Chameleon People

by Hans Olav Lahlum

  I waited a few seconds for a ‘but’, which never came. So I asked where the problem lay.

  ‘The problem was that the Centre Party is the most united party on the Right and Per Johan Fredriksen was not really a team player. He was an excellent individualist, but always and only an individualist. To put it another way, Per Johan was a man who was respected by all and trusted by none. He was also a touch too pragmatic at times, even for a result-oriented party like ours. People got the feeling that, for Per Johan, politics was not so much about social engagement as personal gain. And that is also probably why he was never part of the party leadership or government, as he so wanted to be.’

  ‘But he was still ambitious?’

  Petter Martin Arvidsen gave an unexpectedly broad grin. ‘Goodness yes, the man certainly never suffered from any lack of ambition or belief in his own abilities. He had intimated that he wanted to stand again in the general election next year, and undoubtedly hoped for a ministerial post if the party got back into government. There was even speculation that, despite his age, he rather fancied himself as a new party leader if our current leader stepped down at next year’s party conference. And there were those who believed and feared—’ All of a sudden he stopped and sat in silence for a few moments. Then he said: ‘Please understand that I will do whatever I can to help the police, but that my position in the party might make it difficult to talk openly about a late party member like Fredriksen. Will this meeting be minuted in any way?’

  I considered this for a moment or two, then said that as this was not yet a formal statement of any kind; he could talk openly without worrying that it might be recorded in the minutes. I could contact him again later if I needed confirmation of anything.

  It was a practical compromise that I felt was acceptable in order to move on with the investigation. To my relief, he readily accepted what was basically a horse-trade.

  ‘Very good. I appreciate that. So, there are also those who believed and feared that Per Johan Fredriksen was about to betray the party. He was from good old-fashioned farming stock, but had been living in the city for a long time. With his wealth in properties in the city, he had always belonged to the side of the party that was closest to the Conservatives. His seat in Vestfold was no longer secure, and there was speculation that the Conservatives might offer him a senior position as part of their offensive in rural constituencies. And that would seriously damage the Centre Party in terms of next year’s election. And even more sensational than that . . .’

  Petter Martin Arvidsen paused, his face blanched, and when he continued speaking it was in a hushed voice.

  ‘There has also been speculation that he might change sides in the EEC debate and come out in favour of Norway joining! If one of the leading politicians in the party and our representative on the Standing Committee on Foreign Affairs were to change sides, it would have an enormous and devastating impact on both the party and the no campaign. In such a case, it would almost be better if he swapped party.’

  I had to ask if anyone in the party might have seen the threat as being so critical that they would commit murder.

  Petter Martin Arvidsen sat quietly and looked out of the window briefly before answering. Then he turned to face me.

  ‘I wish that I could answer no, but I don’t know that I dare to at the moment. There are powerful emotions at play out there. For some people in our party and in others, this is a religious war. For others it is a fight for their livelihood and to keep the farm that has been in their family for generations. Having said that, I have no one in particular in mind. But I would not like to say that there is no one out there who might be prepared to kill for, or against, the EEC.’

  It struck me that Miriam had said more or less the same. And then I thought that I might perhaps have met one such person, when I sat opposite Hauk Rebne Westgaard and heard him say that the EEC would spell the end of agriculture in Norway as we know it.

  IV

  It was on the way back to the main police station, following my visit to the Centre Party office, that he suddenly appeared for the third time.

  When I threw a glance back over my shoulder, there he was on the pavement, moving in the same direction, about four yards behind me.

  The man in the hat had changed his suit, and he had his hat discreetly tucked under his left arm. But it was the same hat, and even before I had seen it, I had recognized his walk and expressionless face.

  My first thought was to stop and ask him who he was. But I was also afraid of the man, and did not want to confront him. The nightmare where he threw a knife at me on Karl Johan Street had suddenly come back to haunt me in broad daylight.

  All I wanted was to get back to the safety of the police station and have some time to think over the situation. So instead of stopping, I carried on walking, speeding up my pace a little.

  It felt very uncomfortable to have someone following me so close behind when I had no idea who they were. I tried to pretend I was not concerned, but looked back sooner than I should have.

  My encounter with the man in the hat lasted no more than two minutes. We did not exchange a single word; we were never close enough to do so. But it was still a very frightening experience.

  As I took those final steps into the main police station, I reflected on what Patricia had said about icebergs, and the fact that the bulk of them lies hidden under the surface. I had not found out who the man in the hat was, but I was certain that he was not a random passer-by. And I was even more certain that he was not good news.

  V

  I got back just in time for my meeting with the boss at ten o’clock. He was sitting waiting in his office and started to talk as soon as the door closed behind me.

  ‘The pathologist has informed me of his conclusions regarding the most recent murder. He was, with good reason, very impressed that you knew the cause of death before he told you.’

  I thanked him with appropriate modesty, and said that when using the process of elimination, it was fairly logical. I added that we were therefore also clearly dealing with murder.

  My boss nodded. ‘I asked the pathologist if it was possible for Miss Fredriksen to have taken her own life with the help of water. And according to him this was unthinkable, especially as she was lying on the sofa with no trace of water nearby. Someone had poured water down her throat and possibly held her down until she drowned, then dried away any splashes and disappeared. A clear case of murder. And this makes it even more natural to look for the clues in Fredriksen’s personal life.’

  I chewed on this for a few seconds. Then I said tentatively that there were other possibilities. For example, that the person who killed Fredriksen had also killed his daughter to hide his or her tracks.

  He shook his head disapprovingly. ‘That seems very unlikely. I think you should focus all your attention on Fredriksen’s family and friends; that is where you will find the murderer.’

  I thought for a beat, then put my trust in Patricia and took the plunge. ‘And with all due respect, I think there is something important that you are not telling me. Something that may not be decisive, but that I should definitely know, as I am investigating the murder of Per Johan Fredriksen.’

  My boss started as soon as I spoke. It was a bold shot in the dark: I would have nothing to say if my boss asked what I thought he was hiding. And my boss could be sharp when his authority was challenged. I saw his teeth as he prepared to fire a caustic reply. But instead, when he did finally open his mouth, he spoke in an unexpectedly calm, almost feeble voice.

  ‘I should have known better than to think I could hide something from you, Kristiansen. I apologize as there is, indeed, something important that I’ve been keeping from you. I thought it was not significant and that it would be best for everyone concerned if you did not know. But it may be important and as head of the investigation you should know what it is, so that you are aware of the possibility. But this must be kept strictly between us – not even Danielsen can know.’
>
  An incredible sense of relief flooded my body. I sent my heartfelt thanks to Patricia – and assured my boss that not even Danielsen would hear a thing about it.

  ‘What I have not told you is that when Fredriksen was killed, he was on the point of being arrested – on suspicion of being a Soviet spy. The police security service had been watching him for some time and believed they had grounds to arrest him. The timing was, as I am sure you can appreciate, highly sensitive in light of the imminent agreement.’

  Initially, I was speechless. This was a totally unexpected and dramatic development that added a shocking new dimension to the case.

  Then I asked in one and the same sentence if they had planned when they would arrest him, and how many people knew about it.

  ‘I think that only myself and a handful of people at the police security service were involved and knew about this – and now, of course, you do too. The police security service had been following Fredriksen for some months, but the operation was still top secret. I was only informed on Friday, because they had planned to arrest him in connection with a meeting that Fredriksen had arranged with his Soviet contact on Sunday evening.’

  I said nothing as my brain worked overtime. Then I asked what the motive was, and my boss promptly carried on.

  ‘His motive is unclear. Politically he was, of course, conservative, and financial gain is not a likely motive for such a wealthy man. But in the past year, Fredriksen has had some suspicious meetings with representatives from the Soviet Embassy here in Oslo. The police security service believe they have sufficient evidence that he has handed over confidential information, and possibly also secret documents that he had access to through his work with the Standing Committee on Foreign Affairs. The hope was to catch him red-handed with the documents. It would then have been the most notorious Norwegian spy case since the war.’

  Coming from my boss, these were strong words. And what was more, they were perhaps not strong enough. I reflected on my meeting with the Centre Party secretary general only an hour before, and tried to imagine what he might have said.

  ‘It would also be one of the greatest political scandals. And it could not only delay, but, in the worst case, sabotage the demarcation agreement with the Soviet Union and that would be a mighty blow for the Centre Party and the anti-EEC campaign. So there are plenty of people who would rather Fredriksen was murdered than arrested.’

  My boss nodded. ‘I would not like to say whether motives of that sort might have influenced certain parties in the police security service. But the timing was highly controversial, in terms of both the agreement with the Soviets and the EEC referendum. The news that a leading spokesman for the no campaign was guilty of treason in favour of the Soviet Union could have had serious consequences.’

  It was all too easy to agree with this. I mentioned the earlier incident outside with the man in the hat. Without mentioning my own fear, obviously, I said that this was now a mystery within the mystery that gave good grounds for concern. Then I said something that I had not thought of before: that it was possible that the man in the hat was working for the police security service.

  It looked as though my boss, like me, was not convinced that the answer was no. He stared at me for a few moments. Then he dialled a telephone number from memory, and when the call was answered, he said: ‘It’s me. There has been a dramatic development in the case we were talking about on Friday. I think that we two and Detective Inspector Kristiansen should perhaps have a chat. You remember DI Kristiansen?’

  After a short answer, my boss then said: ‘Good, we are on our way’, and put down the receiver.

  ‘Asle Bryne remembers you and has asked both of us to go over there as soon as possible,’ he said as he stood up.

  I got to my feet without protest. I remembered Asle Bryne, the head of the police security service, well from my previous visits to Victoria Terrace, and was grateful that my boss was going to be there. Although it did not make the matter any less serious.

  VI

  It had been a year and a half since my last visit and the head of the police security service’s office had not changed one bit. Asle Bryne was sitting behind his desk with a pipe in his mouth. He gave a brief nod, but made no attempt to shake hands.

  ‘So,’ he said, then disappeared behind a small cloud of smoke.

  I looked at my boss, who started by saying that this conversation must be kept strictly between us.

  I nodded quickly, but did not see any reaction from Asle Bryne.

  My boss obviously did not expect to get one. He gave a brief and to-the-point account of the latest developments, including the eyewitness and the murder of Fredriksen’s daughter. He concluded diplomatically by saying that there was in all likelihood no link to Fredriksen’s contact with the Soviet Embassy, but the possibility could not be ruled out. There was therefore a need now to ask Bryne some questions in connection with the murder investigation.

  ‘I see,’ was all Asle Bryne said, and then he looked at me.

  I was not sure whether he filled his pipe with more tobacco on purpose or not, but the net result was that it was even harder for me to see his facial expressions through the smoke.

  I felt like I had been left out in the thin, cold air. The journey from hearing the sensational news that Fredriksen was suspected of being a spy to the office of the head of the police security service had been so short that I had barely had time to think.

  I tried to feel my way forwards and asked if Fredriksen had had direct contact with the Soviet ambassador.

  It was a bad start. My boss rolled his eyes, and Bryne looked even less sympathetic when he spoke.

  ‘Obviously the ambassador himself is never directly involved in things like this, that would be far too compromising in the event it was discovered. At various times and places, Fredriksen had contact with three different, lower-ranking diplomats this year. The pattern was suspicious – they met as if by chance at different times and places where they were unlikely to be seen. And we have found information that can only come from closed meetings of the Standing Committee on Foreign Affairs in various Russian sources after these meetings, without me being able to go into any detail. So we know that someone or other, either the Ministry of Foreign Affairs or the Standing Committee, has passed on confidential documents that could threaten national security. We do not know for certain that it was Fredriksen, but it seems natural to assume there is a link.’

  I found the answer somewhat vague, but doubted that any question to follow this up would make it any clearer. So I fired a double question instead: if any of Fredriksen’s contacts had been younger women, and what they thought might be his motive for espionage.

  ‘No, as far as we know, he has only met with male diplomats. We have of course considered the possibility of sexual liaisons, but have no indication that that was the case. Nor have we seen evidence of any monetary transactions. His motive is one of the mysteries that it may be very hard to establish now that Fredriksen is dead. As the case stands, there seems to be no better solution than to let it die quietly along with the spy, and thank our lucky stars that the leak was stopped before it could cause even greater damage.’

  Asle Bryne blew out another little cloud of smoke. He did not look in the slightest bit glad about this or, indeed, anything else. To a certain extent I could understand him. If Fredriksen really had been a spy, his death had denied the police security service a considerable and much-needed boost.

  ‘Was the arrest imminent at the time of his death?’ I asked, trying to be more friendly.

  Bryne’s clean-shaven chin moved up and down inside the cloud of smoke. ‘Within less than twenty-four hours. How we knew that, I cannot say. We knew that Fredriksen was due to meet one of his Soviet contacts on Sunday afternoon. We hoped and believed that he would have documents with him, and were of the view that we had enough on him to make him confess when caught in such a compromising situation.’

  I then asked how long they had had
Fredriksen under surveillance, and what had made them start in the first place.

  The question did not make Bryne any more communicative. He answered curtly it was a matter of two or three months, and he could not say what had triggered it.

  I was not very satisfied with the answer. So I threw down my only trump card. ‘During my investigation of Fredriksen’s murder, I have on several occasions been followed by a man. And I apologize, but I must ask if he is doing so on behalf of the police security service?’

  My boss was completely still, whereas Bryne started in his chair. ‘That is absolute nonsense, young man. I practically never comment on who we have under surveillance, but will make an exception to say that we do not have any of our highly esteemed colleagues in the Oslo police under surveillance. The incompetent fools at the military intelligence agency might decide to do that, but I can assure you that the police security service never would.’

  I felt I was on thin ice, but was still not convinced. ‘The man wears a suit and hat, is around five foot nine and has one distinguishing physical feature: the little finger on his right hand is missing the top joint. Are you absolutely sure that you know nothing about him?’