Chameleon People

by Hans Olav Lahlum

  ‘Exactly. But according to what you said, she only had fifty pages left to read the day before. It would take me no more than half an hour to read them, and I would be surprised if your fiancée was any slower. So if she still had not finished the book, she must have spent a lot of time thinking or doing something else in the meantime. And I would dearly like to know what it was she did instead, as it could be crucial. Do we know anything about her day, before she disappeared?’

  I said the same to Patricia that I had to Danielsen: we knew what Miriam had planned to do, but not necessarily what she had actually done. Miriam was going to go to a lecture from a quarter past ten to twelve, as she normally did on a Thursday. She would then go to the library until about three o’clock, before spending a couple of hours at the party office. Danielsen had no doubt started to map out what she had actually done.

  ‘Excellent. Let me know as soon as you have any more information. Otherwise, I wonder what was in the envelope she was carrying. That could also be crucial. There was no sign of that?’

  I shook my head. Patricia sighed again.

  ‘Well, it is certainly clear that we cannot expect help from any quarter in this case. Let me know as soon as there is any news on what your fiancée did today or about the envelope. In the meantime, please tell me what you did earlier on this afternoon, as the investigation and kidnapping may well be related.’

  It felt good to talk about something else, so I told her without further delay.

  Patricia smoked in silence, but nodded with a little smile when I told her about my meeting with Solveig Ramdal. She did not look happy, however, and waved me impatiently on when I told her about my disastrous meeting with the lawyer Rønning and Lene Johansen. Then she listened attentively when I told her about the meetings at the prime minister’s office and the Soviet Embassy.

  ‘It could be a coincidence, but has it struck you that one of the key parties in the Fredriksen case lives near Sogn halls of residence?’ I asked.

  Patricia had clearly thought about this too. She nodded quickly, but opened her hands at the same time.

  ‘Johan Fredriksen lives at Sognsvann, yes. It must be a coincidence. Even though he is about to become a very rich man, following the deaths of his father and sister, it is hard to imagine that he would have a motive for kidnapping your fiancée, and that he would have the resources to do so. Kidnapping for the purposes of extortion would be both complicated and risky for him and anyone else in the family or group of friends from 1932. Most likely they would all need help in order to do it, and they would be in great danger of being caught sooner or later. I think rather that Miriam has been kidnapped because she knew too much, about something significant that has happened or is about to happen. In which case, one might start to think in a different direction . . .’

  ‘To the East, you mean?’ I said.

  Patricia nodded gravely and stubbed out her cigarette. ‘The Soviets have the resources and a possible motive linked to the oil agreement. And even more worryingly, they currently also have a man in Oslo who has killed before. But if it was them, it will not be easy to prove. The big question is how Miriam might have discovered something important in that connection? Did she know about that side of the case?’

  My throat tightened, but I managed first to nod, and then to regain my voice. It all fitted uncomfortably well. Miriam had heard about the case from me the evening before – and had been visibly shaken.

  Patricia looked as though she wanted to say something. But instead she finished another cigarette, stubbed it out and said: ‘I think that is where the answer lies, but we do not have enough information yet to make the connection. Think about it, and get in touch as soon as there is anything new. I will be up first thing and waiting. And in the meantime, know that I am thinking about you. This must be an extremely difficult situation for you.’

  I was once again touched by Patricia’s concern – and told her so. We hugged each other affectionately and then I left.

  XVIII

  It was quite a shock to be outside. The rain was heavier and felt cold on my face and head. I thought about how hard it would be to find clues at the spot where Miriam had been taken, if there were any. I suddenly realized how hungry I was.

  I could not face going home, and even less making food. So I stopped at a cafe in Frogner that was still open and had a steak alone at a table in one of the darker corners of the cafe. It helped to ease my hunger, but not the feelings of fear and restlessness in the rest of my body.

  At ten o’clock I finally went home. There was a brief glimmer of hope when I saw that the light was on in my flat. I ran up the stairs with a thumping heart. But my hope was soon snuffed out. The flat was quiet and empty and there was no sign that Miriam had been there. I had obviously just forgotten to turn off the light when I ran out.

  The telephone rang as I sat there, and I answered in the wild hope that I would hear Miriam’s voice. But it was her mother’s broader Hedemark dialect that I heard at the other end. She asked how I was – and if there was any news of Miriam. I was deeply touched by the fact that she had thought of me in the middle of all this, and said so. But sadly I could not tell her anything about Miriam other than that an investigation had started and we hoped for good news, but everything was very uncertain.

  She wondered if they should perhaps come to Oslo. I told her that there was not much they could do here at present, and it was perhaps best to stay where they were – in case Miriam or anyone else contacted her family home. She replied that that was a good idea and that they would hold the fort at home, but added that they were ready to come to the capital straightaway if they could be of any help.

  I promised to ring her as soon as there was any news. We quickly agreed that the phone line should be kept open in case Miriam or anyone else tried to call. And then I was alone again in the world.

  I stood by the window and looked out at the empty street. I had seen Miriam walking up here in her green raincoat many a time. I could just picture her. But she was not there now. There was no one to be seen at this time of evening.

  Having stood there for a few minutes, I suddenly felt absolutely certain that I would never see Miriam walking up towards the house again. At the same time, I felt certain that she was alive, somewhere out in the rain and darkness, only I did not know who was holding her prisoner, or where – or how to find out.

  At ten to eleven, the phone was still silent, the darkness just as dark and I was still just as restless. I did not know what to do with myself. But I knew that I had to do something. So I went out, got into the car and drove back to the station.

  XIX

  Danielsen was sitting in his office with the door open and jumped up when he saw me.

  ‘Any news?’ he asked.

  I shook my head and said that I had neither seen nor heard anything from Miriam. I mentioned Patricia’s theory about the book, which could indicate that she had been preoccupied, and asked if he had found out what she had done during the day.

  He nodded quickly.

  ‘There was not much information to be had from the halls of residence. But I did talk to a librarian on the telephone who knew your fiancée by sight. Miriam had come to the library a bit later than usual after the lecture, around half past twelve or oneish. Then she had sat and read some books that were still lying at her place. But the librarian thought she seemed restless, and thinks she left around half past two. They had not seen her at the SPP party office. So we know where she was until around half past two, but not where she was in those few hours until she called here.’

  I thanked him for the information. Then I went to my office to telephone Patricia with the latest news on Miriam’s movements.

  The telephone at Frogner was not answered. In my nervous state, I was taken aback by this, but then remembered that she had promised to get up early the next day and was probably asleep.

  There was no more to be done at the station. I was still agitated and anything but tired, so I d
rove up to the student halls of residence.

  This detour to the halls of residence was basically an emotional whim. I did not believe that I would find any evidence that Danielsen and the others had not found. But I did think that I might find inspiration if I went there again. And that I should talk to Katrine again.

  Katrine opened the door as soon as I rang the bell, but only shook her head when she saw me. She had been sitting up and could not think about anything other than Miriam and what might have happened to her.

  ‘But something odd did happen,’ she said. ‘The phone in the hall rang at around ten o’clock, but I didn’t manage to answer in time. And then it rang again, but the voice only said “Miriam” – and then the person hung up when I said she wasn’t here. Perhaps I shouldn’t have said that, but it was so unexpected.’

  I told her that it was fine, especially in a situation where Miriam’s disappearance was not yet an official case. The telephone call could of course have nothing to do with her disappearance. I asked Katrine all the same if she could say any more about the voice on the phone. She took her time and then said that it was not easy, as the person had only said one word. But she was fairly sure that it was a woman and someone she did not know.

  I thanked her and once more promised to let her know as soon as there was any news of Miriam. Katrine said again how worried she was and assured me that she would stay where she was until the situation was clarified. I could see that she was close to tears and I so desperately wanted to say something that might comfort her, but I had nothing to say.

  So I left and walked the route down to the bus stop alone this time. I could imagine Miriam, in her old green raincoat with the thick blue book, as though she was there in front of me. But this inspired no new ideas of what might have happened, even when I passed the spot where we had found the book in the ditch.

  It was now nearly half past eleven, the road was dark and there was no one to be seen. I stood there alone at the edge of the road for a couple of minutes and looked up at the stars above. In that moment I wondered if there was a God or anyone else out there somewhere who knew what had happened.

  As I stood there, I heard a car coming down the road and turned to look, to make sure that it did not hit me. It was a large car, possibly a van of sorts, but I was not able to see it in detail in the dark. I could make out the shadows of two people in the front and guessed that the large figure behind the wheel was a man and the smaller one in the passenger seat was a woman.

  Just as the car passed, I caught a glimpse of the face of the person in the passenger seat. It was close enough to see, just as I lost my footing and fell into the ditch myself.

  The passenger in the car was Patricia.

  She was looking straight ahead and did not see me there by the side of the road in the dark. It looked as though she was talking to the person beside her, because her mouth was moving. Her expression was tense and grim, almost angry.

  I stood there staring after the car until it disappeared into the dark – in the direction of Frogner. I suddenly felt more alone than I’d ever felt before. Miriam had been kidnapped and I no longer knew if I could trust Patricia.

  I stood there for a few minutes more before walking unsteadily back to the car and driving home. It felt like the air was freezing, even though the rain was still pouring down.

  XX

  As I walked up the stairs, I thought about how happy I would be if Miriam was now sitting in her usual place on the sofa. I would shout with joy, carry her around the flat like a trophy and never let her out of my sight again. But I knew there was no hope. I had seen that the flat was dark. And when I opened the door, I saw straightaway that the sofa was just as empty as when I had left the flat.

  Just then the telephone started to ring. I rushed across the room, grabbed the receiver, but all I heard was the dialling tone. Everything felt jinxed that day.

  I stood there for a couple of minutes wondering who might have called, but the possibilities were endless. It struck me as odd that someone had tried to ring me so late, which is perhaps why they did not wait long and I thought in particular of the telephones at the halls of residence. It was probably just a journalist or someone else who knew as little about the kidnapping as I did.

  I did not want to sit down on the sofa. So instead I sat down on the chair opposite and reflected on what a terrible day it had been. The night before I had felt stressed enough, but that was nothing compared to the fear I now felt. Yesterday evening Miriam had been sitting here with me, and I had trusted Patricia one hundred per cent. Now I no longer knew what to believe about Patricia and I had no idea where on earth Miriam was – if she was still alive.

  I had stood here alone and feared for Miriam’s life once before, in connection with an earlier investigation. But then at least I knew where she was, what state she was in, and that she would have the best help she could get at the hospital. And I had known that the situation would be clearer the following day.

  Now I did not know where Miriam was or how she was, and had no reason to believe that she was with anyone who wished her well. But the worst thing was the uncertainty. The thought that I might never know what had happened was petrifying.

  As I sat there, I understood better than ever before the problems that some people, whom I had met in connection with other murder investigations, had with simply getting on with their lives after a dramatic event. Suddenly I thought of Hauk Rebne Westgaard, who had had to live with the pain of losing his girlfriend, and who had not been able to touch anyone else since. I at least had hope, something that he had never had. Miriam might come back unharmed and healthy. But I had less and less faith in that happening. It felt far more likely that I myself would have to live as a human fly – without Miriam, but with the constant doubt and feelings of guilt.

  I went to bed at midnight – not because I was tired, but because I could not stand being awake alone any longer. And I hoped that tomorrow would be a better day – it could hardly be much worse – and that it would come sooner if I went to bed.

  I couldn’t bring myself to believe that Patricia had anything to do with the kidnapping. But I did not dare to rule it out completely, and came to the conclusion that I would have to confront her with the fact that I had seen her. It did cross my mind that she might have gone there to look at the scene of the crime, even though it would be very unlike her and I could not imagine what she would achieve by doing so. But then the car she was in had passed the scene of the crime at quite a speed and she had not even taken a sideways glance.

  It was quite simply a mystery, what Patricia had been doing there and who had been in the car with her. I wondered if she might in fact be a chameleon person herself, with a dangerous side that I had never experienced. I recalled Solveig Ramdal’s words about self-preservation being the driving force for all people in critical situations. And I asked myself if Patricia had pointed to the Soviet lead in a bid to divert attention.

  I fell asleep eventually around one o’clock in the morning, but the night that followed was as restless and horrible as the day had been. I woke up and fell asleep again three times between nightmares. Each time I woke, it was with the dream of Miriam’s sleeping face on the pillow beside me, only then to discover to my distress that the pillow was empty. And each time I fell asleep, it was with the image of Patricia’s grim and angry face in the car window in my mind.

  DAY SEVEN

  Another Death and Some Vital Clarification

  I

  Friday, 24 March 1972 was one of the rare days when I was woken by the telephone, not the alarm clock. It rang at ten past seven. I was instantly wide awake and ran in my underwear out of the bedroom into the living room. I managed to get to the telephone in time, but this only led to disappointment.

  I heard the voice of a Dagbladet journalist on the other end, who wondered if I could confirm or preferably deny the headlines in VG.

  I replied that unfortunately I could not comment in the light of the ongoing
investigation. Then I hung up – and told myself that it was going to be another long and demanding day. This feeling was reinforced when Aftenposten then called fifteen minutes later, for the same reason as Dagbladet.

  Verdens Gang was not out yet, but according to its competitors, the whole of the front page was going to be covered by a large photograph of Per Johan Fredriksen under the headline: ‘Murdered top politician may have been spy’.

  Verdens Gang had somehow found out that Fredriksen was suspected of being a spy. However, the newspaper had no stronger evidence than that he had several times been seen to have ‘shady conversations’ with representatives from the Soviet Embassy, and that the police security service had shown ‘a very strong interest’ in him. It was therefore pertinent to question if this was in any way connected to the murder of Per Johan Fredriksen and perhaps to his daughter’s mysterious death a few days later.

  In the final paragraph, it was asked if it was right for Norway to enter into an important new agreement with a country that may have assassinated one of its leading politicians, though this was as yet unproven. And the final sentence went as far as to say that the answer should be no.

  I wondered for a brief moment what Prime Minister Trond Bratten would think when he read this. Then I thought about how it would be for the remaining members of Per Johan Fredriksen’s family to wake to this. At which point I realized that I should perhaps have informed them yesterday evening, and that I should certainly do so now.

  Two dry and quickly eaten pieces of bread later, I sat down by the telephone. It was twenty to eight and all three were at home. Johan Fredriksen sounded as though he was not an early bird or was just in a bad mood. I said that we were trying to establish what kind of contact Per Johan Fredriksen might have had with the Soviet Embassy. But we currently had no evidence that he had done anything illegal or that it had anything to do with the deaths.