Chameleon People (35 page)

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.

A pad with notes from her lectures was on the desk, but it only served to confirm that Miriam had been to the morning lecture on Norwegian language history. Beside it was a pile of novels and
course books. There was nothing else lying around, and nothing was missing, as far as I could see. Her school satchel, which she had had since primary school and to which she was so charmingly and
childishly attached, was standing on the floor by the desk.

It had been cloudy but dry when Miriam had left. According to Katrine she was wearing her green raincoat and was carrying the thick blue book as well as a large white envelope, but no bags or
anything to indicate that she was intending to go any further than mine.

I said we should go out and see if we could find any clues on the way to the bus. Katrine nodded silently and turned towards the front door.

There was a light wind outside and it was now drizzling. Katrine’s long blonde hair was caught by the wind and her slim body was shaking. We said nothing, just walked in silent
concentration along the well-known path to the bus stop, which was about two hundred yards away. Miriam had walked here a thousand times, often reading as she walked. There was no possibility
whatsoever that she had got lost, despite her hopeless sense of direction.

Katrine and I walked slowly and kept our eyes open for anything unusual. We got to the main road without seeing anything out of the ordinary. And there was nothing of interest in the first few
yards along the pavement.

It was just as we rounded the bend, barely thirty yards from the bus stop, that Katrine suddenly grabbed my arm and shouted: ‘Look! There! In the ditch!’

I felt how violently her hand was shaking on my arm, and wondered if I might see Miriam lying dead in the earth when I turned around. I stood paralysed by fear for a few moments before I could
see anything at all.

Miriam was still nowhere to be seen, either alive or dead. But I knew what Katrine meant straightaway. And this confirmed beyond all doubt that something terrible must have happened.

At the bottom of the ditch, between two stones, in a small puddle of water, lay the thick blue book with a library bookshelf reference on the spine.

I stepped down into the ditch and carefully picked up the book. I had recognized it as soon as I saw it. And there was only one possible explanation as to how it had ended up here. It was
unthinkable that Miriam had thrown the library book down or dropped it and walked on without noticing.

‘Someone has kidnapped Miriam,’ I heard myself saying. It sounded so calm and controlled but I felt anything but. In fact, it felt more like I was standing in the middle of an
earthquake, my head full of chaos and the ground shaking under my feet.

I heard a faint sobbing beside me and realized that it must be Katrine. Then I heard my own voice saying that I would accompany her back to the halls of residence. I then asked her to stay put
and not to panic, and I would inform the police at the station.

I was back at the station by ten to eight. My boss had been on his way home when I arrived, but immediately turned around without protest when I told him that something very
serious had happened.

I stopped and thought for a moment outside my office door. Then without being able to explain why, I went over to Danielsen’s office and asked him to come in too. It somehow felt safer to
have more people to talk to. Danielsen was the one who had taken the telephone call from Miriam. And as soon as I saw him I realized that he could have been the last person to have spoken to her
alive.

Danielsen looked a little surprised, but got up as soon as I said I would like him to come to an important meeting.

We sat round the table in my office and I told them in short what had happened. A heavy silence descended in the room. My boss’s face did not so much as twitch.

For the first time, I felt a good deal of support from Danielsen. ‘How terrible if criminals have started to kidnap policemen’s nearest and dearest,’ he said with unexpected
feeling.

We both looked at the boss, who hesitated for a while at first and then spoke very slowly and deliberately.

‘This is a very difficult situation, for several reasons. Normally, we would not start a search when someone has only been missing for a couple of hours, and it could well provoke
unfavourable reactions if it becomes known that we have done so in the case of a leading policeman’s fiancée. But the circumstances undeniably give us reason to fear the worst . .
.’

He stopped talking. Then he asked, in a quieter voice: ‘Has she shown any signs of depression or other illness recently? I am sorry that I have to ask, but desperate young women have done
stranger things than throw away books in a ditch before committing suicide.’

For a moment I wondered if Miriam would really have been that desperate if she had heard that I had been to see Patricia. And if, then, I could live with that. But again I found it unthinkable
that she would do anything like that. So I replied, in a firm and controlled manner, that Miriam had not shown any signs of being mentally unbalanced, and had to the contrary been happy and full of
life in the past few days. And even though I had been working long hours, we had not had any arguments.

My boss and I now both looked at Danielsen. ‘That was more or less how she sounded on the telephone. It was a short conversation and she seemed full of life, if a little agitated, but in
no way desperate or depressed,’ he said, to the point.

My boss nodded. ‘Then we shall consider this to be exceptional circumstances and start an investigation immediately without raising the alarm publicly quite yet. Kristiansen, you continue
with your own investigation as before. Danielsen will lead the investigation into Miriam’s disappearance. We can discuss the matter again in the morning and update each other as and when
necessary.’

I was too exhausted, too scared and too bewildered to protest. So we both said in short that we agreed. Then my boss stood up and left.

I wrote down the necessary facts, and the names and addresses of family and friends for Danielsen. I said that there was probably not much to be found where the book had fallen or at the halls
of residence, but that the places should of course be searched. Then I asked him to pass on my sympathies to Miriam’s parents and to be gentle in his dealings with them.

He promised to do this. We shook each other almost warmly by the hand before he left.

Once I was alone in the office, I sat there looking at the telephone for a few seconds. My head was in turmoil. I could only remember two telephone numbers. One was Miriam’s number at the
halls of residence. The other was Patricia’s. And I thought that no matter how strange it felt, there was no one other than Patricia I could turn to for help in finding my Miriam.

She picked up the telephone on the second ring, and with unusual calm, said: ‘What has happened? Are you all right?’

Her concern for me was heart-warming in the situation. I quickly replied: ‘Someone has kidnapped Miriam.’

There was silence on the other end for a few tense seconds. Then Patricia said: ‘Goodness, what on earth do they want with her?’

I felt anger bubbling up, before I realized that the question would actually be decisive in our search for the kidnappers. Patricia also pulled herself together, and hastily added: ‘I
mean, either it must be because she has discovered something important herself, or to have some kind of leverage over you. I sincerely hope that it is the latter.’