Hans Lahlum - Chameleon People

The shadow of a crooked smiled slipped over Hauk Rebne Westgaard’s lips when he said this. I was sitting out of his reach with a loaded gun and as far as I could see, he was unarmed. And yet I found it alarming to be sitting opposite him.

I remembered what Patricia had said about chameleon people and thought that I had certainly seen Hauk Rebne Westgaard’s other faces. It struck me then that I had discovered that one of the five people still alive from 1932 was indeed a murderer, only it was a murder that had nothing to do with my investigation.

I heard myself say: ‘But even though everyone agreed that that was how your father died, it was not.’

Hauk Rebne Westgaard stared at me without seeing, without blinking. Again, a hard, almost mocking smile played on his lips before he answered.

‘It could well be that you are right. But if anyone pushed my father to his death, it couldn’t be proved now. And what is more, the limitation period expired years ago. And it is in no way connected to the murders that you are investigating. For my part, I think about it as little as possible and hope that others do the same.’

This almost sounded like a threat, coming from Hauk Rebne Westgaard’s mouth. He realized this himself and raised an apologetic hand to show that it was not meant as such.

So there we sat, with this peculiar balance of power between us. He knew that I knew, and I knew that I could not pursue the case in any way. We were both right. The fact that I knew what had happened, and that he knew what was true, was of no practical importance.

‘Your father’s death was a saving grace not only for you, but also for your sister,’ I said.

He nodded quickly, and blinked his eyes for what felt like the first time since we had started to talk about his father’s passing.

‘I see my father’s death as inevitable, given his state of mind at the time. But I also believe that it was a saving grace for several people – not least Inger.’

I nodded pensively and said that events that were relevant to this year’s investigation were of course of more interest right now. Then I asked if he had anything more to add to his statement about Eva’s death.

He looked me straight in the eye and said: ‘No.’

Without looking away, I said: ‘You could still have murdered Per Johan Fredriksen last Saturday – if you had found out that it was he who killed Eva, and perhaps also if you had found out that it was he who had been in her bed.’

He did not flinch, and replied: ‘I could have. But I still do not know who killed Eva or who was in her bed. I have no idea who killed Per Johan. I was on my way back here when he was killed.’

That was the last thing that was said. He remained sitting at the table, while I stood up and left.

I had been sitting there face to face with a person who had killed his own father – and never regretted it. It was a frightening experience. Now I understood a little more of what Per Johan Fredriksen had meant, if he really had said that his childhood friend Hauk was a man he both respected and feared.

As I was driving out of Holmestrand at around eleven o’clock, I could tell that my working day was going to be long and busy. So I stopped at a telephone box and rang Ane Line Fredriksen at home. She picked up on the second ring.

‘Hello, hello. Who is calling me?’ said an unexpectedly happy and curious voice at the other end.

It was both calming and refreshing. I quickly expressed my condolences for her sister’s death, and said that I had some more questions that I would like to ask her as soon as she had the time and felt able to meet me. I added that I also had some new information that she might be interested to know.

Whether it was the offer of new information that made all the difference was unclear, but the response was certainly very positive. Ane Line Fredriksen said that she had done what she could for the moment, regarding the funeral arrangements, and that right now she was sitting sorting out some party matter. She could come to my office as soon as she managed to find a friend who could babysit. One o’clock should be fine, if that suited?

I had no sooner said that it would be fine, before she replied: ‘Great. See you at one, then. Now let me find a babysitter’ – and put down the phone. I did not even have time to ask which party she worked for. After the phone call, I sat in the car and speculated for a few minutes, but soon the investigation took hold of my attention again and I carried on to Oslo, driving straight to the offices of Per Johan Fredriksen A/S.

The offices were just as short of space as last time and the faces, as far as I could see, were the same. The office manager was just finishing his lunch, which comprised a cup of coffee, two doughnuts and a piece of cake, but he threw down his serviette as soon as he saw me through the glass door.

The situation was all a bit awkward. The man gave me a friendly smile and made the time to talk to me, even though there was a huge pile of contracts and an even bigger pile of other papers on his desk. And I had a letter in my pocket where the same man confessed to embezzlement. I was here to ask critical questions that might determine whether he was not only a human chameleon, but also a murderer.

So I braced myself, and said that I had a few more questions for him. He said that he was more than happy to answer them, but that we should perhaps call in Svendsen, the accountant, straightaway as well.

I said, in a hushed voice, that I had to ask about something that involved him personally, in connection with a document that had been found in Fredriksen’s estate.

The office manager sank a little deeper into his chair. I could see beads of sweat break out on his forehead. But he managed to control himself and replied, in an equally hushed voice, that he would definitely prefer it if Svendsen were part of the conversation.

I said that was fine and let Svendsen in, who just happened to be standing outside the office door.

It was when Svendsen came in and sat down on the chair beside Jørgensen, only to pull it a little closer, that I understood the relationship between them. To be precise, it was when the accountant laid a protective, almost loving hand, on the office manager’s shoulder. The contact lasted barely a second, but it was long enough and clear enough for me to understand.

I started by asking a straightforward question as to whether there was any news on the takeover plans.

They both nodded in sync. Nothing had been signed yet, but Johan Fredriksen had called, on behalf of the inheritors, and asked if they could go through the conditions and draw up a contract for signature the next day. The heirs had decided that it would be good to clarify the situation without delay. And the administration was in agreement, Svendsen said. But he didn’t smile and Jørgensen looked rather upset.

In anticipation of the change in ownership and new guidelines, any tenants in arrears would now have a further fourteen days, at least, to settle any outstanding payments, the office manager explained tactfully. They would be sending out a letter about it today, but I could certainly mention it to Mrs Lene Johansen, if I happened to talk to her, the accountant added helpfully.

This reminded me of Patricia’s question about the relationship between Lene Johansen and Fredriksen. I asked the office manager if he could remember roughly when Lene Johansen had worked there.

He furrowed his brow, pulled a file from one of the shelves, and flicked through it at remarkable speed.

‘She started here in May 1954, on ten hours a week. That did not give her much time to clean the whole floor here, but she was so happy to have something permanent. As far as I understood, her husband was not doing very well and money was short. She resigned in September 1956, as she was going to have a child. It was a very pleasant meeting, I remember. I said that it was a shame that she had to resign, but it was for a very good reason. She smiled and said that it was a much-longed-for child and that she had been trying for ten years. Erling and I talked about it on the odd occasion later and hoped that she and the child were well. It was very sad for us to witness their sorry fate.’