Hans Lahlum - Chameleon People

She stopped for a moment and looked at me expectantly, but carried on hastily when I waved her on.

‘The receptionist was not a stickler for rules and regulations, and I managed to get to my room without being seen. I met Vera, who was very agitated indeed. She only talked about the murder and there was nothing to indicate that she knew about my little secret. She had left the document in her father’s desk. But she told me that his theory was that Eva had been drowned and that it was my husband who had killed her. Vera said that she wanted to tell me before she went to the police, to tell them about this theory. I said that I appreciated it, and told her the truth – that I was not aware that my husband had committed murder, but could not rule it out either. I said that she should tell the police if she knew anything that might be relevant to her father’s death, but said that I would appreciate it if she did not mention our conversation. She promised not to, and we parted as friends around half past three. She was full of life and standing in the middle of the room when I left.’

She was breathing very heavily, but she held my eye as she spoke.

‘So what you are saying is that when you went to the hotel, you had planned for a situation where you were willing to kill Vera Fredriksen if she was about to reveal your secret? And you claim that that situation never arose?’

Solveig Ramdal started slightly, but managed to keep impressive control over her voice.

‘What I am saying, very clearly, is that no such situation arose and I did not kill Vera Fredriksen. What I thought and imagined about the various situations that never arose is a matter for me, my conscience and God.’

Solveig Ramdal let out a long breath, then looked at me with pleading eyes. She gave a curt ‘no’ in answer to my question as to whether she had anything to add to her earlier statement about the day on which Per Johan Fredriksen died.

I thought that this made the picture of what happened in 1932 and 1972 clearer, but frustratingly didn’t make it any clearer who might have committed the murders. Solveig Ramdal could be lying and she could have carried out one or both of the murders. But I had no proof. If her story was true, it gave me few leads. In fact, Vera Fredriksen’s death became even more of a riddle. Given that Solveig Ramdal was the mysterious hotel guest and that the three telephone calls that Vera Fredriksen had made were to her mother, Solveig Ramdal and me, it was even more puzzling how and why the murderer had gone to the hotel. This weakened the credibility of her story, but did not disprove it.

Solveig Ramdal appeared to have fully regained control when she spoke again.

‘I understand that my position is pretty weak and I would appear untrustworthy. So I can only hope that you soon find out the truth about all these murders, as it will prove that I did not kill anyone. I have lied to you in our previous conversations, for which I apologize profusely. But there was a danger that I would be accused of a murder I did not commit, or that the secret of a mistake in my youth would be uncovered and ruin my life. In the past few days I have thought a great deal about how people react in different situations. Even though it might take different forms, I believe that most people would, like me, do whatever they could to save their own skins. You can call it egotism, if you wish; I call it self-preservation. It sounds a bit nicer, even though the meaning is much the same.’

I interpreted her concluding words as showing some degree of self-awareness, without feeling any more certain that the rest of what she had told me was therefore true; she had lied to me too much already.

My final words to Solveig Ramdal before I left were that she should stay locally until the investigation was closed, and that I had no need at the moment to tell her husband about her secret. She gave a little nod. She stayed sitting on the chair like a timorous kitten, staring out into thin air.

I found my own way out. It was only when I was in the car that I realized it was now ten to four, and that I had an important meeting back at the station at four. And it was only when I was heading back into the centre of town that I realized that I had not seen even a glimpse of the man in the hat today. Not that I missed the Soviet agent, but it did make me wonder what his sudden disinterest might mean.

I met them on my way into the police station at five past four. They made a very odd couple: he was still a young man, with a lorgnette, suit and hat, and she was an older middle-aged woman with nothing on her head, wearing a worn green winter coat. There was an almost comical performance when both Edvard Rønning Junior and I apologized at the same time for being a few minutes late.

Once we were settled in my office, however, the seriousness of the situation was obvious. To my relief, Lene Johansen was not visibly broken by the events of the past few days. But she was still a tired and sombre woman. Her hair looked a bit greyer than when I had first met her, and I could easily have taken her to be over sixty. There was something heavy and slow about her movements when she sat down.

She looked at me questioningly without saying anything. Her lawyer said: ‘Thank you for the invitation to come here. We await with great interest to hear your update and questions.’

I quickly filled them in on developments. I told them that we now had an eyewitness, an old lady who lived in Majorstuen who claimed to have seen the murder, and she was adamant that the perpetrator did not limp. But there was still considerable uncertainty: the eyewitness was over a hundred and had not been able to give a description of the murderer. We had chosen to keep all possibilities open and to continue the investigation. Information had been gathered that could give several people possible motives for killing Fredriksen, but so far we did not have sufficient evidence to arrest anyone. Due to the ongoing investigation I was not able to give them any more details.

Lene Johansen listened attentively. She nodded gratefully when I said that I had been in contact with the company and that she need not worry about being evicted until the case had been solved.

‘Well, we will have to accept that as a provisional account and hope to hear better news in the coming days. What are your questions for my client?’

I looked at Lene Johansen and said that as a matter of procedure we now had to follow all leads and all possible links. I therefore had to ask her to explain why she had not previously mentioned that she had any connection with Fredriksen and his company.

The lawyer looked a little taken aback, but his client quickly rose to the challenge.

‘Yes, I realized afterwards that I should have mentioned that I cleaned there a couple of evenings a week for two years. But that was ages ago now, and I never really saw much of Fredriksen. It was the office manager I spoke to when I was employed and when I resigned.’

The lawyer looked pointedly at me and asked if the matter was now clarified.

I trusted Patricia and was bolstered by my success with Solveig Ramdal. So I carried on unperturbed.

‘I am afraid we can’t give up that quickly. It is true that Fredriksen himself was not often in the office. But you were a beautiful young woman, and according to the staff, he showed great interest in you. Indeed, the staff speculated on whether or not you might be meeting elsewhere as well. Not least when you resigned because you were going to have a child, after having been married for many years without children.’

Rønning dropped his lorgnette and stared aghast at his client, making no attempt to pick it up. And she sat there, frantically shaking her head.