because she is no longer one of us!’ he replied, in a hard voice.

This naturally aroused my curiosity and I asked what had happened.

‘When the great schism between the Socialist People’s Party and the Socialist Youth League happened last year, all five of us met to decide on our allegiance. We had formally started as a group with the SYL. I had not imagined that any of us would want to follow Finn Gustavsen and the other reactionary, useless SPP members. Anders gave a longish speech about why we should follow the young, true revolutionaries, and added that Falko would without a doubt have wanted us all to follow this path together as a group of independent socialists. We thought that that was that. But then Miriam put up her hand and gave one of her short, incisive arguments, and concluded that we should join the SPP and run their election campaign. There was complete silence after this. I then spoke for some time in support of Anders, and urged everyone to march together on the road that would lead to a better society. Then I asked all who were in agreement to remain seated, and those who were not to stand up and leave.’

It occurred to me that I had never heard Finn Gustavsen described as either a reactionary or useless; and also that the otherwise so relaxed Trond Ibsen now looked both exercised and upset.

‘And then?’ I asked.

‘Well, then the girl got up, said goodbye and left! And that is the last time I spoke to her. I believe the same is true for the others as well, but you will of course have to ask them.’

I assured him that I would, but asked all the same if he happened to know where I might be able to find this Miriam Filtvedt Bentsen.

His smile was both roguish and sarcastic. ‘As I said, I have not been in contact with her for the past year, but I would guess that it should be easy enough. If I know Miriam, she will be sitting in the university library between half past eight and five, and will be at the SPP office from a quarter past five until ten. And I believe that between half past ten at night and half past seven in the morning, she will be alone in her bed at Sogn Halls of Residence, but I most certainly have never checked the latter. You won’t miss her. She is the one reading a book not only as she walks out of the library, but also when she crosses the road!’