Authors: Hans Olav Lahlum
It was a daring move. But before I had a chance to be frightened myself, it proved to be a trump card in every sense. The vice-ambassador stood there without saying a word, swaying
unsteadily.
It crossed my mind that he also might be a man of many faces. Perhaps he also had a wife and children, or fiancée, whom he missed. And perhaps the pressure on him had been greater than
the pressure on me. If I had just risked my job for the case, it could be that he had risked both his freedom and his life.
I had time to think all this because he hesitated again – and still did not answer. He nodded down at me, shook my hand again and then walked out with quick heavy steps.
We sat in silence even after he had left the room, until the new interpreter stood up and said: ‘I can follow you out.’
The glasses and cakes on our side of the table were untouched, and yet it felt like we had had a lot to chew on.
The new interpreter followed us to the main entrance, but remained inside herself. I had barely noticed that she was there. All of a sudden I started to wonder what she made of it all. But as
soon as she was out of sight, it left my mind. I had too many other people to worry about – alive and dead, but most of all, one who had disappeared.
We said nothing until we were in the safety of the car. As he turned on the engine, my boss said: ‘Congratulations once again, Kristiansen. That was a daring and
impressive performance in what was a critical situation. Your theory proved to be right. I think you will have your fiancée back this evening and we got as much as we could have hoped for
from the situation. We can get on with our jobs and the investigation, and leave the politicians to assess the consequences for them.’
Danielsen also congratulated me on how I had dealt with it, but was rather curt. Once again, I felt the rivalry between us. But I was happy to forgive him today of all days. Especially when he
added his sincere wish that my fiancée would turn up unharmed this evening.
I remarked somewhat sheepishly that my greatest fear now was that if surveillance was lifted, the Soviets could move Miriam from the embassy without releasing her.
My boss somewhat patronizingly shook his head.
‘I understand, but I don’t think that you need to worry. First of all, they clearly believe that we have some kind of evidence, and second, both the vice-ambassador and I know
perfectly well that we will not stop watching the embassy. We will know who leaves the embassy this evening and where they go. Only, we will not use it for anything – as long as your
fiancée shows up.’
I felt reassured. And even though the anxiety and uncertainty still lingered in my body, in my head, I was increasingly convinced that Miriam really would come back this evening. For a moment or
two, I thought about Patricia and how she would react. Then my thoughts moved on to a third woman – the interpreter who had been shot right in front of me this morning.
‘The business with the interpreter is very hard,’ I said carefully, as we pulled up in front of the police station.
My boss turned around and looked at me with his most inscrutable expression.
‘Yes, but we could not have saved her. There is a cold war going on out there, and it has claimed the lives of many in many different countries. The interpreter was a little foreign bird
who landed in the wrong place at the wrong time. Her execution was professional and the result a success. As we were not able to arrest the killer on the spot or get any description of him, we have
in practice no means of solving the murder. The newspapers will write about it tomorrow, and maybe at the start of next week, but the interest will die down, certainly if we now manage to solve the
other murders soon. The interpreter was Russian, and it would appear that she was killed by another Russian, and the Soviet Embassy is well aware of that. The Soviets are obviously not going to
complain if the case is not solved, and it is not likely that anyone in Norway will either. The interpreter’s death is a tragedy for her and her family in the Soviet Union, but for us, it is
the least important crime in a complex case. The most important thing right now is that you get your fiancée back. The next most important thing is that we find out who killed Per Johan
Fredriksen and his daughter.’
And with that, Danielsen stopped the car.
On my way into the station, I thought that my boss was right in many ways. The interpreter could not have been saved, and it was apparently a Soviet crime against a Soviet citizen. And in that
sense, it was less our case than the others were. But the woman had been living here. It was here she had first of all tried to help me solve a crime and then tried to save her own life. And it was
here, right in front of my very eyes and hundreds of others, that she had been shot. And, I thought to myself, I had seen another side of my boss – a more cynical and less likeable face.
I remembered the photograph of the elderly couple in her wallet, and wondered if the young Tatiana’s parents were still alive behind the Iron Curtain. According to her passport, she had
been unmarried and did not have children. But there might very well be a boyfriend somewhere who did not yet know that she was dead, and would never know why she died.
It was an uncomfortable thought. But then, a moment later, I looked at my hand and a picture of Miriam and her engagement ring filled my head.
My watch said it was a quarter past five. I had several nerve-wracking hours ahead of me.
After a few minutes at the station, I ascertained that the hours would be insufferably long if I was to stay there all evening. And I could not bring myself to ring
Miriam’s mother to tell her the good news. The thought of maybe having to call her again a few hours later to tell her that her daughter had died was simply unbearable.
There was no new information about the Fredriksen case waiting for me. I spent a while pondering over who might be behind those murders if it was not a Soviet agent, but I could not really
concentrate.
I asked my boss for permission to take a couple of hours off in lieu to go out and get something to eat. My boss was himself on his way home for supper, and agreed straightaway.
Then I rang Patricia. I told her that after our meeting at the Soviet Embassy, there was hope that Miriam would come back, and that some of the information we got in connection with the
Fredriksen case reinforced her theory.
Patricia sounded quite jolly when she replied: ‘Well, that might give grounds for a quiet celebration for us both. Come for supper, if you have the time and inclination – before your
fiancée can be expected.’
This was said with an almost jokey undertone. I felt so grateful to Patricia, and was extremely curious to hear what she might say about the remaining mysteries. So I said yes.
I was shown into Patricia’s library at a quarter to six. The asparagus soup was already on the table. I thought to myself that either the kitchen here worked at record speed, or they had
had a three-course meal ready in case I should come. I guessed it was the latter, and after what had been an unusually demanding Friday, I greatly appreciated it. As soon as I looked at the food, I
realized that for the first time today, I was hungry.
We gave each other a warm hug as soon as I came in. Patricia was wearing a green blouse that was very light for the time of year and revealed a fair amount of skin. The thought that another man
stood between us hit me hard at that moment.
I quickly retreated and once again felt a stab of guilt in relation to the woman who was sitting opposite and my fiancée. It did not make matters any better that my fiancée first
of all was still being held hostage, and second, had no idea that I was here.
After a somewhat hesitant start, we had a very nice meal. I was still tense, but naturally also very relieved, following the afternoon’s developments and at the prospect of getting Miriam
back alive and unharmed. Patricia quickly regained her usual conceited and self-assured air. But I also noted in her a sense of relief that her theory had proved to be right.
Patricia ate the asparagus soup and beef entrecote with a healthy appetite, but listened intently when I recounted our meeting at the Soviet Embassy. She nodded appreciatively, especially when I
mentioned my parting shot to the vice-ambassador.
‘Excellent. So, it is very likely that your fiancée will appear again soon, and the murder of the interpreter can be seen as solved, even though no one has been arrested. The man in
the hat will soon be out of the country, which is considerably more satisfactory, so long as he did not kill either Per Johan or Vera Fredriksen. Something that I am fairly certain he did not. But
he was at the scene of the crime when Fredriksen died and anything he can tell us could be decisive to solving the case.’
I asked how close we were to finding the solution – and without thinking, begged Patricia to tell me what she thought. Just then, the maid came in to clear away the main course and serve
the dessert. When we were alone again, Patricia gave a self-satisfied, teasing smile as she spooned a piece of chocolate cake into her mouth.
‘I made an exception earlier on today, as your fiancée’s life was at risk. But now that it is simply a matter of solving a murder that has already been committed, you will
have to forgive me for not wanting to say anything before I am certain enough of my reasoning not just to be guessing. There are still several candidates from different circles who could have
killed Per Johan Fredriksen.’
I picked up on this and asked her which candidates she still had on her list of potential murderers. And to my surprise, she answered.
‘The problem is exactly that, that there are still a few too many who cannot be ruled out. Other than the boy on the red bicycle, among the men we have the office manager, Odd
Jørgensen, the accountant, Erling Svendsen, Hauk Rebne Westgaard and Kjell Arne Ramdal. And among the women, we have Harriet Henriksen, Ane Line Fredriksen, Vera Fredriksen and Solveig
Ramdal. Plus the person who I think it most likely is.’
Patricia said this with a sly smile. But then she was suddenly serious again, and started picking at her chocolate cake.
I assumed that the person Patricia believed to be the most likely was a woman, as I could not think of any other men she had left out. More specifically, I thought of the only one from the 1932
friends that she had not mentioned, namely the widow, Mrs Oda Fredriksen. But Patricia shook her head when I mentioned this possibility.
‘No, no. I think you can categorically rule out that Mrs Fredriksen had anything to do with the death of Per Johan Fredriksen. The money will go to the children, she had been devoted to
her husband and her life had revolved around him for nearly forty years, and what is more, it is clear that at the time of his death he was closer to leaving his lover than his wife. And in any
case, she has an alibi. On the other hand, I do not think we should rule out—’
She stopped abruptly, with an arch smile – without saying who it was we should not rule out.
‘Besides,’ she said, teasing me, ‘who is a chameleon person, and who is not, is very significant. I think that there are still several chameleon people we have not yet
discovered in the circle around the late Per Johan Fredriksen. In fact, I think there is only one person who was there in 1932 who is not a chameleon person. And that might also be very
significant. But you will have to wait to find out who that is.’
Patricia looked coy and charming, even seductively secretive when she said this.
I had a sudden impulse to march over to her, pick her up out of the wheelchair, put her down on the table, then look her straight in the eye and demand that she tell me who she thought had
committed the other two murders. I was convinced that she had her ideas and that what she believed would be right.
I also got the feeling that were I to do that, Patricia would be more than pleased. But I realized that it would be wrong in every way all the same. The fact that my situation and mood had
changed from bleak pessimism yesterday evening to more or less cheerful optimism now, was almost entirely thanks to Patricia. I had no right to ask anything more of her today.
And any more physical contact would feel akin to betrayal. After all, I still had a fiancée who had no idea that I was sitting here with Patricia. And even though I did not like it, and
found it hard to understand what she saw in him, I had to respect the fact that Patricia had a boyfriend now – and be grateful for the fact that he knew nothing about my contact with her
either.
At a quarter to seven, I said that I should perhaps head back to the station. Patricia raised her hand. She said that it was unlikely that anything would happen before half past seven at the
earliest, if the police surveillance was to be lifted at seven.
I found it hard to argue with this logic, and it was without a doubt more tempting to spend the nerve-wracking waiting time with Patricia than on my own at the station. So I stayed where I was
for a little while longer.
When the clock struck seven, we raised our glasses to what we hoped would be the beginning of the end of the case. I had water, and Patricia poured herself some white wine.
At five past seven, I looked at the clock again. This time Patricia nodded her agreement.
‘It may still take some time before anything happens, but you should go to the station just in case.’
At first I thought her words sounded matter-of-fact – as though we had been married for years and I was about to go to work. But then I caught the nervous undertone in her voice, and it
reawakened my own anxiety.
I thought to myself that there was absolutely no reason to be nervous just because Patricia was. I knew from before that she was far more sensitive than she appeared to be. I could feel her
nerves spilling over into me – and suddenly I just wanted to get out.
I rounded the table, thanked her again for her help and gave her another hug. This did not make things any better: her frail body trembled against mine. I pulled back a little too fast and
headed for the door, but stopped when I unexpectedly heard Patricia’s voice again.