‘So the cabin in Valdres is yours?’
He nodded.
‘Paradoxically, yes. I inherited it from my father. I had spent family holidays there since I was a boy, a tradition that Marie had also grown up with and enjoyed. But the cabin had not been used since Margrete died. I could not face going there alone, and Marie knew this. Which is why she took the chance of inviting her friends there without even asking me. I was completely unaware that the group were in my property and at first thought it was a misunderstanding when the police called to say that a person had been reported missing from my cabin.’
‘So your daughter had her own key to the cabin, and you still have your own key?’
‘Yes, I do still have it, but don’t use it any more. I have not been to the cabin since all this happened and definitely have no intention of going there alone now. The police are welcome to borrow the key, if that would be of any help to the investigation.’
I accepted this offer and thanked him, popping the key he gave me into my pocket. It could well be useful to have the key to the cabin where Falko Reinhardt had disappeared.
But right now, I was more interested in the deceased’s flat. According to her father, she had lived in a rented two-bedroom flat in Kjelsås for the past three years. He had only been there once and was never offered a key. He could therefore only advise that I contact the owner or caretaker of the building if I wanted to get in. As far as inheritance was concerned, he had no idea whether his daughter had a will or not, or if so, where it might be. If she had not left a will, he would, as her closest living relative, get back all the money she had received following her mother’s death. Which was certainly not what he had hoped for, he added hastily.
I viewed Martin Morgenstierne in a more positive light following this conversation. It now seemed that he had said all that he wanted to for today. He looked at me questioningly over his glass of cognac, with a hint of anticipation.
I still had one unanswered question – which I really did not want to ask, but knew I had to.
‘As a matter of procedure, I have to ask where you were at ten o’clock yesterday evening?’
I was prepared for a violent reaction. There was none. Martin Morgenstierne was obviously an impressively controlled man. He emptied what was left of his cognac before answering, but when he did, his voice was measured but not unfriendly.
