The Man in the Window (28 page)

    Professor Engelschøn sat down again. 'Did I answer the question?' he asked and provided the answer himself: 'No, I didn't. Klaus Fromm bore the rank of Obersturmbannführer, but did not work in the field.'

    'An
eminence grise,'
Gunnarstranda suggested, watching the lengthening column of cigarette ash and concentrating on not letting it fall.

    'Yes. At least a man with civilian and military power.' The professor used the mouthpiece of the pipe to shove an ashtray across the ocean of papers separating them. Then he picked up the photograph the policeman had found under Jespersen's desk pad. He studied it thoughtfully while tapping the pipe against his temple. 'But Amalie,' he broke off, 'Amalie, nee Bruun, grew up here in Oslo. She lived in Armauer Hansens gate 19 until she was married. She and Fromm got married on 12th November 1944. The ceremony took place in Kristinelundveien 22 - in what came to be known as 'Brydevilla' - where the SS court was accommodated during the occupation. Here,' the professor said, peering at the papers before holding up an A4 sheet: 'A copy of the marriage certificate: Klaus Dietrich Fromm married to Amalie Bruun.'

    'In 1944. So he was thirty-four years old. How old was she?'

    'Amalie was born in the maternity clinic of the Rikshospital on 3rd July 1921 - so she was twenty-three when she got married.'

    'Eleven years younger than Fromm.'

    'Yes, that sort of thing was not so unusual before…'

    'But in the case I'm working on…' Gunnarstranda said, trying to blow a smoke ring but failing, 'there is another man I have reason to believe…' he started, staring at the ceiling before repeating himself: 'I have reason to believe that this man had a relationship or was in love with Amalie Bruun at some point… and he was also twenty-three years old in 1944…'

    'Is that right?'

    'So this man was the same age as her. A well-known resistance fighter.'

    The professor glared across the table. Gunnarstranda was reminded of dogs fighting over bones and scraps of meat. 'Who?' Engelschøn barked.

    'Reidar Folke Jespersen.'

    Engelschøn nodded. 'He was one of Linge's boys, wasn't he? No, he wasn't,' he added hurriedly, took the pipe out of his mouth and studied the ceiling. 'Reidar Folke Jespersen, no, he didn't work with Linge. He - yes, that was it - he was a saboteur. One of the toughest and most notorious in fact, though I'm sure you knew that, didn't you?'

    Gunnarstranda shook his head.

    'Trust me, Reidar Folke Jespersen was a man with a lot… a
lot
of blood on his hands.'

    'He was killed just recently, a few days ago. I'm working on the case.'

    'Yes, I read about it, about the murder. But I didn't connect…' Professor Engelschøn wore a worried frown. 'You think Folke Jespersen was in Amalie Bruun's circle? That would be… well…'

    Gunnarstranda waited patiently while the professor searched for the right word.

    'Sensational,' said the professor at length.

    Gunnarstranda opened both palms again. 'She and Jespersen may have been childhood sweethearts for all I know. After all Oslo was not a big city. Well, forget it. It's Amalie I'm interested in.'

    'Hm.' The professor shook his shoulders and began to riffle through the pile of folders in front of him. 'I had a photo of the married couple here,' he mumbled, lifting up the papers. Eventually he held out a large photograph. 'Here you can see a picture you'll find interesting - it's of an elegant German soirée.' The photograph was taken in a large hall or room. There were uniformed men together with women wearing long dresses. Some perched on chairs, others on sofas, and there were two men leaning against a mantelpiece in the background. 'Lots of shiny brass,' Gunnarstranda commented.

    'Indeed, lots of fine folk…' The professor rose to his feet and, with stooped back, scurried round the table. He bent down and held a quivering, nicotine-stained, fat finger over the photograph. 'That one… that's General Wilhelm Rediess, the chief of police in Norway, and that one… that's SS Oberfiihrer Otto Baum on a visit from Berlin… so it must have been an important occasion. Baum ended up as the C-in-C of the 16th Panzer division. He was one of the most decorated officers in the war. Look at all his medals - the photo's not that sharp, but you can see the Knight's Cross and the Iron Cross 1st class. You can imagine, can't you! And him. There you can see…'

    Gunnarstranda nodded: 'Is that Terboven?'

    'Of course, and he's sitting beside your friend - Amalie Bruun.'

    Gunnarstranda adjusted his glasses. Even though the woman's face in the picture was partly turned away from the photographer, he recognized her by the mole on her cheek and the high forehead. He guessed she would have been the centre of this party - being as beautiful as she was - courted by these important men. He perceived a kind of determined wantonness in the look she gave the photographer. But her chin was longer and firmer than he had imagined. This was no shrinking violet - she was self-confident, she was witty and she dominated social gatherings.

    The professor's trembling finger pointed to the right: 'Can you see the one with the side-parting and the thick lips…?'

    'Yes?'

    'That's Fromm, her husband - and he does indeed look
fromm
in this photo - it's German for pious. He must have just delivered a couple of death sentences.'

    'I think he looks like the writer, Sigurd Hoel,' Gunnarstranda said and added: 'With those round glasses…'

    Professor Engelschøn furrowed his brow for a few seconds. 'Well…' he mumbled, clearly not convinced, and pointed to a man and a woman on the right of the picture. 'And him, the one sitting next to the other blonde, him, you see, that's Müller - the German propaganda boss in Norway - and the one joining in the flirting, that's Carlo Otte himself, the man responsible for running the German economy in Norway.'

    'Veritable VIP lounge.'

    'Indeed. No small fry here.' The professor chuckled.

    'As you can see, finding information about Amalie Bruun was not difficult. She had good connections, let's put it like that.' He toddled around the desk and sat down.

    'And you have no idea what the occasion here was?'

    'No. But there is a sense it is some kind of delegation, with the visitor from Berlin, Otto Baum, there.'

    'But how did she - a girl of twenty-three - get here, get into such circles?'

    'I'm not sure when this photo was taken, but I assume it must have been some time in late '43, or early '44,' Engelschøn chuckled, puffing on his pipe. 'One of the reasons for my conclusion is that I have seen Baum's list of decorations. And in this photo he's missing a couple of medals that he was awarded in 1944 - so…' Engelschøn straightened up, '… the photo must have been taken at least six months before she married Fromm. Hence she is probably his escort at this party, I imagine. But how…' Professor Engelschøn chewed his lip. 'How people find each other and get married is of course like the birds and bees, but they did find each other. You know they worked together?'

    'Worked together?'

    'At any rate she was employed as a secretary in the German administration. It's nothing new for work colleagues to be united in the bonds of matrimony.'

    Gunnarstranda studied the photograph - the Germans with the insignia on their shoulders and self- assured expressions on their faces. He scrutinized Fromm. There was something that caught his eye. He stared at Fromm again. It was the same feeling you have when you are trying to remember a name that has slipped your mind. There was something about the way he stood that drew his gaze. But he had no idea what. The feeling was unpleasant. So he decided to study Amalie Bruun instead. He tried to imagine this woman being the centre of attention when the formalities were over and the band struck up. He asked: 'Was she an avowed Nazi?'

    'I haven't a clue. But there's nothing to suggest she was a member of the Norwegian Nazi party, the Nasjonal Samling, if that's what you're wondering.'

    Gunnarstranda sat gazing at the picture. His eyes were still drawn to Fromm.

    'She had worked for a newspaper,
Aftenposten,
amongst other places, before she started her job with the Germans.'

    'Aftenposten?'

    'I beg your pardon?' The professor was taken aback by Gunnarstranda's exclamation.

    Gunnarstranda's lips were trembling. 'When did she work for
Aftenposten?
'

    Engelschøn shrugged. 'Until some point in '40 or '41. She was making use of her formal training - yes, you can guess what her qualifications were. Your lady had taken exams in German commercial correspondence - and she began shortly afterwards as an office help in the Ministry of Justice, but she packed it in and went to work for the German administration. But it's impossible to know why - I would guess her knowledge of German played some part in it.'

    He took another look at the photograph and suggested: 'She's very presentable… that may well have had some significance.'

    'So she had a background in journalism?'

    'Not at all. She was office-trained. In those days women journalists were rare. I would presume she had had an office job.'

    Gunnarstranda passed back the photograph. He sat looking into the distance as he planned his next question: 'What happened to these people after the war?'

    'Well, good point… I suppose the same as other Germans. They were arrested, deported, some went back home. Some became lawyers - that I do know - in Germany. The propaganda boss, Müller, became a property developer. As far as Fromm is concerned, I have no idea what happened to him. But all the judges working in Brydevilla were arrested and put on trial here. But, you know, the Norwegian High Court decided that SS und Polizeigericht Nord had to be considered a military court in line with the Wehrmacht's own courts, so the judges could not be punished as they were only doing their jobs, so to speak. However…'

    The professor scratched his head.

    'Yes?'

    'There was a case they tried to pin on these judges, you know. Well, you're too young to remember much from the war, but I am not. In February 1945 - just three months before the German capitulation - some Norwegian hostages were shot in a reprisal execution…'

    'Why was that?'

    'Hostages were often being shot in fact, but this time the underground movement liquidated a Norwegian Nazi - Major General Marthinsen - the boss of the security police in the Nasjonal Samling. A number of Norwegian hostages were executed afterwards..

    Engelschøn stood gazing at the floor, lost in thought. He mumbled: 'One of them was the brother of a boy in my class. I went to Ila school, you see. And that was the worst school day of the whole war. Everyone knew, all the pupils, the teachers, everyone knew that Jonas's brother had been taken from his flat and shot. But Jonas didn't say a word about it. He sat quietly gazing into the air. None of us said anything…'

    Engelschøn shuddered as though he were shaking off something nasty, then trudged back to his chair behind the desk. 'Yes, well,' he said, heaving a deep sigh. 'The end of the story was that it was decided that these court martial judges had not contravened international law.'

    'All the judges were acquitted?'

    'Yes, but this legal issue was not resolved until 1948. Fromm may have been in prison all that time.' The professor shuffled over to his untidy work station, sat down by the computer and typed something in. 'It will be harder to find… how long the man was in prison,' he declared, swinging round on the swivel chair.

    'And Amalie?'

    'Unknown.'

    'She disappeared?'

    'Well… I doubt it. If she had disappeared, the police would have investigated and that would have been recorded in the sources to which I have access.'

    'But you don't have anything about her?'

    'No.'

    'But the treason trials? After all she was working for the Germans.'

    'Members of the Nasjonal Samling were punished after the war, not people who worked for the Germans.'

    'What do you think happened?'

    Engelschøn shrugged his shoulders. 'As a woman she may be part of our bad conscience. A few German spouses were deported to Germany. Or she may have been sent to Hovedøya - the women's internment camp.'

    'Imprisoned?'

    'Strictly speaking, women's camps were not prisons - but institutions established for the safety of the Teuton tarts, as they were called. But this case is a little special… because Fromm's case had to be appraised in the light of international law. Either she was deported to Germany or she stayed here. I have to confess it is very difficult to say anything concrete about this.'

    'But her husband, Fromm? You have no idea what happened to him?'

    'He was released, wasn't he!' Engelschøn shook his head. 'What happened to him? It may be possible to find out, but…'

    'Try,' Gunnarstranda urged, taking the photograph of the German soirée. He scrutinized Fromm again without quite knowing why. 'It wouldn't be possible to borrow this photo, would it?'