Hans Lahlum - Chameleon People

As I sat there, I understood better than ever before the problems that some people, whom I had met in connection with other murder investigations, had with simply getting on with their lives after a dramatic event. Suddenly I thought of Hauk Rebne Westgaard, who had had to live with the pain of losing his girlfriend, and who had not been able to touch anyone else since. I at least had hope, something that he had never had. Miriam might come back unharmed and healthy. But I had less and less faith in that happening. It felt far more likely that I myself would have to live as a human fly – without Miriam, but with the constant doubt and feelings of guilt.

I went to bed at midnight – not because I was tired, but because I could not stand being awake alone any longer. And I hoped that tomorrow would be a better day – it could hardly be much worse – and that it would come sooner if I went to bed.

I couldn’t bring myself to believe that Patricia had anything to do with the kidnapping. But I did not dare to rule it out completely, and came to the conclusion that I would have to confront her with the fact that I had seen her. It did cross my mind that she might have gone there to look at the scene of the crime, even though it would be very unlike her and I could not imagine what she would achieve by doing so. But then the car she was in had passed the scene of the crime at quite a speed and she had not even taken a sideways glance.

It was quite simply a mystery, what Patricia had been doing there and who had been in the car with her. I wondered if she might in fact be a chameleon person herself, with a dangerous side that I had never experienced. I recalled Solveig Ramdal’s words about self-preservation being the driving force for all people in critical situations. And I asked myself if Patricia had pointed to the Soviet lead in a bid to divert attention.

I fell asleep eventually around one o’clock in the morning, but the night that followed was as restless and horrible as the day had been. I woke up and fell asleep again three times between nightmares. Each time I woke, it was with the dream of Miriam’s sleeping face on the pillow beside me, only then to discover to my distress that the pillow was empty. And each time I fell asleep, it was with the image of Patricia’s grim and angry face in the car window in my mind.

Friday, 24 March 1972 was one of the rare days when I was woken by the telephone, not the alarm clock. It rang at ten past seven. I was instantly wide awake and ran in my underwear out of the bedroom into the living room. I managed to get to the telephone in time, but this only led to disappointment.

I heard the voice of a Dagbladet journalist on the other end, who wondered if I could confirm or preferably deny the headlines in VG.

I replied that unfortunately I could not comment in the light of the ongoing investigation. Then I hung up – and told myself that it was going to be another long and demanding day. This feeling was reinforced when Aftenposten then called fifteen minutes later, for the same reason as Dagbladet.

Verdens Gang was not out yet, but according to its competitors, the whole of the front page was going to be covered by a large photograph of Per Johan Fredriksen under the headline: ‘Murdered top politician may have been spy’.

Verdens Gang had somehow found out that Fredriksen was suspected of being a spy. However, the newspaper had no stronger evidence than that he had several times been seen to have ‘shady conversations’ with representatives from the Soviet Embassy, and that the police security service had shown ‘a very strong interest’ in him. It was therefore pertinent to question if this was in any way connected to the murder of Per Johan Fredriksen and perhaps to his daughter’s mysterious death a few days later.

In the final paragraph, it was asked if it was right for Norway to enter into an important new agreement with a country that may have assassinated one of its leading politicians, though this was as yet unproven. And the final sentence went as far as to say that the answer should be no.

I wondered for a brief moment what Prime Minister Trond Bratten would think when he read this. Then I thought about how it would be for the remaining members of Per Johan Fredriksen’s family to wake to this. At which point I realized that I should perhaps have informed them yesterday evening, and that I should certainly do so now.

Two dry and quickly eaten pieces of bread later, I sat down by the telephone. It was twenty to eight and all three were at home. Johan Fredriksen sounded as though he was not an early bird or was just in a bad mood. I said that we were trying to establish what kind of contact Per Johan Fredriksen might have had with the Soviet Embassy. But we currently had no evidence that he had done anything illegal or that it had anything to do with the deaths.

He thanked me for the information and said that his father and all his various activities had not been on his mind of late. The agreement with Ramdal had been signed yesterday afternoon, and Johan Fredriksen wanted to use the weekend to think about what he was going to do with the inheritance and his life now.

I got the impression that perhaps all was not well between him and his girlfriend, but I saw no reason to plague him further by asking.

Ane Line Fredriksen, not unexpectedly, showed more interest in the spy claims against her father. At first she thought that it must be a mistake, but then ten seconds later said she no longer knew what to think about her father. She had never heard mention of this and it felt like yet another betrayal of the family. Otherwise, she could confirm that the contract with Ramdal had been signed without any fuss the day before. It had been a ‘good and rather boring meeting’ at Kjell Ramdal’s office. I did not find that hard to imagine.

It occurred to me that I should perhaps also mention Miriam’s disappearance to Ane Line Fredriksen. I thought that she would be interested. But I doubted whether she could tell me anything that I did not know already: there was nothing to indicate that Miriam’s disappearance had anything to do with her work for the SPP. But I guessed that Ane Line Fredriksen would have a lot of questions and I did not feel like talking to her about the matter right now. So I finished the call, saying that I also had to inform her mother.

Oda Fredriksen sounded a little stronger and a little sharper today, even though it was still early. She took the news of the Verdens Gang headlines unexpectedly well: ‘I have heard so many strange allegations about my husband that nothing shocks me any more.’ Then she added hastily: ‘But this is by far the worst. It is unthinkable that my husband would have betrayed his country in any way – and even more unthinkable that he would have done something that could have such negative consequences for the family, without first discussing it with me.’

I was not entirely convinced of this. It seemed to me that Oda Fredriksen was almost more upset that her husband had been accused of spying than she had been at the news of her daughter’s death. But I took it as a good sign, regardless, that she had rallied.

As I spoke to her, I was suddenly overwhelmed by a sense of loss and concern for Miriam, mixed with a guilty conscience because I had not thought of her until now. So I hastily finished the conversation and promised to contact Oda Fredriksen as soon as there was any news. It was now eight o’clock. I was wide awake and keen to know if there was any news down at the station.

I was in the office by a quarter past eight. Danielsen had knocked off at around two o’clock in the morning, but had asked a constable to continue following up on Miriam’s disappearance as a matter of urgency. There was, however, not much information to follow up, nor many leads. No tips had come in and it was still a mystery what Miriam had done in those final few hours before she disappeared. Her student room had been searched, but no clues had been found.