The chief curator, an Ingrid Glikmann has served in her role for eight years and was appointed by Sigmund Delemont's successor. She was the typical academic and quite pleased with her coveted spot and spent her days wandering the various exhibits. Even with her somewhat erratic behavior, she was a very competent curator and maintained several warehouses outside the city holding the larger collection of artworks. She had three assistant directors who rotated through their duties and meticulously maintained the catalogs and regular rotations of exhibits. This fall they were going to devote an entire floor of the west wing to Greek and Egyptian art centered with the Rosetta stone. They did it every year.
Ingrid was a friend of Oliver's and she joined us one day for lunch near the Montresor. She knew of a cafe that served delicious sandwiches and we agreed to meet her and discuss the annual budget. Naturally, she asked for an increase and was dismayed the bureau had asked her for a significant cut in spending. It would mean she would have to layoff a third of her staff.
There was little we could do as the budgets were established by a committee and the state chief who was further given direction from the central chief in the capital. Of course, we lied. Ingrid knew it, but this was all formalities and went through this every year with Oliver. A tit for tat, a quid and a pro, I was not interested in these hobbies of his and asked directly my reason for being invited and Ingrid brightened up and said she was a friend of Karl Knutmudsen.
She had heard that I had been trying to find out about Karl for almost a decade and finally got some news about what happened to poor Karl. She asked me if there was anything I was allowed to share with her or be willing to give in secret.
He died three years ago. He was shot while trying to escape. Oliver said it point of fact as he picked at his salad. Ingrid frowned and and couldn't believe it as that didn't sound like him. She then confessed, she and Karl had dated while in college. She was a few years younger, but met him in his final year of university. They kept in touch while he climbed his way up to a Commissariat and total silence after the Artesian movement.
Oliver was bit upset that Ingrid asked him to invite me to lunch. If she wanted to know about Karl he would have already told her as we both knew the same information. But it was Ingrid who knew of me as Karl had spoken of me and she felt she could trust me. This really upset Oliver.
I confessed that while I knew Karl and we both were in school together and later worked together under Sigmund Delemont. He never mentioned Ingrid before. While she was his type, he normally didn't date academics and was honest to question what her motivations and intents were in asking about Karl.
Ingrid sighed and demurred. She was just an art critic and knew little of politics. Her only excitement these days was the ever decreasing pie that was her financial budget outlays and her frequent bribery of Oliver to sustain the Montresor.
Out of the blue, I asked if she knew Sophie Gustafson. Ingrid seemed quite startled by a seemingly random name and I was curious at her odd reaction. She stuttered Sophie's name and said they were classmates. Oliver was equally startled and didn't realize she knew Gustafson's daughter. We found this very odd as Sophie knew the night Karl was dead and could have told her years ago.
Ingrid sighed again and said while she knew Sophie, they are no longer close friends. They haven't been close since Stephan's death and even more so when she learned Ingrid had dated Karl. She really hated him and she didn't want to ask him even if it was about his death.
Oddly enough, Ingrid said Sophie contacted her recently and wanted to meet her for dinner. She was shocked at the invitation as she hadn't stepped foot out of her home since Stephan died, except to visit Karl in prison. She knew of her visits to see Karl and was surprised to hear she had visited him twice the week before he died and her frequent phone calls to Schols.
It really ruined poor Sophie when Stephan died. Stephan was a good man, and there was no good reason for his death. Ingrid then changed subject and said that Stephan was quite the art enthusiast and frequently visited the Montresor when she was still a student and working there as a volunteer. He often came to enjoy the exhibits fully dressed in his military uniform. All the girls working there at the time would swoon and they eagerly waited for his weekly visits.
She knew Stephan as he had been Karl's attache and they sometimes spoke, mostly of Karl or of the art. In another lifetime perhaps, Stephan would have been a curator and sitting here having lunch with two Commissars of the Republic. We finished our lunch and she gave us a private, guided tour.
Oliver remained for further spirited discussions on maintaining her annual budget and I returned to the Politburo. I thought to myself a loud in the car would I ever be free of the Knut?
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