Chameleon People (20 page)

In terms of formality, I was still high and dry: I was officially simply visiting a friend. In reality, though, I would divulge information that could cost me my job if it were ever discovered.
But I had done this many times before, and my concern about this side of the matter was minimal. I had known Patricia’s late parents since I was a child, and I was absolutely convinced that
no information given by me would leak from here. I had successfully convinced myself that I had to do everything within my power to solve the murder case I was investigating.

The door was opened by a maid who looked exactly the same as before, and once again gave me a cautious smile as she welcomed me in. I thought that it was perhaps Benedikte, but still could not
be sure that it was not her twin sister Beate. Not that it really mattered. Though she would never admit it herself, Patricia was still in the very best hands and in the safest environment.

The servants had indeed managed to whip up a supper for half past seven. The onion soup starter was already waiting at my usual place at the table when I was ushered into Patricia’s
library.

Patricia was sitting there herself in her wheelchair on the other side of the table, sovereign of her own small realm. She looked exactly as she had done before. I knew that she had celebrated
her twenty-second birthday only a couple of months ago, but could still have mistaken her for a teenager. It struck me that there was something strangely dollish, almost childlike, about
Patricia.

I was happy to see her again. So I went around the table and gave her a hug. This seemed to take her by surprise. Her body trembled faintly, but her cheek was warm and her voice a little softer
than usual when she said: ‘How nice to see you again. I have already eaten. Sit yourself down – eat. And at the same time tell me all that I need to know about Per Johan Fredriksen and
his death.’

I sat down, ate, and talked my way through the starter, main course and dessert. Patricia listened with extraordinary concentration as I told her everything about the case so far. She had a
large cup of coffee on the table beside her, but did not touch it once. Her hand noted down some names and dates to begin with, without any apparent cooperation with her head. Her eyes were fixed
on me the whole time.

When I told her about Eva Bjølhaugen’s death in Room 111 in 1932, her eyes sparked for a moment.

‘Did the room have an en suite bathroom or not?’ she asked quickly.

I told her that the room had an en suite bathroom, which had also been searched without any results. She waved me on, and then sat without moving until I had finished with the story of Vera
Fredriksen’s death that afternoon. Then she smiled almost merrily for a moment, before once again sitting there gravely in deep concentration.

It was half past eight by the time I had finished my account, put down the almost empty bowl of rice pudding and said: ‘So, what do you think? Was it natural causes, suicide or murder,
both in 1932 and 1972? As far as 1972 is concerned, we will perhaps get the answer when the preliminary autopsy report comes tomorrow morning.’

And if I had ever thought otherwise, Patricia was no less sharp than she had been before. She sighed in mild exasperation and replied: ‘Murder, without a doubt, in both 1932 and 1972. And
I am almost certain I know how the murders were committed as well, though one always has to bear in mind poisoning in such situations. It is actually quite obvious, if one just looks beyond the
fact that it is a rather unusual way to kill people in a hotel room.’

Patricia fell silent, and took an artful sip of coffee. She immediately started and rang the bell to call the maid.

In the brief minute before the maid knocked on the door, I sat and wondered what Patricia had meant.

‘The coffee you served was far too cold, Beate. Pour it out and make some new coffee immediately. And this time make sure the hot plate is on, please!’

Beate rolled her eyes at me and looked like she would love to say that the coffee had been warm when she poured it an hour and a half ago. But all she said was ‘Of course, sorry’,
and then took the coffee cup with her when she left.

The door closed behind the maid and I still did not understand Patricia’s meaning. So I had to bite the first bullet and ask how, according to this theory, Eva Bjølhaugen was
murdered in 1932 and Vera Fredriksen was murdered in 1972.

Patricia gave a semi-triumphant smile and a swift answer: ‘They were drowned. With water from the tap in the bathroom which was poured down their throat as they lay there unconscious. Eva
Bjølhaugen fainted after one of her epileptic fits, thus giving the murderer an opportunity that he or she then ruthlessly exploited. Vera Fredriksen could have been knocked unconscious, but
as there is no physical evidence of this, it is more likely that she fainted at the sight of an unexpected intruder or something else that frightened her. According to her family she has a tendency
to do this when confronted with powerful emotions. In both cases, the murderer then wiped away any spilt water with the towel from the bathroom and left the room.’

It felt slightly absurd when Patricia first said the word drowned. And then utterly logical once she had explained how it happened.

I sat almost thunderstruck, looking at her. She gave a chirpy smile, but was soon serious again.

‘So that means that the murderer this afternoon was the same as in 1932?’

Patricia shook her head pensively. ‘It is clearly possible that the murderer is one of the group of four friends from 1932 who is still alive. But equally, this is not the only
possibility.

‘Per Johan Fredriksen had finally understood how the murder was committed when he spoke out at the dinner a few weeks ago. And the reason he raised his water glass was to show the person
he believed was the murderer that he knew. The youngest daughter had either heard it from him, or worked it out for herself when she went to the hotel to ask if the room had had an en suite
bathroom even in 1932. But that is not to say that the father and daughter actually knew for certain who the murderer was in 1932, nor does it mean that the same person murdered her now. Someone
else may have guessed how it was done and used the same method to get rid of Vera, for example, because she now, consciously or unconsciously, had put you onto her father’s murderer’s
trail. Or one of her siblings might have taken the opportunity to get ten million more in inheritance money. There are too many possibilities here. You have given me enough information to work out
how Vera Fredriksen died, but not why or who killed her. Her siblings, boyfriend, mother and the others from the 1932 group who are still alive might all have done it, perhaps even someone we are
yet to know about. Based on the known facts, it would be pure guesswork to say who she phoned, or who the mysterious guest in the neighbouring room was, and who else might have been in the
hotel.’

Patricia had to pause to draw breath, but was obviously in her stride now. She continued a couple of moments later, without waiting for any questions.

‘Much the same is true of Eva Bjølhaugen’s murder in 1932. We can pretty much say with certainty that she first had a visitor in her bed, that shortly afterwards she had an
epileptic fit and then was killed by drowning. We do not, however, know if the person in the bed was the same person who killed her, and again, we do not know who killed her full stop. As things
stand, I have possible scenarios that fit for the other five in the group.’

‘And what about the murder of Per Johan Fredriksen?’ I asked.

Patricia sighed heavily.

Just then we were interrupted by a knock at the door. The maid came in with a fresh, steaming mug of coffee. She seemed to realize that she had come at the wrong time and made a hasty retreat
without saying anything.

Patricia sipped her coffee.

‘Now it is slightly too hot,’ she said, and put the cup down. Then she looked straight at me again.

‘The murder of Per Johan Fredriksen is, if possible, even harder to work out. Whereas the murder in 1932 had a limited number of possible killers, the possibilities for the first murder in
1972 are as good as infinite. I have a number of theories, but need more information in order to establish which of them is right. And, what is more, I am not sure that we have a full overview of
all the alternatives. There are lots of people with different backgrounds and motives who might want to kill a man like Per Johan Fredriksen. Fredriksen himself was obviously a chameleon man, and I
think that the chances are considerable that he was killed by another chameleon person.’

Patricia blew on her coffee, then cautiously took a sip. I had the distinct feeling that she was waiting for me to ask her to explain the concept, and had no alternative but to do just that.

‘Goodness, apologies, I was obviously not thinking and used a concept that I made up myself and have since used so much that I forget that it is not generally known. But it is very
appropriate and almost self-explanatory. The crime novelist Sven Elvestad based his novel
Chameleon
on the phenomenon in 1912. A chameleon person is someone who can move seamlessly between
different circles and switch appearances depending on where they are.’

‘Surely that is relatively normal?’ I objected.

Patricia wiggled her head from left to right, and carried on speaking.

‘Yes and no. Fortunately, most of us behave slightly differently depending on who we are with and which social setting we are in. It is called social skills. But real chameleon people are
different: they can change their face, behaviour and even personality within seconds, depending on what they think will serve their interests. Hauk Rebne Westgaard touched on it when he said that,
ever since he was a child, Fredriksen had had many different facets and faces. And in more recent years, he had been perceived very differently as a businessman and a family man. His mistress has
another impression of him, and people in political circles yet another. I would like to know more about the latter. Even though it may be painful for them, I think you should ask his family what
they know about his earlier mistresses. And bear in mind all the time that several people may turn out to have several faces, and that some of those who do not appear to be dangerous on first
meeting could be just that. Chameleons are generally thought of as small, innocuous animals, but they can suddenly change face and swallow their prey when least expected.’

I listened to her, fascinated, and promised to bear it in mind.

‘The boss is very reluctant to give up on the boy on the red bicycle as a possible perpetrator, but it would seem now that it is just a red herring?’ I suggested.

The coffee was no longer steaming. Patricia took another sip and thought for a while before answering.

‘We obviously cannot disregard the possibility that the murder may have something to do with Fredriksen’s life as a callous businessman and a heartless landlord. I think it is highly
likely that what your eyewitness saw is true, despite her age, and that the poor boy was innocent. But we should not take that as a given yet.’

‘If the boy was innocent, it seems very odd that he then took the murder weapon with him when he fled to my home,’ I remarked.

Patricia shook her head fiercely. ‘To the contrary, his behaviour there and then is perfectly logical, if you look at what happened in isolation, in the sequence that he experienced it.
Imagine how you would react in that situation. You are out in the street and see a man who has collapsed with a knife in his heart. What would you do?’

‘I would run over to see if he was alive. Then I dare say I would pull out the knife,’ I said.

Patricia nodded. ‘Precisely. Pulling out the knife does not in any way improve the victim’s chances of survival, but it is a natural reaction. Then there is the next stage.
Fredriksen is clearly dead. The boy is standing there with the murder weapon in his hand and no other suspect in sight. He realizes in a flash that makes him the prime suspect regardless of whether
he is caught at the scene of the crime with his fingerprints on the knife, or leaves the knife with his fingerprints on it behind. His life has never been easy and he does not have much self-esteem
or trust in society. He does, on the other hand, have absolute trust in his hero, in other words you, and knows where you live. Given that he is both innocent and intelligent, it is then quite
rational that he takes the murder weapon with him, jumps on his bike and cycles to your flat. What is confusing, and what makes me hesitate to dismiss him as the perpetrator—’ Patricia
stopped in the middle of the sentence and sat there staring into thin air.

‘Once again, you are right. What is confusing is not his behaviour after the murder, but his behaviour after his arrest,’ I said.

Patricia nodded. ‘Precisely. Though to be fair, he did say specifically that Fredriksen was dead when he went back, and he shook his head when you asked him if he had seen the murder. So
perhaps he did not have much more to say. The parallels with Hauptmann and van der Lubbe indicate that he was well aware of the situation, despite his communication problems. But his refusal to
give his name or other details is very strange and clearly did not help his already difficult situation. There is something irrational about it which could indicate mental disturbance and thus make
it possible that he did commit the offence after all. But it was most probably due to shock or an exaggerated belief that you would quickly be able to uncover the truth. Whatever the case, the
story of the boy on the red bicycle is so puzzling that we cannot simply write him off as a tragic red herring. However, the most interesting thing is, in fact, not the boy’s reaction,
but—’

Patricia stopped speaking and looked very pensive indeed. It was obvious that the cogs in her brain were whirring furiously.

‘But the mother’s reaction?’ I tried tentatively.

Patricia shook her head with what looked like irritation. ‘No, no, given that she had been away for the weekend and did not get back until Monday, that part of the story is believable
enough. What I find strange is your boss’s reaction. In part because he is so keen to close the case and put the young boy down as the perpetrator. And in part because he keeps saying that if
the investigation is to continue, the focus should be on Fredriksen’s private life and the tragedy in 1932. At the risk of sounding paranoid, I wonder whether Fredriksen’s murder might
be like an iceberg, and that we still cannot see the bulk of what is hidden under the surface. There is one thing that could point in that direction, and I do not like it one bit.’