Chameleon People (27 page)

It sounded like Per Johan Fredriksen had had a reasonable plan, and some very bad news for his party and the no campaign in general. Something that could indeed be the cause of a politically
motivated attack. The question was who else might have known about it.

I asked Harriet Henriksen what she thought about this, and if she had mentioned it to anyone else. She shook her head firmly at the suggestion.

‘I knew no one in his party and never discussed what he told me with others. I was happy about it. After all, I am half French and the rest of my family live within the EEC and have always
believed in cooperation inside the Western Bloc. So I was pro and liked to think that I had some influence on him there. And in addition, I thought that if he was going to change his stance on the
EEC and his party, then perhaps there was a chance that he would change his mind about his wife as well.’

She said this with an almost coy smile.

She was beautiful when she smiled, and despite the fact that I disagreed on the EEC question, I could perfectly well understand that Per Johan Fredriksen had been charmed by her.

The smile disappeared when I asked if there were other aspects of his political life that he had discussed with her. She shook her head and said that he had only talked about the EEC issue and
changing party. It seemed reasonable that he had discussed the EEC matter and plans for next year’s general election with his mistress, but apparently he had not mentioned his contact with
the Soviet Embassy even to her.

It was now half past five and I had run out of my easier questions. So I had no choice but to put the handwritten letter from Per Johan Fredriksen down on the table between us and say that
unfortunately I had to ask her to read it.

Harriet Henriksen was a woman whose emotions changed swiftly and easily. Three minutes ago she had been smiling and almost happy at the thought that she may have influenced her lover. Now she
was shedding tears as she saw whose handwriting the letter was penned in. Then she flinched as she read what was written. Afterwards, she sat trembling. I hoped that there might be another
emotional outburst. But there was not. She just sat there with tears streaming down her cheeks, her fists balling tighter and tighter.

When I realized that she was not going to say anything without help, I asked if she had been given this letter by her lover during his last visit.

She slowly shook her head. Her voice was strained, but still coherent when she started to speak. She began slowly, but then the words just came tumbling out.

‘No, I have never seen this letter before. But he did say as much to me as we sat at the table here eating supper on Saturday. It came as quite a blow, but not a shock as such. He had been
fretting about it for a long time, that I should find a younger man and have children before it was too late. And he brought it up again then. I said that there wasn’t a younger man in the
whole wide world I would want more than him, and that I would rather be childless all my life than have children with anyone else. The whole time I was scared that he would simply get up and leave.
He was visibly touched by what I said then he turned to me and he said that I was the only person in the world who loved him for who he was and not his money. As usual, we went to bed after the
meal. And afterwards any doubt I ever had in him was forgotten. He kissed me before he left and said that we should meet again soon and talk some more. So even though I had had a shock and still
had to live with the uncertainty, I continued to be optimistic.’

Harriet Henriksen had slowed down again and seemed distant. Suddenly she reminded me of Oda Fredriksen. It struck me that the two women in Per Johan Fredriksen’s life, despite their
differences, had both weathered these terrible days and resolutely clung to their love for him.

I thought about how we still only had his mistress’s word that Per Johan Fredriksen had not in fact broken up with her on his last visit, as he had intended to do in his letter. And I also
only had her word that he had hinted at it but then changed his mind. I had to be open to the possibility that she had run out after him, begged him to come back and then stabbed him when he walked
away. The fact that the murder weapon was a kitchen knife fitted well with this theory.

I consequently needed to check Harriet Henriksen’s alibi, so I asked tactfully if the last time she saw her beloved it had been through the window.

She understood what I was asking. After a rather tense moment, she replied that she had seen him from the window and that she had not gone out, either with him or after him.

I apologized before asking if there was anyone who could confirm this.

She, for her part, apologized that she could only reply that there was no one. No one had come to see her before I rang the next day. She had no one she could call to talk to about her situation
– not after he had gone, nor after she had heard the news that he had been stabbed.

She still just called him ‘he’ and looked so lonely sitting there on her own. I felt a great deal of sympathy for her. But she did have a motive, and she was the only one of those
involved who was still alive and had been in Majorstuen on the evening that Per Johan Fredriksen had died. So when I carried on to Sognsvann, I did not yet dare strike Harriet Henriksen from my
list of possible murderers.

Johan Fredriksen lived in a terraced house a few hundred yards from the lake at Sognsvann. His house was just as I had imagined it would be: larger than was usual for a single
lawyer of thirty-five without his own firm, but incomparable to his father’s or Kjell Arne Ramdal’s in terms of size.

The door was opened no more than ten seconds after I had rung the bell. Seeing him again, I was more struck than ever by how much he resembled me in appearance. And if his sister’s death
had caused any emotional response, it was not possible to see it on his face or hear it in his voice.

‘Welcome,’ he said in a staccato tone, and then turned around. I followed him into the living room. It was also more or less as I had imagined: clean and tidy, but not very exciting.
If there had been any photographs of girlfriends, Johan Fredriksen had removed them before I got there. There was not a single picture up on the walls, and as far as I could see, the bookcase only
contained books about law and economics.

The only thing lying on the living-room table was a pile of accounts for Per Johan Fredriksen A/S.

I pointed at the accounts and asked if there was any news about the business and the possible takeover.

He told me that the offer was still on the table at a few million more than the actual value, and that the family were inclined to accept the offer and move on. That was what had been agreed at
a meeting the evening before last, but they had not managed to talk about it again since Vera’s death.

I suddenly thought about what Solveig Ramdal had said about her husband also being a businessman in his private life. The same could be said of Johan Fredriksen. However, when he started to
speak again, it was apparent he was a much younger and softer businessman.

‘You must excuse me if I appear to be unmoved. My youngest sister’s death has affected me deeply. I am just not as good as my father and others at showing my feelings. In fact, I am
not as good as my father at anything.’

I asked him how he saw his relationship with his sisters.

‘I am not really very close to them in any way, I have to admit. We are different ages, have different personalities and interests. Vera and I never argued, as far as I can remember, but
that is perhaps because we did not talk much. Ane Line was closer to her – perhaps because they are both girls. Although I think more recently, they were talking less. As far as I understood
it, they had argued about something. Ane Line and I live our own lives and have our own opinions, but we do speak when needs be. We are both pragmatists, in our own way.’

I noted down that I should ask Ane Line Fredriksen what she and her sister had argued about. Otherwise, this was more or less what their mother had said, and I did not think there was much to be
garnered here.

So we looked at each other and waited. Then Johan Fredriksen got up, went over to the drinks cabinet and poured himself a glass of wine. He raised the bottle, looking at me questioningly, then
nodded with understanding when I said that I could not drink on the job.

‘Many gifted young men have bemoaned the fact that they are not the only and eldest son of a rich father. For me it was the opposite. I often thought when I was growing up that it would
have been nice to have a brother, who could blaze the trail and relieve some of the pressure and expectation. But I had no older brother, only two younger sisters. My father was kind enough never
to complain. But I could tell that he was disappointed, and I heard others say the same. They said that I was doing fine, but that they had expected more of Per Johan Fredriksen’s only son. I
have always been good, but never great. My sporting achievements were good, my results were good, but I was never the best at anything. I lacked the charisma of which my father had so much. My
greatest triumph in life is that I was the fifth best in my year to graduate from law school. The examiner said, “You are not the brightest one here, but you are the one who works hardest to
be so.” I took that as a compliment and hoped that it heralded my breakthrough.’

He paused briefly and finished his wine. I was glad that he was opening up, and allowed him the time to pour another glass before I said: ‘But it was not?’

He grimly shook his head.

‘No, it was not. Father congratulated me and smiled, but I could see that coming fifth, which was such an achievement for me, meant nothing to him. He still didn’t want to involve me
in running the business, and wouldn’t give me an advance on my inheritance so I could start my own practice. “You are not robust enough yet to stand on your own two feet as a
businessman,” he had said to me with this kind but patronizing smile. Apparently I had to get more work experience and preferably also a sensible and helpful wife. So once again, I did what
he told me, got a boring job as an associate, while I waited for better times.’

‘And now you finally have your chance – because of a tragedy,’ I said.

He nodded, but did not smile. ‘Not just a tragedy, but a double tragedy. I inherited around twenty million when my father was killed on Saturday, and another ten million yesterday when my
little sister died. Suddenly, I have all the opportunities I ever wanted, but this is certainly not how I had wished for it to happen. My little sister was killed, wasn’t she? She attempted
suicide once a few years ago, but I’m sure that’s not what happened this time.’

I confirmed that it did look like his sister had been murdered. In addition, we now also had to keep all possibilities open regarding his father’s killer, as a new witness had thrown doubt
on whether the boy on the red bicycle had done it.

Johan Fredriksen took this news with unexpected composure. He put his wine glass down and looked at me with a serious, though not unfriendly, expression on his face.

‘Then I have a problem, which I am afraid may cause a problem for you too. I was here at home on both Saturday evening and yesterday afternoon, but have no one to confirm that.’

‘So you are saying that you were at home alone?’ I asked.

He took another sip of wine, then shook his head.

‘No. What I am saying – and it is the truth – is that I was here with my girlfriend. But I cannot ask her to confirm that for me. She has made it quite clear that she, for very
personal reasons, does not want her name to be public or to be pulled into the investigation in any way. She is the most exciting thing that has happened to me in all my life. I am even more scared
of losing her now, having just lost two of my closest family members. I simply cannot burden her with that. So in a situation where I know that I am innocent and did not murder my father and little
sister, I choose to respect my girlfriend’s wish to remain anonymous, even though I realize that it may not make life any easier for me.’

I could not work Johan Fredriksen out, nor could I decide what I thought of him. On the one hand, I could understand him, even empathize with him, but on the other, it did create a problem for
the investigation.

I tried to push him by saying that his mother claimed she had phoned him several times yesterday afternoon without getting an answer. He nodded sharply.

‘Yes, I can confirm that, without being able to give you the precise times. I heard the telephone ring out here in the sitting room at least twice. I had a strong suspicion that it was my
mother, and indeed, when I then answered the phone at around half past five, I had this confirmed. When she had called earlier, I was in a room with another person, in the middle of things I did
not want to interrupt, so I couldn’t talk to my mother on the phone.’

He said this somewhat defiantly, and then raised his glass before draining it.

I was still unsure as to how I felt about Johan Fredriksen, but realized that it would be impossible to get anything more out of him now. So I asked him to think hard about the situation. He
promised to do that, but said that it was unlikely that anything would change with regards to his alibi and his girlfriend’s identity. He added that she had been here with him when both the
murders happened, and clearly had no connection to the case. She had never met either his parents or his sisters.

I was increasingly intrigued by Johan Fredriksen’s mysterious girlfriend. However, it was perfectly clear that she had no links to the case. And it was not obvious who that young woman
might be. I had more than enough parties to juggle with as it was. And what was more, I did not think that Johan Fredriksen would make up a story like that if he had killed his father or sister.
His story tallied with what his mother had said and indirectly gave him a kind of alibi. So I dropped it – and left with slightly more respect for Johan Fredriksen than I had arrived
with.