Hans Lahlum - Chameleon People

Her conclusion was rather abrupt and a bit unexpected. I asked if there was any particular reason for suspecting Hauk.

‘It was rather woolly – so woolly, in fact, that we were not really sure of it ourselves. But I had always found Hauk rather distant and a little frightening. So I found it easier to believe that he had committed a murder than my husband or former fiancé. The story of the jilted lover turning to murder is not an unfamiliar one, not then and not now. Per Johan was vague about it, but he implied that Hauk’s family situation was very difficult. He also thought that Eva had treated him rather badly. Behind Per Johan’s friendly veneer, there were actually very few he respected and even fewer he feared. But when we met in 1955, so many years on, I could tell that he really did both respect and fear Hauk. I got the impression that he thought it was Hauk, but that it was something he could live with. Hauk was stuck down in Vestfold, so was not someone he had to see or deal with often.’

It felt like Solveig Ramdal was starting to open up now. Following a brief pause, she carried on.

‘I, for my part, would not completely dismiss the possibility of suicide. I only heard that one single bang between seven and eight – no footsteps. And I had heard steps out in the corridor and inside her room an hour earlier. I must say, I thought that some of the footsteps I heard in her room earlier were heavier than hers, which would indicate that at least one or more men had visited her. But anyway, I obviously cannot be certain about the footsteps, and there may have been others that I did not hear. Oh, I really don’t know what to believe.’

I could certainly say with a clear conscience that I agreed with the last statement. I had lost count of the number of possible explanations for the death in 1932. I noted down this last theory regarding Hauk and said that I clearly had to talk to Kjell Arne himself.

‘Of course you must. Kjell Arne normally works late in the afternoon, so no doubt you will find him in the office at Lysaker. I would also appreciate it if you say as little as possible to my husband about our conversation, but I understand if you must mention it.’

I said that I could not promise anything, but that I would do my best.

She gave a tight-lipped smile, held out her hand and wished me luck with the investigation. She bravely kept up appearances as the stalwart, bourgeois housewife. I understood that Solveig Ramdal had not had an easy life, despite her material comfort. But I did not trust at all that she had told me everything she knew, either about 1932 or 1972. I also noticed on the way out that there were a lady’s hat and two men’s hats on the rack in the hallway, which made me think. The fact that I was being followed by a Soviet agent did not prove that he had been the shadow with the hat on the night Per Johan Fredriksen was killed.

It was half past three by the time I got to Lysaker and found the right building. I met a group of three office workers on their way out. The premises of Kjell Arne Ramdal & Co. were clearly larger than those of Per Johan Fredriksen A/S. They had an entire floor of offices, providing more than enough space for the ten or so employees who were still hard at work.

A receptionist in her early twenties, who resembled an air hostess, smiled broadly at me, but then became more serious when I showed her my police ID. I said that I had to speak to Director Ramdal in person immediately and with a slight tremble in her finger, she pointed me in the direction of the corridor.

I found him at the end of the corridor, in the largest office on the floor, behind what was, no doubt, the largest desk in the office. He was none too pleased to see me, but held his composure even better than his wife.

‘So,’ he said briskly, as soon as I had settled in the chair in front of his desk and politely declined the offers of coffee and mineral water.

Kjell Arne Ramdal sat with his elbows on his desk like a great shield between us.

I started by asking whether there was any news on the possible acquisition of Fredriksen’s companies.

He replied shortly that there was not, but, given developments in the case, he had not expected there to be. He had personally rung Johan Fredriksen earlier in the day to give his condolences on the loss of his sister and had told him that under the circumstances, a twenty-four-hour extension of the deadline was acceptable. It had been a ‘constructive’ conversation, and he was still of the opinion that the takeover would go ahead.

He spoke confidently and almost enthusiastically about the deal, then stopped abruptly.

I decided to get straight to the point and said that it would appear that Vera Fredriksen had been murdered. As a matter of procedure, I had to ask both the family and others involved of their whereabouts that afternoon.

Kjell Arne Ramdal didn’t move a muscle when he answered.

‘I was here at the office all day, from nine yesterday morning until I drove home at half past four. Almost all of the staff here attended a conference in the second half of the day, but the office manager and receptionist should be able to confirm that I was here until they left at half past three. Then I was here on my own for the last hour.’

I noted down that Kjell Arne Ramdal’s alibi had fallen apart in front of my very eyes. Encouraged by this, I took a leap back to 1932.

‘The situation regarding Per Johan Fredriksen’s death is still unclear. However, some new information has come to light regarding the death of Eva Bjølhaugen in 1932. We have found some papers that were left by Per Johan Fredriksen and other material that could indicate that he had discovered how she had been murdered and that he suspected that you were behind it.’

Kjell Arne Ramdal raised his eyebrows, but otherwise remained calm. I was not sure whether to be impressed or frightened by his being so calm in the face of such a serious accusation from a dead friend.

‘If Per Johan Fredriksen had found out how Eva was murdered, it would be impressive – we have all given it a lot of thought over the years. The fact that he suspected me is less surprising. A distance had grown between us in the last few years. I figured that he was either jealous of my success or thought that I had something to do with Eva’s death. He had reason to be jealous, but not to suspect me of murder. If I am to give a more informed answer to the accusation, you might like to tell me how she was murdered and why Per Johan Fredriksen thought that I did it.’

Kjell Arne Ramdal looked at me intensely when he spoke, and it seemed to me that his elbows were weighing more heavily on the desk.

‘Fredriksen believed, correctly, that she had been drowned. He suspected you because he had seen you at a quarter past six that day coming out of her room with a glass in your hand.’

Kjell Arne Ramdal sat behind his desk with impressive and irritating composure. There was not so much as a ripple of surprise to be seen on his face. Although it could perhaps be detected in the ten-second pause he took this time before speaking. And then it was only to say: ‘Should I perhaps call one of my lawyers at this point?’

I replied that he was more than welcome to do so should he wish, but that there was still no reason to, if he told me the truth and it did not involve a crime.

He nodded, almost gratefully, at that. ‘Excellent. Then I will. I did not commit a crime of any sort. And what I did was also morally acceptable, given that I was at the time a young man without obligations. It was before I got involved with my wife, who at that point was engaged to someone else. It is true that I was in Eva Bjølhaugen’s room that afternoon. But nothing dramatic happened there. She was alive and unharmed when I left the room at a quarter past six, and I did not see her again until she was discovered dead two hours later.’