Hans Lahlum - Chameleon People

There was coffee on the table. Solveig Ramdal was still the perfect hostess and she was still youthful and feline in her movements. But as we sat there, I suddenly felt certain that she was hiding something from me. Only I had no idea what.

I started by saying that as a matter of procedure I had to ask for alibis for the previous afternoon.

She nodded pensively. ‘I understand. My husband is possibly more fortunate than I am this time. He was at work until he came home at a quarter past five. I was, as usual, at home alone. The only time I went out the gate was when I popped down to the shop around four, half past four. The staff there know me and could probably vouch for that, but it is sadly not possible to prove that I was here the rest of the time.’

The alibi was not as poor as she might think. Given that Miriam had spoken to Vera on the telephone just before half past three, that wouldn’t leave much time for Solveig Ramdal to murder her in Ullern and be back at the shop by four. But it was still a possibility.

Solveig Ramdal seemed inexplicably uneasy about her lack of alibi. I felt I was glimpsing a crack in her mask and wanted to know what lay behind it. So I pressed on with a bluff.

‘We now have strong indications from, amongst other things, some notes left behind by Per Johan Fredriksen, that your relationship with him in more recent times was far closer than you have previously led me to believe.’

She sat without saying anything, and kept up appearances well. But there was a new uneasy undertone to her voice when she replied.

‘I am a little uncertain as to what you mean. Per Johan and I have, for many years now, only met at these dinners every five years. When, roughly, was this and what kind of contact are you talking about?’

Her answer was testing me. She was unsure about how much I knew. And I was unsure if I was on the right track.

‘The mid-fifties. And you met – when no one else was present.’

We were beating around the bush, but it was like playing poker. I had no more details and the little I knew that I was now brazenly betting on, was based on Oda Fredriksen’s impressions and the fact that her husband had said Solveig’s name in his fevered sleep. She, for her part, however, could not know what Per Johan Fredriksen had written.

I was right. Her nod was reluctant and grave.

‘It is true that Per Johan and I did meet, one on one, around that time. But it is not true that we had an affair. We only met twice, in 1955, and neither time did we end up in bed.’

She looked at me guardedly. I had nothing up my sleeve which might prove this to be wrong, so I said: ‘You should have told me this yesterday, of course, but I am ready to hear it now, too. But you must lay all your cards on the table now and tell me exactly what happened.’

It worked. She nodded several times then carried on swiftly.

‘I did think that I should have told you. But it is just such a complex family history. You first have to realize that my marriage of many years has been no more than an empty facade. It started as a marriage of convenience. He was the safe harbour I sought after all the turbulence of Eva’s death and my broken engagement with Per Johan. Kjell Arne has been a good provider for me and a good father for my children for nearly forty years. But if I ever had any passionate feelings for him, they were gone by the time our first child was born. He perhaps hoped to develop stronger feelings for me, but, if he ever tried, he never managed it. My husband is a very good and rational businessman, and this carries through to his dealings with his family. If he ever possessed any stronger or more romantic feelings, they were perhaps for another woman. But I have kept my marriage vow and have never been physically unfaithful to him. The only men who have ever been in my bed are Per Johan, back in 1932 and then Kjell Arne ever since.’

She sat staring at the living-room wall. I noticed again that Kjell Arne Randal was not smiling in any of the family photographs that hung there. Solveig Ramdal suddenly reminded me of Nora in Ibsen’s A Doll’s House , a play that I had seen with Miriam last autumn.

‘And the woman he loved before you was…?’

She gave a brief nod. I caught a glimpse of two small catlike teeth when she replied.

‘Eva, of course. Even a man like him, without a romantic bone in his body, was enthralled by Eva. They all were. She was the most beautiful and sparkling of all the young women in Vestfold, as well as being the only one who knew how to exploit it. She could wrap men round her little finger and would then pull them along behind her to a cliff edge, it was said. Her sister was forgotten the moment Eva came into a room, as was I. So in a strange way, Eva was a symbol of beauty but also a trophy. One that Kjell Arne would have given anything to win. But he never got her – as far as I know. And either way, Eva was gone by the time anything happened between Kjell Arne and me. Although I still had to compete with her for his attention. I have always been second choice and a poor surrogate for something he never even had.’

‘I understand. So when Per Johan contacted you one day, you had no misgivings. But what did he want, if not a mistress?’

Solveig Ramdal gave me a fleeting, scornful smile before she continued.

‘It’s almost a bit strange that it did not lead to an affair. His own marriage was like mine; the only difference was that his wife was far more fond of him than I was of my husband. From his perspective, it was a sham. We had both been strongly attracted to each other once upon a time in our youth, but it was impossible to find that magic again. Eva and her death in 1932 was there like a wall between us. And that is what it was all about. Per Johan rang one day while my husband was at work, and asked if we could meet to discuss Eva’s death. He said that the case continued to haunt him and that he thought it had been murder. Per Johan said that he was pretty sure that I had not killed Eva, but that it could have been any of the other three. Of course I knew that it was not me, but I also had my suspicions and Per Johan was still a charmer when he wanted to persuade someone. And that’s how we ended up one day, sitting in a hotel room, the door locked, discussing whether one of our spouses could have committed murder. It was still all about Eva, more than twenty years after her death.’

‘Did you come to any conclusion?’

She shook her head lightly. ‘Not really. We just went round and round the possibilities. He did not even rule out the possibility that Oda might have killed her little sister – for the inheritance and finally to be out of her shadow. The sisters did not have a particularly good relationship, but that is not so unusual for sisters at that age. Per Johan was obsessed by the thought of who had been to bed with Eva that day. It was certainly not him, he said several times. So then it must have been Hauk or Kjell Arne. He had seen Kjell Arne in the corridor at around a quarter past six and it looked as though he was heading towards Eva’s room. But then -’

She took a short dramatic pause after this piece of information, and looked once again at the family photographs. Her thin, catlike mouth trembled. I thought how her story so far was in line with Per Johan Fredriksen’s notes – and that it was pushing her own husband further into the spotlight.

‘But then there was the bang that we never managed to work out. I was in the room next to Eva, and had heard a bang or thump around half past seven. Per Johan asked me several times if I was certain that the sound had come from her room. And I was then, and I am now. At the time I thought that perhaps Eva had tripped or dropped something on the floor. Later I figured it must have been when she fell, but then that was always odd as she was on the sofa. I put my ear to the wall in the minutes after the bang, but heard nothing more. The bang in itself does not mean that Eva didn’t die earlier, nor that Kjell Arne might have killed her. But it gave rise to doubt, and Per Johan and I could not get past it. Our main theory in the end was that Eva had turned her affections towards Kjell Arne and that it was Hauk who had killed her in a fit of jealousy. Per Johan still had his doubts back then, and what he may or may not have thought about the case in later years, I have no idea.’