Chameleon People - [11]

‘You are absolutely right. But there is still a considerable difference between being strange and being guilty, even though they are often confused. So no one actually saw him killing Per Johan. I don’t think he did it. And I would be grateful if you could tell me who did, if you manage to find out one day.’

I had a growing appreciation of why Per Johan Fredriksen had been fascinated by this remarkable woman. But I also realized that, for the moment, she was not able to help me any further with the mysterious circumstances surrounding her lover’s death.

So I offered my condolences once again, assured her that the investigation would keep all possibilities open, promised to contact her as soon as there was any news, and asked her to stay in town for the next few days in case we needed to question her further.

Harriet Henriksen’s reply was short: that until her beloved had been buried, she had nowhere to go, nor any reason to do so. And as if to illustrate this, she remained seated by the coffee table and the burnt-out candle as I got up and left.

VI

I was back at the main police station by half past twelve. Danielsen was nowhere to be seen, but my boss was sitting in his office with the door open. He waved me in as soon as he saw me.

‘Danielsen has questioned the suspect again. And despite applying considerable pressure, he got nowhere. The boy adamantly refused to answer any questions. Danielsen found this extremely provoking and is even more convinced of his guilt. He believes that the only question of any real interest is whether the murderer should be sent to prison or a mental hospital. And I am inclined to agree. So we decided that Danielsen could go home at the end of his shift. The lack of identity and motive remains a problem and I would like you to focus on that for the rest of the day.’

I immediately agreed to this. My impressions from the meeting with Harriet Henriksen were being diluted by the light of day and her conclusion now felt like no more than unqualified speculation, so I did not bother to mention it to my boss. However, I was less convinced than Danielsen about the boy’s guilt. But I was quite happy to be allowed to carry on working on the case without Danielsen interfering – and without being asked to divulge my thoughts on the case.

The switchboard was remarkably still, but there was a growing number of journalists calling in from different papers. No one had as yet called to report anyone missing or to leave any other message that might help to identify the boy on the red bicycle. It was more and more mysterious. The boy was, as far as anyone could tell, Norwegian and he was a minor. Despite a speech impediment, it was clear that he spoke with an Oslo accent. If he had parents, it seemed very odd indeed that they had not reported him missing. If he lived with other relatives or in a children’s home of some sort, it was equally odd that no one had contacted the police.

I guessed it was only a matter of time before someone would enquire about him. If nothing else, someone might recognize him if we published the photographs in the papers. But like the boss, I wanted the question of his identity to be solved before they went to print. I was finding it increasingly difficult to believe that the young man did not have some kind of connection with Per Johan Fredriksen. It seemed too incredible to be true that such a well-known politician should be randomly stabbed on the street.

I was sitting in my office pondering on the identity and motive of the killer when my phone rang. I heard the familiar and annoyingly slow voice of one of the switchboard operators. She said that I was about to be transferred to a lady who had asked to speak to the person in charge of the Per Johan Fredriksen investigation immediately. I was, of course, curious as to who it might be and why she had called. It was not long before I knew.

‘Good afternoon. My name is Ane Line Fredriksen and I am the eldest daughter of the late Per Johan Fredriksen. My mother has only now been able to tell me that you wanted to talk to me as soon as possible. So, here I am,’ she said.

I was slightly taken aback by her briskness. I expressed my condolences and said that it would certainly be good to talk, if it was not too much of an inconvenience for her.

‘Not at all. My daughter is with my ex-husband in Hamar and I have to pick her up around seven o’clock this evening. So it would be best if we could meet as soon as possible. Would you like to come here or should I come there?’

Her tempo left me breathless, but it was also refreshing to meet such a dynamic and outspoken member of the family. So I said that I was currently in my office at the main police station and perhaps it would be most practical if we could meet here.

‘Of course. I’ll be there in a quarter of an hour,’ Ane Line Fredriksen said, and put down the phone.

I sat with the receiver in my hand, wondering what she looked like. And how many more people this investigation would involve.

VII

Exactly sixteen minutes later, Ane Line Fredriksen was shown into my office, as she looked around with obvious curiosity. I could not see much resemblance to her mother or siblings, but I knew it was the woman from the telephone call even before I heard her voice.