Hans Lahlum - Chameleon People

For a few moments, I forgot the murder mysteries, the suspicions of espionage and worry about tomorrow’s headlines. My mind and body froze.

Far off in the distance I heard Danielsen’s voice say: ‘She sounded very agitated. But of course I did not ask what it was about, as I presumed it was of a personal nature.’

The words were friendly, as was the voice, but I detected a forced kindness that left a bad taste in my mouth – which was only made worse by the pat he gave me on the shoulder. Danielsen worked hard, and as far as anyone in the station knew, had not had a girlfriend since the mid-sixties. He was well known for his quiet schadenfreude when things were not going well in his colleagues’ relationships.

I said that it was probably personal, but there was no need to worry. I could tell by Danielsen’s smile that he did not believe me, which I could understand, as I did not entirely believe it myself. But whatever the case, I could not bear to see or hear any more of Danielsen right now. So I thanked him for the message, and with a stiff smile, wished him a pleasant evening shift before slipping quickly into my office.

The wall clock showed thirty-three minutes past six. I grabbed the phone and called the halls of residence. But the phone was not answered by Miriam or anyone else. I called the number twice and let it ring for a long time, without it making any difference.

So I rang Patricia instead. She answered on the second ring. It felt good to hear her familiar voice, even though all she said was: ‘Yes, it’s me.’

So I quickly said that there was a good deal of new information, but we were still not any closer to solving the case. I still had a lot to do, so I did not know when I might be able to call her or drop by.

She said with a degree of tension in her voice that she would try to be available for me for the next couple of hours, wished me luck, and hung up.

It was now nearly twenty to seven. I hurried out of my office and then out of the station. I was very unsure of what was about to happen, but one thing was clear and that was that under no circumstances could I not be home by seven o’clock this evening.

I opened the door to the flat at five to seven. It was dark, quiet and empty. I was glad to be home first this time, but there was still something unnerving about the darkness.

Without a thought for the electricity bill, I turned on the lights in all the rooms. Then I went and stood by the window and looked down the road.

As I stood there, I did not doubt for a moment that Miriam would come. She was sometimes a couple of minutes later than agreed, when the bus was delayed, or she had missed the one she planned to take. But she had never not come as agreed. And I was convinced that she would come on time today given that she had suggested the time herself.

With every minute that passed I became increasingly worried about what Miriam would have to say when she came. I had only one cause for guilt and one secret from her, but it felt heavier and more treacherous by the second.

It seemed to me that the most likely explanation was that Miriam had somehow found out about my renewed contact with Patricia. In which case, no matter how well I now knew Miriam, I was not sure at all how she would react. Anything seemed possible, from her pulling a face and accepting that it was necessary, to her threatening to break off the engagement. Of course, I hoped that her reaction would be closer to the first, but had a horrible feeling that it might be the latter. I regretted more and more as the minutes passed and Miriam did not appear that I had not told her myself that I had been in touch with Patricia.

The minutes dragged by as I stood there alone with all my doubts and fears. The buses ran more frequently at this time of day, but delays were more often the rule than the exception. Thus it was almost impossible to guess when Miriam would come.

At two minutes to seven, I still believed she would be on time. But the clock crept up to the hour, without her appearing out of the dark.

One and a half minutes later there was a movement down on the street, but to my disappointment, it turned out to be an elderly lady from the neighbourhood walking her dog. My anxiety increased when another movement at three minutes past seven proved to be an old neighbour. I followed him with my eyes until he let himself in the front door. Miriam was still nowhere to be seen when I looked up again. I could feel my pulse racing.

At six minutes past seven, I tried another tactic. I moved away from the window and crossed the room to the telephone. It looked just as it always had and did not make a sound. I thought that it was strange that Miriam had not phoned if she knew she was going to be late, but of course she might have tried before I got home. I went back to my post by the window, with the intense wish that Miriam would now be in view.

She was not. There was not a living soul to be seen on the dark evening street.

Then I started to get annoyed that Miriam, having summoned me for seven o’clock, had not bothered to come on time herself. But this soon spilled over into fear. I felt painfully convinced that Miriam had tried to get here on time, but something out there in the dark had prevented her. The bus could have broken down, or something else equally undramatic, but as the minutes passed, I thought such an everyday occurrence was less and less likely. A numbing fear that something had happened to my fiancée overwhelmed me.

At twelve minutes past seven, I could not bear to stand by the window doing nothing any longer. I had to do something. I went over to the telephone again and with a trembling finger dialled the number of the halls of residence.

The telephone was answered by a happy-sounding voice that I recognized. It belonged to Katrine Rudolfsen, a very nice, if dialectically challenged, friend of Miriam’s who had the room next door to hers.

I did not want to worry Katrine unnecessarily, and tried to sound as calm as possible, but I thought I could feel a slight tremor in my voice as I said: ‘Hello, this is Kolbjørn Kristiansen. Is Miriam there?’

There was a few seconds’ silence before Katrine answered. And when she did, I became absolutely convinced that something serious had happened. It was not only what she said, but her voice as well.

‘No, but is she not there? How strange. I met Miriam rushing out when I came back from university about three quarters of an hour ago. I asked where she was going as we passed, and she said she was going to yours and might be out all evening. It’s a bit strange that she wouldn’t be there yet…’

Katrine’s voice sounded frightened. I said that she might have got delayed en route to mine, but that it was rather odd. If Miriam had left three quarters of an hour ago, she should have been here by now.

I asked Katrine to stay on the line, put down the receiver and went over to the window again. I thought it looked even darker out there than before, but could still see no one there.

So I went back to the telephone and said to Katrine that I would wait for another five minutes before driving up to the halls of residence.

I waited by the window for three minutes. Then I ran out, crossed the empty square outside the building, and got into my car.

Katrine was waiting and opened the door as soon as I rang the bell, but she shook her head clumsily before I had a chance to ask anything. Miriam had neither come back nor phoned.

I suggested that, given the situation, we should perhaps look in her room to see if we could find any clues. I did not have a key, but knew that Katrine did. She said that she already had, but had not found anything that might help explain. And nor did I when I made a quick inspection.