Hans Lahlum - Chameleon People

She was right where I hoped she would be standing, where she always stood: leaning discreetly against the wall with a book in her hand. From what I could see it was a thick blue book about the history of Nordic literature in the nineteenth century. She had only read the introduction when she left yesterday, but was now almost a third of the way in. I was impressed – and happy when she snapped the book shut as soon as I put my hand on her arm. We gave each other a quick hug and then moved towards the door.

We had been there before, but not many times. Miriam thought that the Theatre Cafe was too expensive for normal Sunday suppers, and I did not want to protest. So we came here about once every two months or so. And then, whenever possible, we sat at a table for two in the middle by the window. Our favourite table was available, and there was no one else within earshot. It was perfect.

I started romantically by asking her if she had had a good day, and if there was anything more we needed to discuss about the wedding.

This, of course, did not work at all. She swiftly replied: ‘My day was good. I studied all day. And of course there’s more to talk about regarding the wedding, but there’s no rush. So, how is the investigation going?’ she asked in a hushed voice, as soon as the waiter left us. Then we sat there more or less whispering to each other for the rest of the meal. The staff clearly thought it was terribly romantic and gave us friendly smiles as they passed. Whereas what we were actually talking about was the stabbing of a politician and an underage murder suspect.

I knew that this was in part down to Miriam’s inherent curiosity, but was still touched by the interest she showed in my work. Just how interested she was dawned on me when she said no to dessert. That had never happened before, certainly not at the Theatre Cafe.

Once we were back in the car, we returned to our normal voices.

‘The story from 1932 is a strange and incredible coincidence,’ I remarked.

‘I agree. It’s almost too incredible not to be connected in some way. But there is not much to be gleaned from details of the crime scene, and we know too little about the others to conclude anything more,’ she said.

I had to concede to this and promised to talk as soon as possible to the four friends from the 1932 drama who were still alive.

‘And the current case is no less mysterious. With a mysterious suspect, to boot,’ I said.

Miriam nodded quickly. ‘Yes, both things are very odd indeed. It’s so strange that he won’t say anything even to you, when you are so good at talking to people.’

She said it in a way that was so characteristic of her, just as a passing comment. But it still made me so happy that I leaned over and kissed her quickly on the cheek once we were over the junction.

We were soon at Hegdehaugen. We walked in silence to the front door, as though we were suddenly scared that someone might hear us even if we whispered.

Once we were installed on the sofa with a cup of coffee in one hand and holding each other’s hand in the other, we carried on discussing the case.

‘Per Johan Fredriksen was also a bit of a mystery in terms of his politics,’ she said.

I squeezed her hand and asked her to elaborate.

‘He is part of the richest and most conservative group in the Centre Party, and is sometimes said to be right of even the Conservatives. Which is not a compliment in my circles. But he would take completely different stances on different issues, so he has also been called left of Labour. He was deemed to be a very important man for the no campaign, tactically, because he could potentially influence a number of the rich Conservatives.’

‘But all that has nothing to do with the murder case, surely,’ I joked.

Miriam was suddenly very still. She looked out of the window and her hand trembled faintly in mine.

‘Surely it can’t? People in Norway do not kill each other for their political persuasions,’ I said, trying to reassure her.

Miriam carried on looking out of the window when she finally answered. ‘Three months ago, I would have said no and laughed. But now I am not so sure. There are a lot of powerful and frightening emotions out there in the dark at the moment. I have been called the most incredible things by men in suits, and the day before yesterday an old woman spat at me when I was manning the stand. Parents and children have stopped speaking to each other and a lot of people are worried about their partners and their jobs. I don’t think anyone would kill in connection with an election in Norway, but I’m not so sure any more that some fanatic or other might not kill in connection with the referendum.’

We sat in silence and pondered this over our cups of coffee. I had assumed that the young murderer might be disturbed, but I hadn’t even considered that the killing could have been politically motivated.

I said that it was food for thought. Then I went out into the hall and got the photographs of the suspect which I put down on the table in front of us.

Miriam leaned forwards and stared at them intensely, but then shook her head. ‘He must be a very lonely boy, if no one has reported him missing. It all seems like a terrible tragedy. He’s not active in any of the political parties’ youth wings in Oslo, otherwise I would have known him. If his limp and speech impediment are so striking, I’m sure I would have known about him if he was active in any of the neighbouring constituencies.’ She fell silent, sat there and stared at the photographs. ‘I have never seen his face before. And yet, when I look at his pictures, I get the strange feeling that I’ve seen him in passing somewhere.’

I put my arm round her, kissed her on the cheek and asked her to think hard. She sat in deep concentration for about a minute before she said anything else.

‘I might be wrong, but do you remember the cyclist we saw a couple of times outside here at a distance last autumn?’

I had to think for a while myself before answering. It was not something I had given much thought to. But now that she mentioned it, it gradually came back to me that we had noticed a cyclist outside here a couple of times. He had just been standing with his bike further down the road. Close enough for us to see him and his bike, but too far away for us to see any details.

The first time we saw him, he cycled off after about thirty seconds. The second time, he stood there for longer, and Miriam had wondered as we went in whether we should ask if he needed help. Maybe he was lost or was having problems with his bike, she said. I turned back somewhat reluctantly, and walked towards the cyclist with her, but when we were only a matter of yards away, he hopped on his bike and disappeared down the hill.

‘It could certainly have been him. But that only makes things more bizarre, slightly crazy, in fact, if he was watching the flat already last autumn, only then to cycle all the way up here after he had murdered someone in Majorstuen.’

Miriam nodded. ‘It’s all very odd, no matter what. The strangest thing really is that he so purposefully sought you out after the murder.’

I took a couple of deep breaths, then I said: ‘Do you think I should ring the Genius of Frogner?’

‘The Genius of Frogner’ was Miriam’s nickname for Patricia. Not only had Miriam been the first to suggest that I should call Patricia in connection with my last murder investigation, she had actually phoned Patricia and persuaded her to help me. But now, when I suggested it myself, she seemed far less keen on the idea.

‘You can, of course, do as you wish and whatever you think will be best for the investigation. But I don’t think you should call her, not yet anyway. At the moment it seems most likely that there won’t be a major murder investigation, as the solution lies in the sad life of a disturbed young man. And in any case-’ She stopped mid-sentence and did not continue until I asked her to.