Jens Amundsen - Death on Pilot Hill

Sohlberg would later write down in his final report to the prosecutor that a smile briefly crossed Agnes Haugen’s face when he told her about the lunch box. During the interview however Sohlberg was not sure if she had indeed smiled.

After a long pause Agnes Haugen said:

“That’s a good question.”

Agnes Haugen’s brilliant response left Sohlberg dumbfounded. He had rarely met a suspect who could make such unresponsive and evasive answers to his questions while at the same time leading him on to other suspects. Sohlberg fell back on his time-tested question of ‘Why?’

“Fru Haugen. . why is it a good question?”

Another long pause. “Because the farm is where my husband and his brother were raped by their grandfather.”

Sohlberg let out a short and silent sigh. She had finally opened and walked through the door to incriminate her husband. “So you think that is linked to your stepson’s disappearance?”

“ You could say so.”

He admired her sly response. He offered her another door to further implicate her husband. “Actually. . Fru Haugen. . he was not their real grandfather. . right?”

“Ja.”

“Your husband and his brother were adopted. . were they not. . after being abandoned by their birth parents?”

“Ja.”

“Abandoned. . thrown away like garbage by the birth parents. . and then abandoned a second time by their adoptive parents. . who left them in the hands of the predator grandfather. Abandonment. . that’s life for the adopted.”

“Ja. . I know it first-hand because I too was adopted.”

“So. . Fru Haugen. . do you think that your husband or his brother or both of them took and killed your stepson Karl because your husband or his brother were abandoned and molested?”

“ You could say that. I couldn’t.”

“Why not?”

“I. . I’m not qualified. . am I?. . I’m not a detective. I’m not a shrink. I studied to be a teacher. . not a psychologist or a psychiatrist. . or a detective like you.”

Sohlberg’s had never felt as frustrated by a suspect’s answers. It was time to throw her another curve ball to keep her off balance. He shrugged and said:

“Ja. . Fru Haugen. . you are not trained as a psychologist. . psychiatrist. . or detective. But you are trained as a teacher. Is that why you taught Karl Haugen sign language?”

For the second time Sohlberg saw a dark and sharp look of worry or anger cross the soft almost chubby peaches-and-cream complected face of Agnes Haugen.

Her silence triggered another Sohlberg inquiry. “Fru Haugen. . why did you teach sign language to a boy who was not deaf or hearing impaired?”

“My husband and I thought it would be a good learning experience that would prepare Karl for school. . and increase his learning capacity. Some parents have their children learn music at an early age for the same reasons. We just happened to pick sign language.”

Sohlberg had finally caught her in a lie. Gunnar Haugen and everyone else had e-mails and other documents showing that Agnes Haugen was the only person who had decided to teach sign language to Karl. The lie would be useful in a prosecution. Therefore Sohlberg did not ask the follow-up question that he desperately wanted to ask Agnes Haugen as to whether she had in fact taught sign language to her stepson so that they could communicate in secret without anyone else knowing what she was telling the boy.

Sohlberg stared at Agnes Haugen. He switched his line of questioning back to the timeline to keep her off balance. “Fru Haugen. . let’s go back to the timeline for your whereabouts on June fourth. . Exactly where did you go from twelve-twenty when you left the gym to two o’clock when your husband saw you in the house after he came back from buying his lunch?”

“From twelve-twenty to two o’clock?. . I’m sure that I was driving around. . trying to get my baby to sleep.”

The clever evasion irked Sohlberg. “You’re sure you were driving around?. . I need you to be more than sure.”

“That’s the best I can do.”

The double meaning was not lost on Sohlberg who frowned and said:

“Fru Haugen. . where did you drive around?”

“I don’t remember. It was all a blur that day. I just drove around to calm down my baby daughter.”

“Your husband says that he’s never ever seen you driving around to calm the baby or get the baby to sleep.”

“He doesn’t know much. . he’s too busy. . too wrapped up in his work to notice these things at home. He manages a large department at Nokia. . By the way. . have you asked my husband where he was at that time?”

“We have. . it turns out that several closed circuit cameras caught him not just buying his lunch that day but also driving to and from the store.”

“I’m sure Detective that you will find plenty of video evidence that will show exactly where I was during those one-and-a-half hours if you work hard at it. . and treat me just like my husband.”

“Rest assured I will. . but first you must tell me where you went around driving. . did you go to downtown Oslo?. . Or downtown Lillehammer?. . Did you drive in the city or a small town. . or into a rural area. . maybe Lake Bogstad?”

“I don’t remember.”

“Maybe you drove north to Trondheim?”

“I don’t know.”

“Or down south towards Copenhagen?”

“I don’t know.”

“Or did you drive out to Stockholm?”

“I don’t know.”

“Alright. But don’t say that I didn’t try to help you Fru Haugen.”

“How?. . How would you help me?”

“I gave you a chance. . to give me the information that would send your husband to prison. But you decided to play coy with me. You thought I’d come running after your lies and half-truths if you dangled some small piece of information in front of me. Big mistake.”

“Big nothing. . I saw that you Mister Big Detective had already made up your mind. There was nothing I could say. I know your type. You’re the kind of man that makes people lie. . you ask questions that you know will get lies for answers.”

“You should’ve tried telling the truth for once Fru Haugen.”

“I know men like you. . you manipulate women with your questions. . your innuendos.”

“You have anything else to say?”

“No. Not to you. Ever.”

“Fine. Stand up Fru Haugen. You are under arrest. Constable Wangelin. . please handcuff her.”

Three hours later at 12 Hammersborggata Chief Inspector Sohlberg and Constable Wangelin sat down in an interview room with a much more subdued Agnes Haugen.

Like most middle class suspects Agnes Haugen had been humbled if not humiliated by the fingerprinting and the mug shots and the obligatory strip search and the regulation jumpsuit. At Sohlberg’s instructions the guards kept him informed of all of the abuse and insults and taunts and threats of hardened ex-con female prisoners who wanted a piece of the woman arrested for kidnaping the little boy Karl Haugen.

Sohlberg studied Agnes Haugen as gently and carefully as a man inspects a rattlesnake at close range.

“What do you want?” said Agnes Haugen with contempt. “I told you Mister Detective that I would never tell you anything about the case. Never. I want my lawyer.”

“Fru Haugen. . I’m not here to ask you questions or listen to you. You are here to listen and listen good to what I’m going to say.”

“I want my lawyer.”

“He’s on his way. But first you will hear me out.”

Agnes Haugen crossed her arms and hummed a ditty.

“Fru Haugen. . you made several mistakes. . mistakes that will defeat your ultimate plan of framing your husband for your criminal acts. . which include the kidnaping and murder of Karl Haugen.”