Hans Lahlum - Chameleon People

It was on the way back to the main police station, following my visit to the Centre Party office, that he suddenly appeared for the third time.

When I threw a glance back over my shoulder, there he was on the pavement, moving in the same direction, about four yards behind me.

The man in the hat had changed his suit, and he had his hat discreetly tucked under his left arm. But it was the same hat, and even before I had seen it, I had recognized his walk and expressionless face.

My first thought was to stop and ask him who he was. But I was also afraid of the man, and did not want to confront him. The nightmare where he threw a knife at me on Karl Johan Street had suddenly come back to haunt me in broad daylight.

All I wanted was to get back to the safety of the police station and have some time to think over the situation. So instead of stopping, I carried on walking, speeding up my pace a little.

It felt very uncomfortable to have someone following me so close behind when I had no idea who they were. I tried to pretend I was not concerned, but looked back sooner than I should have.

My encounter with the man in the hat lasted no more than two minutes. We did not exchange a single word; we were never close enough to do so. But it was still a very frightening experience.

As I took those final steps into the main police station, I reflected on what Patricia had said about icebergs, and the fact that the bulk of them lies hidden under the surface. I had not found out who the man in the hat was, but I was certain that he was not a random passer-by. And I was even more certain that he was not good news.

I got back just in time for my meeting with the boss at ten o’clock. He was sitting waiting in his office and started to talk as soon as the door closed behind me.

‘The pathologist has informed me of his conclusions regarding the most recent murder. He was, with good reason, very impressed that you knew the cause of death before he told you.’

I thanked him with appropriate modesty, and said that when using the process of elimination, it was fairly logical. I added that we were therefore also clearly dealing with murder.

My boss nodded. ‘I asked the pathologist if it was possible for Miss Fredriksen to have taken her own life with the help of water. And according to him this was unthinkable, especially as she was lying on the sofa with no trace of water nearby. Someone had poured water down her throat and possibly held her down until she drowned, then dried away any splashes and disappeared. A clear case of murder. And this makes it even more natural to look for the clues in Fredriksen’s personal life.’

I chewed on this for a few seconds. Then I said tentatively that there were other possibilities. For example, that the person who killed Fredriksen had also killed his daughter to hide his or her tracks.

He shook his head disapprovingly. ‘That seems very unlikely. I think you should focus all your attention on Fredriksen’s family and friends; that is where you will find the murderer.’

I thought for a beat, then put my trust in Patricia and took the plunge. ‘And with all due respect, I think there is something important that you are not telling me. Something that may not be decisive, but that I should definitely know, as I am investigating the murder of Per Johan Fredriksen.’

My boss started as soon as I spoke. It was a bold shot in the dark: I would have nothing to say if my boss asked what I thought he was hiding. And my boss could be sharp when his authority was challenged. I saw his teeth as he prepared to fire a caustic reply. But instead, when he did finally open his mouth, he spoke in an unexpectedly calm, almost feeble voice.

‘I should have known better than to think I could hide something from you, Kristiansen. I apologize as there is, indeed, something important that I’ve been keeping from you. I thought it was not significant and that it would be best for everyone concerned if you did not know. But it may be important and as head of the investigation you should know what it is, so that you are aware of the possibility. But this must be kept strictly between us – not even Danielsen can know.’

An incredible sense of relief flooded my body. I sent my heartfelt thanks to Patricia – and assured my boss that not even Danielsen would hear a thing about it.

‘What I have not told you is that when Fredriksen was killed, he was on the point of being arrested – on suspicion of being a Soviet spy. The police security service had been watching him for some time and believed they had grounds to arrest him. The timing was, as I am sure you can appreciate, highly sensitive in light of the imminent agreement.’

Initially, I was speechless. This was a totally unexpected and dramatic development that added a shocking new dimension to the case.

Then I asked in one and the same sentence if they had planned when they would arrest him, and how many people knew about it.

‘I think that only myself and a handful of people at the police security service were involved and knew about this – and now, of course, you do too. The police security service had been following Fredriksen for some months, but the operation was still top secret. I was only informed on Friday, because they had planned to arrest him in connection with a meeting that Fredriksen had arranged with his Soviet contact on Sunday evening.’

I said nothing as my brain worked overtime. Then I asked what the motive was, and my boss promptly carried on.

‘His motive is unclear. Politically he was, of course, conservative, and financial gain is not a likely motive for such a wealthy man. But in the past year, Fredriksen has had some suspicious meetings with representatives from the Soviet Embassy here in Oslo. The police security service believe they have sufficient evidence that he has handed over confidential information, and possibly also secret documents that he had access to through his work with the Standing Committee on Foreign Affairs. The hope was to catch him red-handed with the documents. It would then have been the most notorious Norwegian spy case since the war.’

Coming from my boss, these were strong words. And what was more, they were perhaps not strong enough. I reflected on my meeting with the Centre Party secretary general only an hour before, and tried to imagine what he might have said.

‘It would also be one of the greatest political scandals. And it could not only delay, but, in the worst case, sabotage the demarcation agreement with the Soviet Union and that would be a mighty blow for the Centre Party and the anti-EEC campaign. So there are plenty of people who would rather Fredriksen was murdered than arrested.’

My boss nodded. ‘I would not like to say whether motives of that sort might have influenced certain parties in the police security service. But the timing was highly controversial, in terms of both the agreement with the Soviets and the EEC referendum. The news that a leading spokesman for the no campaign was guilty of treason in favour of the Soviet Union could have had serious consequences.’

It was all too easy to agree with this. I mentioned the earlier incident outside with the man in the hat. Without mentioning my own fear, obviously, I said that this was now a mystery within the mystery that gave good grounds for concern. Then I said something that I had not thought of before: that it was possible that the man in the hat was working for the police security service.

It looked as though my boss, like me, was not convinced that the answer was no. He stared at me for a few moments. Then he dialled a telephone number from memory, and when the call was answered, he said: ‘It’s me. There has been a dramatic development in the case we were talking about on Friday. I think that we two and Detective Inspector Kristiansen should perhaps have a chat. You remember DI Kristiansen?’