Hans Lahlum - Chameleon People

The wall clock struck three as I stepped into the hall of the Ramdals’ house in Frognerkilen. I stood face to face with Kjell Arne Ramdal, who appeared to be on his way out.

As was to be expected, he did not smile, but nor did he express any kind of concern or displeasure at seeing me again. He simply informed me that he had come home for a meal because he had an important business meeting that was starting in half an hour.

I said that it was actually his wife I needed to speak to this time.

He nodded briskly and went on his way without showing any interest whatsoever in what I might want to talk to his wife about.

So there I was in the hallway with Solveig Ramdal. She very definitely did not look happy to see me, but kept up appearances nonetheless and said: ‘Welcome back. Let’s go into the living room again.’ She closed the door, even though we were alone in the house. This little detail reinforced my impression that I was on the right track, and it was a very important one.

‘So, what news from the investigation?’ she asked as she went over to the leather chair.

I went on the offensive and told her that we now knew who had been in the bed together with Eva just before she died, thanks to, among other things, new analyses of the hairs that had been found there.

‘I see,’ Solveig Ramdal said, looking straight at me. There was no great change in her demeanour, but a slight tension in her voice galvanized me into making that final leap.

‘And so we discovered that you have lied to me in all your previous statements. The mysterious man in Eva’s bed was not your husband, or Per Johan Fredriksen or Hauk Rebne Westgaard. It was you.’

I knew before I had even finished that I had hit the bull’s eye, with Patricia’s good help.

Solveig Ramdal started as if she had received an electric shock. Then suddenly she transformed into a wild cat. She was almost ready to leap from her chair, her fingers curled like claws. And when she replied, she hissed more than spoke.

‘You must never tell another living soul – or it could be all the worse for you!’

I was prepared to defend myself physically if she moved in my direction. But she did not; I was at least four stone heavier than her and she was unarmed. But she looked like a wild animal in a cage as she remained seated on her chair, hissing, quivering, and staring at me with pure hatred. I waited a few seconds to reflect before I continued.

‘I do not want to create any problems in your private life, only to solve the murders. You have lied to me on several occasions in the course of this investigation, and threatening me now does not make your situation any better. In your own interests, you should just tell me the truth about what happened, immediately.’

Solveig Ramdal sat there fuming for a few seconds more. Suddenly she burst into tears. She sat with her face buried in her hands. After a couple of minutes she regained her composure, lowered her hands and spoke in a weak voice.

‘I am so sorry, I was desperate and not thinking clearly. For the past forty years, my worst nightmare has been that my secret would get out one day. My husband and children must never know. Yes, that’s right, I was in bed with Eva shortly before she died. She had asked me to come to her room at half past six. It was only a few minutes before we were in bed. We knew only too well that we did not have much time. At ten past seven, I sneaked out of her room and back into my own. She was alive and unharmed when I left her. I got up and dressed, while she lay in the bed naked. She smiled when she said “see you soon”. She did not say that she was expecting any more visitors. What happened after I left, I have no idea. What I said about hearing a bang at half past seven is true. I heard a bang and got worried, but hoped that it was nothing dramatic. I was terrified that we would be discovered and didn’t dare go into her room again to find out what had happened. It has haunted me ever since. Not knowing if I could have saved Eva if I had gone back. But I did not kill her. On the contrary, I loved her.’

This did not sound entirely implausible.

‘So that’s the story? Eva liked the attention of men, but in truth loved only women. And that was true of you too?’

She nodded and shook her head at the same time.

‘Yes and no. Eva only loved women and the attention, of course – or at least, that is what she told me. I thought at the time that I only loved women, but I realized afterwards that I could love both men and women. My experience with Eva and her death was a shock. I have since only been to bed with two men: my first fiancé and my husband. I tell myself that Solveig Thaulow was attracted to women, whereas Solveig Ramdal is quite normal and only loves men. It was a folly of my youth, but I have lived in fear ever since as a result. My husband and his family are very conservative and have spoken with utter disgust about women who are attracted to women. And the children are more like my husband than me. If this were to get out, I would not only risk divorce and being thrown out of my home, but also losing any contact with my family. So I beg you with all my heart not to let this go any further!’

She said this in an almost breathless whisper. Then she was silent and looked even smaller where she sat hunched up in a chair that was suddenly too big. The wild cat had vanished, and left in its place was a small, trembling kitten. The kitten did not look in the slightest bit dangerous, but I had seen the furious wild cat that also lay hidden in Solveig Ramdal. And I did not doubt that it could kill if it felt threatened and was given the opportunity.

We were caught in an uncomfortable situation, just as I had been with her husband the day before. Solveig Ramdal could not prove to me that Eva Bjølhaugen had been alive when she left the hotel room that day in 1932. I could not prove the opposite. We still only had Solveig Ramdal’s word for the bang at half past seven.

The limitation period for the murder in 1932 had long since elapsed and it was really only interesting in terms of the investigation because of its relevance to the murders in 1972. The story that Solveig Ramdal had now told me did not give her a new motive for the murder of Per Johan Fredriksen. On the other hand, it did give her a possible motive for killing Vera Fredriksen, if she had been about to uncover what actually happened in 1932. And that was true regardless of whether she had killed Eva Bjølhaugen, or just gone to bed with her.

I promptly changed tack, looked her straight in the eye and asked if she would now like to change her statement regarding the day Vera Fredriksen died.

And because we were looking straight into each other’s eyes, we both knew what happened next. She was confused and hesitated for a few seconds too long to be able to lie afterwards. So she bit her lip and answered.

‘Yes, I am afraid that I have to do that as well. Apart from the fact that we both had our clothes on, it is a very similar story forty years on. I was in the hotel room and met Vera, and it must have been shortly before she was killed. But she too was alive and unharmed when I left. And again, it was she who asked me to come, but all we did was talk for a few minutes.’

I asked for more details about what happened. Solveig Ramdal continued without stopping to think. Either she was telling the truth, or her mind worked very quickly.

‘I knew Vera a little, but it was still a surprise when she rang me. She said that she had found a document in her father’s desk that might shed some light on what had happened in 1932. She had gone to the hotel herself and thought that what her father had written could be true. But she wanted to discuss it with someone who had been there at the time, before going to the police. I didn’t know what she knew, but was panicked that she might know my secret and reveal it. So I said that I would get there as quickly as I could. I was beside myself with desperation. Then I put a tea towel over the receiver, rang the hotel and reserved a hotel room, pretending to be a neurotic.’