Hans Lahlum - Chameleon People

It felt like the pressure was mounting on all sides, and, in a way, it was good that Miriam had slept while I had breakfast. During the night, I had once again abandoned the idea of telling her about my renewed contact with Patricia. If Miriam should hear that I had been in touch with her, I prayed that it would not coincide with the press discovering that the boy who had taken his own life in prison was in all likelihood innocent.

My boss was not in his office when I got there at eight o’clock. Outside my office door, however, hopping around impatiently, was a pathologist I had met in connection with one of my earlier cases a couple of years ago.

‘The preliminary autopsy report is ready, and quite sensational…’ he started.

I waved my hand dismissively. ‘I don’t think you will manage to surprise me this time either. The cause of death was water in the lungs, is that right?’

He nodded swiftly and rolled his eyes to show he was impressed. ‘How on earth…?’ he said.

‘It is actually quite logical that she was drowned. You just need to let go of the fact that it is not a method normally used for murder in a hotel room. I am more interested in knowing if there were any other signs of violence, but I am assuming there were not?’ I said.

A little more colour drained from the pathologist’s face, and he shook his head.

‘No, or that is to say, she had some light bruising on her neck that may indicate that someone held her down as she was being drowned. But otherwise, we have found no other signs of violence.’

I thanked him for this confirmation. Then I quickly closed the door on the slightly bewildered and very impressed pathologist.

I sat down and rang the Centre Party office. The party leaders were not available, due to meetings in the Storting. However, the Secretary General, Petter Martin Arvidsen, was there and when I told him that I was calling from the police about the murder of Per Johan Fredriksen, he said that he would be happy to meet me. He told me that he had an important meeting at ten o’clock, but had time available before then. And I replied that I did too. We concluded that I should go to meet him in his office as soon as possible. So I walked the few hundred yards over to the party office in Arbeider Street as quickly as I could.

I eventually found the Centre Party office on the fifth floor of 4 Arbeider Street, having first climbed the stairs past four floors occupied by the newspaper, Nationen. The Secretary General, Petter Martin Arvidsen, turned out to be a slim, yet very jovial man in his mid-thirties, with remnants of a Trønderlag dialect. He was swift to shake my hand and then pointed to a chair, before closing the door behind me.

He looked at me in expectation. I chose a gentle start and asked him to give me his impression of Per Johan Fredriksen.

‘You know, over the past few days, I have reflected on how strange it is that in politics today you can see someone every day for years without ever actually knowing them. That was certainly the case with Fredriksen. He was always there – at all the important meetings: the parliamentary party group, the representative body, the party conference. He appeared to enjoy all social occasions, with or without his wife. He was well respected and a powerful man within the party and, in recent years, had become even more prominent thanks to his keen interest in foreign policy. But I don’t think I could say that I knew him as a person, and I am not sure that anyone else did. He was an extremely good politician. He was knowledgeable, to the point, and at times even humorous, both as a speaker and a debater, and he was always very active and interested in his dealings with voters and members of the public.’

I waited a few seconds for a ‘but’, which never came. So I asked where the problem lay.

‘The problem was that the Centre Party is the most united party on the Right and Per Johan Fredriksen was not really a team player. He was an excellent individualist, but always and only an individualist. To put it another way, Per Johan was a man who was respected by all and trusted by none. He was also a touch too pragmatic at times, even for a result-oriented party like ours. People got the feeling that, for Per Johan, politics was not so much about social engagement as personal gain. And that is also probably why he was never part of the party leadership or government, as he so wanted to be.’

‘But he was still ambitious?’

Petter Martin Arvidsen gave an unexpectedly broad grin. ‘Goodness yes, the man certainly never suffered from any lack of ambition or belief in his own abilities. He had intimated that he wanted to stand again in the general election next year, and undoubtedly hoped for a ministerial post if the party got back into government. There was even speculation that, despite his age, he rather fancied himself as a new party leader if our current leader stepped down at next year’s party conference. And there were those who believed and feared-’ All of a sudden he stopped and sat in silence for a few moments. Then he said: ‘Please understand that I will do whatever I can to help the police, but that my position in the party might make it difficult to talk openly about a late party member like Fredriksen. Will this meeting be minuted in any way?’

I considered this for a moment or two, then said that as this was not yet a formal statement of any kind; he could talk openly without worrying that it might be recorded in the minutes. I could contact him again later if I needed confirmation of anything.

It was a practical compromise that I felt was acceptable in order to move on with the investigation. To my relief, he readily accepted what was basically a horse-trade.

‘Very good. I appreciate that. So, there are also those who believed and feared that Per Johan Fredriksen was about to betray the party. He was from good old-fashioned farming stock, but had been living in the city for a long time. With his wealth in properties in the city, he had always belonged to the side of the party that was closest to the Conservatives. His seat in Vestfold was no longer secure, and there was speculation that the Conservatives might offer him a senior position as part of their offensive in rural constituencies. And that would seriously damage the Centre Party in terms of next year’s election. And even more sensational than that…’

Petter Martin Arvidsen paused, his face blanched, and when he continued speaking it was in a hushed voice.

‘There has also been speculation that he might change sides in the EEC debate and come out in favour of Norway joining! If one of the leading politicians in the party and our representative on the Standing Committee on Foreign Affairs were to change sides, it would have an enormous and devastating impact on both the party and the no campaign. In such a case, it would almost be better if he swapped party.’

I had to ask if anyone in the party might have seen the threat as being so critical that they would commit murder.

Petter Martin Arvidsen sat quietly and looked out of the window briefly before answering. Then he turned to face me.

‘I wish that I could answer no, but I don’t know that I dare to at the moment. There are powerful emotions at play out there. For some people in our party and in others, this is a religious war. For others it is a fight for their livelihood and to keep the farm that has been in their family for generations. Having said that, I have no one in particular in mind. But I would not like to say that there is no one out there who might be prepared to kill for, or against, the EEC.’

It struck me that Miriam had said more or less the same. And then I thought that I might perhaps have met one such person, when I sat opposite Hauk Rebne Westgaard and heard him say that the EEC would spell the end of agriculture in Norway as we know it.