Chapter XII: Where is the dog buried?
Outside, it had started to snow heavily. Huge snowflakes were descending on Oslo in a manner that would make you think that heaven was falling down.
Arvid Gjertsen swore as he was wading through snow, slipping on the icy pavements and dodging bypassing pedestrians. Why weren’t they working? He was on his way to find the Army registry, to dig up information about the two soldiers Lande and Gustavsen.
In his office, Jon Mold was still coming to terms with the new reality. To shake off a gloomy feeling, he picked up the telephone to call major Schultz of Army Intelligence. He dialled the number, and waited. Finally a female voice was heard. Mold asked to speak to major Schultz.
”One moment, please. Who may I say is calling?”
“Inspector Jon Mold of the homicide division, m’am…”. He sighed. He hated using his title to inspire awe and authority. Having dodged enough fierce secretaries in his time, he knew it was the only way.
“I will put you through, inspector Noll”
“Mold…”. A new beep.
“Schultz!”
“Hello, major. Inspector Mold of the homicide division here. We met in relation to…”
“Yes, I remember. How may I be of help, Mold?”
“Well, the file that you gave me… it really wasn’t of much use, as the assignments Mathiesen had weren’t listed, nor were his whereabouts…”
“Inspector, those things are supposed to be secret. There’s a law to ensure that. We live in dangerous times, where enemies may be friends and your former friend may be your enemy and vice versa!”
Mold paused to try to make at least some sense of the ramblings of major Schultz. It seemed futile.
“I see. So you won’t let me have his full file?”
“Not unless there is very good reason for it. And right now, I can’t see that you have any reason whatsoever…?”
“I suppose not. Nice talking to you again, major…”, Mold said wearily.
“Good bye!”
The major hung up.
Mold sat back in his chairs, his hands clasped behind his head. He studied the ceiling. The spider’s web was still there. The spider was still sitting there as well, patiently waiting. Patience was a virtue. Mold knew as much. But time was a commodity he had very little of. For decades he had given all his energy to this one organisation, answering to its beck and call at every moment. Now he needed time. His previous achievements would allow no such thing. He only hoped Gjertsen was more successful in his quest.
Although at times rather clumsy, Arvid Gjertsen still had a certain aptitude for convincing people. He was currently putting all his efforts into convincing a rather sulky, unwilling clerk at the registry that it was a matter of vital interest to state security that he was given the files of two soldiers. Having consulted with his seniors, the clerk finally budged, and handed over two files to Arvid Gjertsen, who in turn gave a mock salute and marched out. He made his way back to Victoria Terrasse, picking up some buns at the baker’s on his way.
He entered Mold’s office without knocking, and was surprised to see his superior sitting facing the window and not doing much at all.
Mold turned around to face Gjertsen.
“Any luck?”
“Indeed. Retrieved both files…”
“Well done! But, let’s sit down first and draw up some theories. Why was Mathiesen killed?”
“Could be the money?”
“Yes. A very good motive. But who knew he had money?”
“Family… but he had none. Friends?”
“As far as we know, he kept to himself”
“Yeah. But what about a mistress? Most men have desires?”
“They do. And Mathiesen probably had lust and desire too. Which may be another motive. Maybe an old lover took her revenge. Or, maybe it has nothing to with human emotions like lust, love or greed, but rather with something in his line of work. He was a bloody agent!”
Gjertsen pondered this.
“He could have stepped on some toes in the past…”
“That’s why those dog tags fascinate me. Why did he keep them?”, Mold said. He stretched for his cigarettes and lit one. Then he continued.
“You were surprised that they were Norwegian. Maybe he killed them. I don’t know. Maybe they were part of his team. We’ll find out. And I’ll read his journal…”
Gjertsen gave Birger Lande’s file to Mold. Mold opened it. In 1942, Lande was reported missing in action. Gjertsen found the same in Gustavsen’s file. It was indeed the same date as well.
Outside, it had started to snow heavily. Huge snowflakes were descending on Oslo in a manner that would make you think that heaven was falling down.
Arvid Gjertsen swore as he was wading through snow, slipping on the icy pavements and dodging bypassing pedestrians. Why weren’t they working? He was on his way to find the Army registry, to dig up information about the two soldiers Lande and Gustavsen.
In his office, Jon Mold was still coming to terms with the new reality. To shake off a gloomy feeling, he picked up the telephone to call major Schultz of Army Intelligence. He dialled the number, and waited. Finally a female voice was heard. Mold asked to speak to major Schultz.
”One moment, please. Who may I say is calling?”
“Inspector Jon Mold of the homicide division, m’am…”. He sighed. He hated using his title to inspire awe and authority. Having dodged enough fierce secretaries in his time, he knew it was the only way.
“I will put you through, inspector Noll”
“Mold…”. A new beep.
“Schultz!”
“Hello, major. Inspector Mold of the homicide division here. We met in relation to…”
“Yes, I remember. How may I be of help, Mold?”
“Well, the file that you gave me… it really wasn’t of much use, as the assignments Mathiesen had weren’t listed, nor were his whereabouts…”
“Inspector, those things are supposed to be secret. There’s a law to ensure that. We live in dangerous times, where enemies may be friends and your former friend may be your enemy and vice versa!”
Mold paused to try to make at least some sense of the ramblings of major Schultz. It seemed futile.
“I see. So you won’t let me have his full file?”
“Not unless there is very good reason for it. And right now, I can’t see that you have any reason whatsoever…?”
“I suppose not. Nice talking to you again, major…”, Mold said wearily.
“Good bye!”
The major hung up.
Mold sat back in his chairs, his hands clasped behind his head. He studied the ceiling. The spider’s web was still there. The spider was still sitting there as well, patiently waiting. Patience was a virtue. Mold knew as much. But time was a commodity he had very little of. For decades he had given all his energy to this one organisation, answering to its beck and call at every moment. Now he needed time. His previous achievements would allow no such thing. He only hoped Gjertsen was more successful in his quest.
Although at times rather clumsy, Arvid Gjertsen still had a certain aptitude for convincing people. He was currently putting all his efforts into convincing a rather sulky, unwilling clerk at the registry that it was a matter of vital interest to state security that he was given the files of two soldiers. Having consulted with his seniors, the clerk finally budged, and handed over two files to Arvid Gjertsen, who in turn gave a mock salute and marched out. He made his way back to Victoria Terrasse, picking up some buns at the baker’s on his way.
He entered Mold’s office without knocking, and was surprised to see his superior sitting facing the window and not doing much at all.
Mold turned around to face Gjertsen.
“Any luck?”
“Indeed. Retrieved both files…”
“Well done! But, let’s sit down first and draw up some theories. Why was Mathiesen killed?”
“Could be the money?”
“Yes. A very good motive. But who knew he had money?”
“Family… but he had none. Friends?”
“As far as we know, he kept to himself”
“Yeah. But what about a mistress? Most men have desires?”
“They do. And Mathiesen probably had lust and desire too. Which may be another motive. Maybe an old lover took her revenge. Or, maybe it has nothing to with human emotions like lust, love or greed, but rather with something in his line of work. He was a bloody agent!”
Gjertsen pondered this.
“He could have stepped on some toes in the past…”
“That’s why those dog tags fascinate me. Why did he keep them?”, Mold said. He stretched for his cigarettes and lit one. Then he continued.
“You were surprised that they were Norwegian. Maybe he killed them. I don’t know. Maybe they were part of his team. We’ll find out. And I’ll read his journal…”
Gjertsen gave Birger Lande’s file to Mold. Mold opened it. In 1942, Lande was reported missing in action. Gjertsen found the same in Gustavsen’s file. It was indeed the same date as well.
