Hans Lahlum - Chameleon People

Harriet Henriksen had slowed down again and seemed distant. Suddenly she reminded me of Oda Fredriksen. It struck me that the two women in Per Johan Fredriksen’s life, despite their differences, had both weathered these terrible days and resolutely clung to their love for him.

I thought about how we still only had his mistress’s word that Per Johan Fredriksen had not in fact broken up with her on his last visit, as he had intended to do in his letter. And I also only had her word that he had hinted at it but then changed his mind. I had to be open to the possibility that she had run out after him, begged him to come back and then stabbed him when he walked away. The fact that the murder weapon was a kitchen knife fitted well with this theory.

I consequently needed to check Harriet Henriksen’s alibi, so I asked tactfully if the last time she saw her beloved it had been through the window.

She understood what I was asking. After a rather tense moment, she replied that she had seen him from the window and that she had not gone out, either with him or after him.

I apologized before asking if there was anyone who could confirm this.

She, for her part, apologized that she could only reply that there was no one. No one had come to see her before I rang the next day. She had no one she could call to talk to about her situation – not after he had gone, nor after she had heard the news that he had been stabbed.

She still just called him ‘he’ and looked so lonely sitting there on her own. I felt a great deal of sympathy for her. But she did have a motive, and she was the only one of those involved who was still alive and had been in Majorstuen on the evening that Per Johan Fredriksen had died. So when I carried on to Sognsvann, I did not yet dare strike Harriet Henriksen from my list of possible murderers.

Johan Fredriksen lived in a terraced house a few hundred yards from the lake at Sognsvann. His house was just as I had imagined it would be: larger than was usual for a single lawyer of thirty-five without his own firm, but incomparable to his father’s or Kjell Arne Ramdal’s in terms of size.

The door was opened no more than ten seconds after I had rung the bell. Seeing him again, I was more struck than ever by how much he resembled me in appearance. And if his sister’s death had caused any emotional response, it was not possible to see it on his face or hear it in his voice.

‘Welcome,’ he said in a staccato tone, and then turned around. I followed him into the living room. It was also more or less as I had imagined: clean and tidy, but not very exciting. If there had been any photographs of girlfriends, Johan Fredriksen had removed them before I got there. There was not a single picture up on the walls, and as far as I could see, the bookcase only contained books about law and economics.

The only thing lying on the living-room table was a pile of accounts for Per Johan Fredriksen A/S.

I pointed at the accounts and asked if there was any news about the business and the possible takeover.

He told me that the offer was still on the table at a few million more than the actual value, and that the family were inclined to accept the offer and move on. That was what had been agreed at a meeting the evening before last, but they had not managed to talk about it again since Vera’s death.

I suddenly thought about what Solveig Ramdal had said about her husband also being a businessman in his private life. The same could be said of Johan Fredriksen. However, when he started to speak again, it was apparent he was a much younger and softer businessman.

‘You must excuse me if I appear to be unmoved. My youngest sister’s death has affected me deeply. I am just not as good as my father and others at showing my feelings. In fact, I am not as good as my father at anything.’

I asked him how he saw his relationship with his sisters.

‘I am not really very close to them in any way, I have to admit. We are different ages, have different personalities and interests. Vera and I never argued, as far as I can remember, but that is perhaps because we did not talk much. Ane Line was closer to her – perhaps because they are both girls. Although I think more recently, they were talking less. As far as I understood it, they had argued about something. Ane Line and I live our own lives and have our own opinions, but we do speak when needs be. We are both pragmatists, in our own way.’

I noted down that I should ask Ane Line Fredriksen what she and her sister had argued about. Otherwise, this was more or less what their mother had said, and I did not think there was much to be garnered here.

So we looked at each other and waited. Then Johan Fredriksen got up, went over to the drinks cabinet and poured himself a glass of wine. He raised the bottle, looking at me questioningly, then nodded with understanding when I said that I could not drink on the job.

‘Many gifted young men have bemoaned the fact that they are not the only and eldest son of a rich father. For me it was the opposite. I often thought when I was growing up that it would have been nice to have a brother, who could blaze the trail and relieve some of the pressure and expectation. But I had no older brother, only two younger sisters. My father was kind enough never to complain. But I could tell that he was disappointed, and I heard others say the same. They said that I was doing fine, but that they had expected more of Per Johan Fredriksen’s only son. I have always been good, but never great. My sporting achievements were good, my results were good, but I was never the best at anything. I lacked the charisma of which my father had so much. My greatest triumph in life is that I was the fifth best in my year to graduate from law school. The examiner said, “You are not the brightest one here, but you are the one who works hardest to be so.” I took that as a compliment and hoped that it heralded my breakthrough.’

He paused briefly and finished his wine. I was glad that he was opening up, and allowed him the time to pour another glass before I said: ‘But it was not?’

He grimly shook his head.

‘No, it was not. Father congratulated me and smiled, but I could see that coming fifth, which was such an achievement for me, meant nothing to him. He still didn’t want to involve me in running the business, and wouldn’t give me an advance on my inheritance so I could start my own practice. “You are not robust enough yet to stand on your own two feet as a businessman,” he had said to me with this kind but patronizing smile. Apparently I had to get more work experience and preferably also a sensible and helpful wife. So once again, I did what he told me, got a boring job as an associate, while I waited for better times.’

‘And now you finally have your chance – because of a tragedy,’ I said.

He nodded, but did not smile. ‘Not just a tragedy, but a double tragedy. I inherited around twenty million when my father was killed on Saturday, and another ten million yesterday when my little sister died. Suddenly, I have all the opportunities I ever wanted, but this is certainly not how I had wished for it to happen. My little sister was killed, wasn’t she? She attempted suicide once a few years ago, but I’m sure that’s not what happened this time.’

I confirmed that it did look like his sister had been murdered. In addition, we now also had to keep all possibilities open regarding his father’s killer, as a new witness had thrown doubt on whether the boy on the red bicycle had done it.

Johan Fredriksen took this news with unexpected composure. He put his wine glass down and looked at me with a serious, though not unfriendly, expression on his face.

‘Then I have a problem, which I am afraid may cause a problem for you too. I was here at home on both Saturday evening and yesterday afternoon, but have no one to confirm that.’