Hans Lahlum - Chameleon People

It was as if Kjell Arne Ramdal had read my thoughts as he started by saying: ‘If you have been to Fredriksen’s home, you will know that mine can in no way compete with his. But fortunately the same is not true of our financial situation.’

‘Because in recent years you have been more successful in terms of business. And as I understand it, you have given an offer for more or less all of his companies?

His nod was brisk and almost too keen.

‘All his properties in Oslo and Akershus, yes. It will be my largest investment to date if it all goes through, and I believe it will also be my best. The geographical profile of his properties will complement my own and the advantages of having a large company will be even greater. I have always been more strategic and daring than Fredriksen, which is probably why I have been more successful.’

I asked him without further ado what he had to say about the man, both as a businessman and a person.

‘Fredriksen could be very different when in different situations. More recently I have known him mostly in his role as a businessman. And as such he was cautious and focused on the short-term gains to be had from his properties, without having any particular strategy or future vision. For the past fifteen years, he has been more interested in politics and less in the markets than before. His business was healthy and robust. But he stagnated while others expanded and was reluctant to make the necessary investments at a time when people expect a higher standard of accommodation than before. He had a very good accountant and office manager who have been with him for years, but they were constantly overworked and he had too few staff. Over the past three or four years he has let some good opportunities go, and the value of his companies has fallen rather than increased.’

‘And does your offer to buy the companies still stand, even though he is now dead?’

He nodded slowly and forcefully. ‘His son rang me today to check whether the offer still stands and whether it would be possible to extend the deadline. I told him that of course the offer still stands, but that as I have the bank on standby and my administration have been working very hard on it, I could only offer an extra twenty-four hours before I needed a decision. He thanked me for this and as far as I understand, they are likely to accept the offer. What Fredriksen would have done is less clear, and now we will never know. He had acquired larger and smaller properties throughout his adult life and it was not in his nature to sell, even for a good price.’

I noted that Kjell Arne Ramdal still only used Per Johan Fredriksen’s surname, despite having known him for more than forty years. And also it seemed that they had been competitors, rather than associates. I asked if I was correct in understanding that they had once worked together?

‘The two companies first worked together for a period after the war and then we had some joint ventures between the mid-fifties and the mid-sixties. We were never close friends even though we were in business with one another, and we did not fall out when we stopped working together. Our business assessments were based on different strategies and ambitions, so in the end, we were better off working alone.’

I made a note to the effect that this was more or less in line with what Fredriksen’s children had said. But also that the situation regarding the two companies did give Ramdal a possible motive for murder, albeit a fairly weak one. I then asked about the case from 1932.

Kjell Arne Ramdal lost some of his enthusiasm and sat silently for a moment before he answered.

‘It is a tragic story that is still a mystery to this day. We had seen Eva, just as beautiful, young and full of life as she always was, only hours before. Then suddenly there she was lying dead and cold in our midst. I think the shock had a lasting effect on us all. We were carefree youths who became serious, responsible adults overnight. I was on my own in my hotel room for the three hours before we found her, and really don’t know what more I can say about the case. Paradoxically, the only thing that is certain is that what became the official truth is not the truth at all. It was not epilepsy that killed Eva. She only had petit mal, which is not life-threatening, and she was otherwise in good shape. But whether it was suicide or murder, and if it was murder who was responsible, I would not like to say, not even today.’

As though to underline this, he pursed his lips and promptly fell silent in his leather chair.

Kjell Arne Ramdal was clearly an intelligent man who had more theories and thoughts about what happened in 1932 than he wanted to say. So I decided that first I would ask him straight about what and who he thought had caused Eva Bjølhaugen’s death. He replied that he did not want to answer that here and now, as it would be pure speculation.

I got the feeling that it was some kind of accusation against Per Johan Fredriksen that he did not want to verbalize only a few days after Fredriksen himself had been killed, and while he, Ramdal, was still waiting to hear if his offer to buy up the companies had been accepted. But this was, in turn, no more than speculation on my part. I asked him instead about his wife’s engagement to Per Johan Fredriksen, and the circumstances surrounding their break-up.

Kjell Arne Ramdal replied that he did not know much about that side of the case, and that it really was up to his wife whether she wanted to say anything about it or not.

As we sat there, it suddenly struck me that Kjell Arne Ramdal never smiled. Not here, nor in the family photographs on the walls, as far as I could see. He was intelligent, correct and in no way unfriendly, but apparently a man with no sense of humour or joy. I was reminded of the title of one of the most popular Norwegian films in recent years, The Man Who Could Not Laugh. Then I remembered what Kjell Arne Ramdal had said, and wondered to what extent the events of 1932 were to blame.

I pondered on this and he looked as though he was thinking about something, though I had no idea what and he was not likely to tell me. So we sat in silence for a while.

Then I thought of another question – about the most recent of their five-year-anniversary meals and what had happened there.

He nodded cautiously in acknowledgement. ‘I understand that you are already well informed. So no doubt you know that we met every five years on the day that Eva died, and that at the last meeting, only a few weeks ago, Per Johan suddenly made a very unexpected statement. He said that he now finally understood what had happened, and that one of us also knew and should face the consequences. He said nothing more about what he thought had happened, and the rest of the meal was a cold war where none of us said a word. I could only see surprise, not fear or regret in any of the others’ faces. If one of the people round that table was responsible for her death, they kept up appearances well. All I know for certain is that if the murderer was sitting at the table, it was not me.’

I promptly asked if he was certain that his wife had not committed the murder.

He answered in a very solemn voice: ‘I would never have married her if I thought that was the case. I have always believed that it was one of the others. But in such situations one can only be certain of what one has seen with one’s own eyes, wouldn’t you say?’

I had to agree with him there. But at the same time, I could not help thinking that it must be very uncomfortable not to be certain whether your spouse had committed murder or not.

‘I do know for certain, however, that she did not murder Per Johan. She was at home here with me on Saturday evening,’ he added, hastily.

Just then, we heard light footsteps out in the hall.