I thanked him, once again asked him to call me as soon as there was any news, and wished him luck with the operation. He nodded briskly and left without saying any more.
The surgeon inspired both fear and confidence at the same time. I thought he seemed like a man who knew what he was doing, someone who was not likely to lose control or tremble, no matter what happened.
I caught a brief glimpse of Miriam Filtvedt Bentsen as she was wheeled into the operating theatre. This vaguely reassured me. The bleeding had stopped. I could see she was still breathing. And even though she was in a coma, her face still seemed to emanate strong will. Otherwise, she lay completely still, with bandages around her neck and shoulders.
I felt totally impotent and feared that I might faint if she should suddenly die there in front of me. So I turned and walked away as quickly as I dared down the corridor.
I was suddenly roused from my thoughts when the telephone on my boss’s desk started to ring. And I jumped when he then immediately said: ‘Yes, he is right here. I’ll pass on your message immediately.’
He saw the fear in my eyes and hastily carried on: ‘The Labour Party and the Confederation of Trade Unions send their thanks and congratulations. Flowers are on the way!’
I needed to think about something else and said that we should perhaps discuss the murder of Marie Morgenstierne again. My boss nodded.
‘Even after all this upheaval, you still think about your duties. I have called Danielsen, who was unfortunately unable to come at such short notice.’
I saw the hint of a smile on my boss’s face when he said this. We both knew that Danielsen lived alone, and never went anywhere other than work.
‘He asked me to congratulate you on solving the case, but added that the mystery of Marie Morgenstierne’s death remained unsolved. I take it there is still nothing to indicate that her father had anything to do with it?’
I shook my head.
‘Martin Morgenstierne confessed his part in yesterday’s two murders in the car on the way here, but fiercely maintains that he had nothing to do with his daughter’s death. It was, on the contrary, the loss of his daughter that removed the final hurdles that prevented him from carrying out the planned assassination. He had been under considerable pressure from Christian Magnus Eggen and Frans Heidenberg for some time. They have expressed their disappointment that the assassination was unsuccessful, but still maintain that it was justified and necessary. And this all corroborates what Henry Alfred Lien wrote in his diary.’
My boss nodded.
‘How did you work it out? Danielsen and I thought it seemed almost impossible to get anything out of the diary entries.’
I remembered what Patricia had shouted at me just as I left, ‘B is for bank manager, and SP is for Super Pater, that’s to say, Martin Morgenstierne!’ and quickly stitched together an official explanation that fitted.
‘Lien used abbreviations based on occupations. A was for architect and D was for director. So B could then well be bank manager. It also seemed to fit that SP in Falko Reinhardt’s note might stand for “Super Pater”, which was his nickname for Martin Morgenstierne. Luckily I realized this in the nick of time when I was only a few hundred yards away.’
My boss whistled and looked at me wide-eyed.
I was afraid that he would ask me for more details about where exactly I had been, so I hastily continued: ‘But yes, the murder of Marie Morgenstierne remains unsolved, even though her father has now been arrested for two other murders.’
My boss was back on track.
‘Yes, that’s where we were. Danielsen mentioned that he thought it was one of the other communists, that is to say Anders Pettersen or Trond Ibsen, who was behind it. And if you would like a day off after today’s drama, I could of course get him to follow this up tomorrow…’
I shook my head and assured him that I had every hope that we could clear up the remaining murder as well in the course of the week, given today’s developments. My boss smiled his approval.
‘Excellent. Then you will of course continue to be head of the investigation, and can use Danielsen wherever needed tomorrow.’
I nodded eagerly. When I got up to leave, the atmosphere was almost buoyant. So I jumped all the more when the phone rang again.
My boss picked up the receiver and immediately looked very grave. He answered: ‘Yes, he’s here. One moment, please.’
He passed the phone over to me.
‘From the hospital,’ he said.
The voice at the other end was just as I remembered it.
‘This is Bernt Berg, the head surgeon from Ullevål Hospital. You asked me to phone as soon as there was any news on the operation.’
Yes,’ I said, and held my breath.
‘The operation was successful and the bullet has been removed.’
‘Thank you so much for letting me know. But are the chances still fifty-fifty, as you said before the operation?’ I asked, forcing myself to breathe.
Yes. The next few hours are critical, but if there are no complications, this will improve,’ the monotone voice at the other end of the line told me.
I thanked him as politely as I could and asked once again if he could ring me if and when there were any changes.
‘Yes,’ he replied.
Then we both put the phone down.
I felt both relief and a whisper of optimism. But I knew all the same that there was still a danger that she might die in the course of the evening or overnight, and that it would now be even harder to accept.
I told my boss that there had been an improvement, but that the patient’s condition was still critical. Then I asked if I could take the rest of the day off, and continue with the investigation tomorrow. My boss immediately agreed to this and congratulated me again on the day’s extraordinary outcome.
It was undoubtedly well meant. But it occurred to me that poor, sweet Miriam Filtvedt Bentsen’s fate was of far less consequence to everyone else than the fact that an important man had escaped an attempted assassination unharmed.
XVII
I was eventually able to call Patricia at five to eight. She was once again in control of her mood, but seemed unexpectedly muted. I told her that I had got there just in time to prevent Trond Bratten from being shot. She replied, slightly sarcastically, that she had now heard that twice on the radio and again on the evening news on television.
I apologized for not having rung her sooner, but explained that the situation had been a bit chaotic, what with the arrest of a double murderer and a critically wounded onlooker.
Patricia’s voice softened a little when she said that the onlooker had been mentioned on the television, but no details had been given.
I told her that it was Miriam Filtvedt Bentsen, and that she had been shot while warning Trond Bratten not to go on stage.
‘Oh,’ Patricia stuttered, obviously taken aback, but still not sounding particularly concerned. Only after a short pause did she ask which hospital she was at, and how she was.
I told her that Miriam Filtvedt Bentsen was at Ullevål Hospital and that the first operation had been a success, but that there was still a risk that she might not live through the night.
Patricia pulled herself together. She said brusquely that it was of course perfectly understandable that I had not been able to call before, and that one could only hope that the patient would get better.
I came to her aid, thanked her once again for her invaluable contribution and asked if we should perhaps meet this evening or tomorrow to discuss the continued hunt for Marie Morgenstierne’s murderer.
Her reply was unexpectedly swift.
‘As soon as possible this evening, if you can. I have every hope then that we can solve the mystery by midnight. But first you must drive over to see Trond Ibsen and ask him what he was doing yesterday, and see what else he has to add.’