Bjørn Erik Svendsen was more than happy to be driven in a police car to Harald Olesen’s flat, but repeated several times en route that he had no idea where the diary was hidden. We were quickly able to confirm that there was no sign of it on the desk or any other table. The idea that it might be hidden among the books appealed to Svendsen. He asked whether there was a compulsory methodology course for aspiring policemen. I replied that policemen were also allowed to think creatively. He nodded enthusiastically and immediately got started on the right-hand section of Harald Olesen’s bookshelves. I myself started on the left.
I must admit that my enthusiasm for Patricia’s theory gradually waned as I ploughed my way through the first hundred books. I counted routinely, so that, if nothing else, I could later impress my colleagues with details of my thorough work. I was just about to put back book number 246 when an excited yelp from Bjørn Erik Svendsen broke the silence in the flat. With shaking hands, he lifted from the floor a notebook of the same type as the two previous ones. It had fallen out from the generous covers of Volume 2 of The Great War. He held it out to me, triumphant. The dates ‘1967-8’ glared at me from the front cover, even though they were written in lead pencil in an old man’s hand.
I confiscated the book on the spot and refused to let the history student read over my shoulder. He initially objected that it might contain important historical source material that would be of significance for the biography, but soon accepted the situation when I assured him that he would of course be given access to the diary as soon as the murder investigation had been closed. I swiftly added that any knowledge of the diary’s contents could in fact be dangerous. He promptly agreed to leave the room and wait in the kitchen in case I had any questions for him once I had read it.
The start of the diary year 1967 was relatively uneventful for Harald Olesen. January and February passed with nothing more than short, undramatic entries with full names. However, the entry for 20 March 1967 was short and mysterious, which could bode ill given the one from the year before: N has made contact. Told that S was dead and had confessed in the end. N was angry and demanded money.
The remainder of March and April comprised only short factual entries about anniversary dinners and letters received from old acquaintances. In March, he had written some brief comments regarding the news that Stalin’s daughter had gone into exile in the USA, and in April, he recorded the deaths of the writer Johan Falkberget and the former German chancellor Konrad Adenauer. But on 2 May, N suddenly appeared once more: N has contacted me again. Demanded money and threatened to tell.