Hans Lahlum - Chameleon People

I looked at my boss as I spoke, and to my huge relief, he nodded in agreement. I hoped, while I waited for the interpreter to finish, that my boss would think the same about my second reason.

Again, we did not have to wait long for the vice-ambassador’s reply.

‘The vice-ambassador is adamant that there has been no improper contact. Various representatives from the embassy participate, as part of their work to build a friendly relationship between our countries, in a large number of arrangements and talk to various people in this connection. It is perfectly natural that Fredriksen may have spoken to a number of them. To be on the safe side, we have checked with all our employees and can assure you that none of them have had anything other than short, fortuitous meetings with Fredriksen. We are not frightened to call anyone who claims otherwise a liar.’

The vice-ambassador was playing high stakes and spoke even faster than before. I thought I saw a hint of fear in the interpreter’s eyes when she said the latter, and hoped that she did not think the same about me. In the midst of it all, I was suddenly very impressed by the interpreter. It could not be easy to interpret such a fast-paced and intense conversation simultaneously – and her Norwegian was almost perfect.

I looked at my boss for a last time, and then turned back to the vice-ambassador. I felt a little frightened, but also rather angry. So I threw caution to the wind and my only trump card down onto the table.

‘The other thing that may have given rise to these unfounded suspicions is that a person with connections to the embassy has on several occasions appeared in my vicinity at various places linked to the investigation. This man is called Sergey Klinkalski, but we have reason to believe that his real name is Alexander Svasnikov.’

I quickly glanced sideways at my boss as I spoke. To my relief, he was calm. I did not dare take a breath while I waited for the answer. That was not the only reason the interpreter paused for a beat before she started to translate this time, I thought to myself.

As she spoke, the vice-ambassador’s face tightened. For the first time, he was quiet for a few seconds before answering. But his words were all the more rapid and hard as they broke the tense silence.

Then he jumped up and left the room – without shaking our hands or waiting for the translation. The interpreter held her mask, but there was a tremor in her voice when she relayed the translation after the door had slammed shut behind her.

‘The vice-ambassador has every reason to believe that it is purely a matter of unfortunate coincidence. He finds it hard to understand how this should give rise to unfounded suspicions, unless journalists have also been following the head of investigation, or unless the police themselves have informed the press. However, the vice-ambassador takes the matter very seriously and will immediately double-check this new information with Comrade Klinkalski. The vice-ambassador hopes that the investigation will soon have some results and urges the head of investigation to consider measures against the press if unfounded rumours are published in the papers tomorrow. Above all, it is hoped that this does not cause any problems for the pending agreement, and the embassy will do everything in its power to prevent this from happening.’

These final words almost sounded like a threat to me. The interpreter’s voice trembled a little as she said them. Then she stood up and closed the meeting by quickly shaking us both by the hand. Her hand was dry and trembled in mine. I smiled at her and got a fleeting smile in return. But before I could say any more than ‘goodbye’, she had turned and left the room.

My boss and I sat there and looked at each other, without wanting to say anything in the room under the eyes of Brezhnev. We did not have to wait long. Two minutes later the door was opened again.

The interpreter came back in, dressed in a thin red jacket, and said: ‘I will show you out.’

We followed her obediently through the corridors. She passed through reception with quick steps and carried on out onto Drammen Road and then a couple of blocks more before turning down a side street. I watched her go. She was dressed in thin clothes and wasn’t wearing anything on her head, and looked so small and wet in the early spring evening rain. The interpreter had certainly charmed me and I hoped that she was happy, despite what was obviously a demanding job.

We did not say a word until we were in the car and the engine was running. My boss’s first sentence came as a relief: ‘The prime minister was right about this being a very difficult situation. You handled it extremely well.’

I exhaled carefully, but felt anything but relaxed.

‘Thank you. I don’t think there was much more we could do in there. But what do we do now?’

My boss thought for a few seconds, and his voice was just as steady and solid as usual when he replied.

‘I will write a strictly confidential memorandum to the prime minister’s office about the meeting. Then I will draft a press release that we can send out if the papers print the reports we expect them to. You carry on with the investigation as planned. And we can assess the need for more resources first thing tomorrow morning. The contents of the press release will say something to the effect that while we do not suspect any foreigners to be involved or that the murder is connected to other countries, as the investigation is still ongoing, we have to keep all possibilities open.’

I replied just as we swung into the main police station: ‘I agree. But the whole thing does feel a bit like an iceberg: there is still an awful lot of it underwater and we can only guess the size of it.’

‘A good image. There is definitely something big and cold just under the surface. And I think it could be dangerous. I only hope that it is not dangerous for you.’

My boss had always shown me great trust in his taciturn and efficient way, and I had always appreciated it. Our drive back from the embassy was short and we only said a few sentences, but it felt somehow as though we were closer. At the same time, it felt as though we had never been faced with a more puzzling case – or a more demanding situation.

My boss quickly disappeared into his office after we got back. And I was unexpectedly stopped by DI Danielsen just as I was about to go into mine.

‘There you are at last, Kristiansen. I won’t stick my nose into the investigation by asking where you have been, but I received an urgent telephone call for you half an hour ago, and I promised to give you the message as soon as you were back.’

I was naturally curious to know who had called and for a moment glimpsed the possibility of a solution. However, the answer was more like a cold shower.

‘Miriam Filtvedt Bentsen – who is your fiancée, if I remember rightly. It was a short message: there is something that she has to talk to you about in person as soon as possible. She was clearly frustrated when I told her you were not here and I did not know where you were. She asked me to tell you that she will come to your flat at seven, and it is very important that you are there.’

It was another punch in what was already a difficult situation.

Miriam was very concerned about keeping as low a profile at my workplace as possible and had never left a telephone message before. She was also well aware that I did not particularly like Danielsen and had herself not formed a very good opinion of him when they had met briefly during a previous investigation. So the fact that she had left a message with him was surprising enough in itself. The content of the message made it even more unsettling. The ominous possibility that she might have heard that I had been in contact with Patricia again crossed my mind.