Chameleon People (38 page)

To tell the truth, I did not know what I had found out, only that I had found something out. And I was becoming increasingly annoyed because on this day of all days, Patricia did not want to
tell me what she was hiding.

‘I asked you to help me with the Fredriksen case, yes. But I did not ask you to drive past the spot where Miriam disappeared at around half past eleven last night. And now I demand to know
why you were there!’

I said Miriam’s name on purpose – I had realized that Patricia disliked hearing it intensely. And it worked. She started when I said the name, and her eyes swung back to look at
me.

‘I see. I sincerely hope that at no point have you suspected me of having anything to do with your girlfriend’s disappearance. That is a preposterous idea. I had a very personal
reason for driving past there late last night, and hope you will believe that it had nothing whatsoever to do with the kidnapping.’

This was becoming more and more mysterious – and more and more annoying.

I said that my fiancée had been kidnapped, that I wanted to believe that Patricia knew nothing about it, but asked that she now please give me a credible answer as to why she had driven
past the scene of the crime last night.

We sat and stared at each other intensely for a few seconds. A bitter expression, similar to the one I had seen through the car window yesterday, passed over Patricia’s face. She took a
last drag on the cigarette and stubbed it out. Then she put both her elbows on the table and buried her head in her hands for a moment or two.

When she lowered her hands from her face, her expression was one of defiance. ‘If you absolutely must know, I was being driven home after having been thoroughly fucked by my, until now,
secret boyfriend.’

That was not what I had expected. I sat there like a rabbit in the headlights while she lit another cigarette.

For some reason I had clearly never contemplated the idea that Patricia could have intimate relations with another man. And even now that she had said it, I could not imagine her stretched naked
under a man in bed.

And what was worse: I did not like the thought at all. Without having any idea of who her boyfriend was, I immediately felt jealousy, even animosity, towards him. If it was the man who was
driving the car yesterday, I had only caught a blurred glimpse of him.

‘That is a remarkable coincidence. Where does your secret lover live?’

Patricia sighed and looked at me in exasperation. ‘Do you still not understand? It was not a coincidence at all. My until-now-secret boyfriend lives in a terraced house by
Sognsvann.’

As soon as she said Sognsvann, I understood. It did not make matters any better. The picture of Patricia in bed with him was even worse than the one of Patricia in bed with some faceless man.
And on top of all this confusion was now the fear that someone else might know about my contact with Patricia.

‘So the secret boyfriend you have not told me about is Johan Fredriksen?’

She took a long, greedy drag on the cigarette and then stubbed it out, half-smoked.

‘Bingo. But Johan of course knows nothing about my contact with you and I have not said a word about what I know about the investigation. I thought, with those parameters, my relationship
with him was irrelevant to the case and it would be better for both you and me if you did not know about it.’

I felt paralysed and for a few seconds did not know how to talk or what to say. My mind’s eye kept switching between the fully-dressed Patricia sitting in a wheelchair in front of me and
the image of a naked Patricia in bed with a naked Johan Fredriksen. And I found this so distasteful that I unsuccessfully tried to shut both images out. But then I only saw the picture I had seen
the night before. I was suddenly very curious about Patricia’s angry face and what they had been talking about.

Just then, she started to speak again, without waiting for any questions.

‘He is not exactly a dream prince, I know. A little too clumsy, a little too dull, and far too interested in figures and material things. But when you can’t stand upright, you
can’t expect to choose from the top shelf. He is clean and good-looking, quite easy to get on with and reasonably educated. He came to Father’s funeral and was very considerate, then
sent a Christmas card with a long handwritten message last year and the year before that. I answered the one from last Christmas in January. If you can’t have the one you love, then try to
love the one you have. Other than your extremely sporadic visits, I have been sitting on my own here since I was fourteen. So I thought it was high time to try something new this year.’

That was another slap in the face. As she spoke, I suddenly saw a third Patricia – a sad, lonely young woman, full of longing. I should have realized before that she existed. And I should
definitely have remembered to send her a Christmas card.

Then I thought about Patricia’s description of him as good-looking, and how I had been taken aback by how similar Johan Fredriksen looked to me. I wondered for a moment if what Patricia
was actually saying now was that I was her dream man – and how I should then deal with that.

‘He is attentive and gives me presents and the like, he is always on time when we meet, and he has done his best to get me pregnant. I will give him that.’

Another blow. The thought of Patricia with a husband and children was alien and frightening. I had to admit to myself that I was very jealous now. I spontaneously asked, ‘But he has not
succeeded, has he?’

To my relief, she shook her head straightaway. Her hand trembled as she lit another cigarette and she appeared to have regained her composure when she carried on speaking, but she did meet my
eye.

‘No danger there. I have no idea if I can even have children after the accident, but I do know that I can’t as long as I take the pill. I want interesting company and sex. He wants
sex and all my millions, I think. So we each get half of what we want, which seems pretty fair to me.’

I felt reassured and suddenly did not want to know any more details about her contact with Johan Fredriksen. I said that it sounded perfectly fair and then added: ‘I would have had a few
less worries if I had known this earlier, but I am grateful for your honesty now and believe what you have told me. I think we can see that little mystery as solved now and get on with the
investigation.’

Patricia nodded – with unusual swiftness and enthusiasm.

‘Yes, let’s do that. You fiancée is still missing and two recent murders are still unsolved. But I am afraid that I cannot help you with much more right now. There are still
too many possibilities. But you can rule out Johan Fredriksen as far as the murders of his father and sister go. He was at home, and I was with him. And by the way, I have also tried to be the
comforting girlfriend in the hope of getting a bit more information about the case, but he does not seem to know any more than what he has told you already. Which is a good thing. Johan may not be
very exciting, but he is pretty honest and honourable. I think he just has one face; not a chameleon person in the slightest. I am in more doubt about how many of the others in his family and the
group from 1932 you could say that about. I see the outline of several scenarios more and more clearly, but still lack some important details in order to know which ones are right.’

I realized that we would not get any further here and now, so I stood up and said that I would ring or come back as soon as I had more information.

She said that she would wait, and that I was welcome, no matter what time of day it was.

Given the circumstances, my difficult visit ended on rather a nice note. She had clearly not thought of visiting her lover today, or of him coming to see her.

On my way out, I found my thoughts were not focused on the investigation, only on what Patricia had just told me. I remembered that Johan Fredriksen had seemed a little grumpy this morning and
wondered if I had been right when I thought that perhaps things were not going so well with his secret girlfriend. And then I was filled with a sense of almost childish triumph that Patricia had
told me about him, but not him about me.

It was only once I was out on the street in the cold air that I realized that I had not thought about my missing fiancée at all during the second half of my visit to Patricia. This
prompted another stab of guilt. It felt as though I had let Miriam down by sitting there talking to Patricia, when she had been kidnapped.

The drive back to the station was unexpectedly slow. I felt myself being pulled in all directions, and was certainly no longer giving the road my full attention.

It was ten to ten when I got back to the office. There was one message waiting for me there. And it was both interesting and ominous. Miriam’s mother had called and asked
me to ring her as soon as I got back.

The fact was that Miriam’s mother had not been able to get hold of me because I was sitting with Patricia. This did nothing to salve my conscience.

I dialled the Lillehammer number straightaway and said: ‘I am so sorry, I was out in connection with the investigation and rang as soon as I saw your message. Do you have some
news?’

Miriam’s mother replied in an even thicker dialect than normal: ‘Can I trust that we are speaking in confidence and that it will stay between us?’

I quickly said yes. I was calling on a direct line from my office and assured her that I would not pass on anything she told me if she did not want me to.

‘I am sorry that I had to ask, but my only daughter’s life is at risk. I got a telephone call this morning just after nine from a woman who said that she knew what had happened and
that Miriam was still alive. She also thought she knew who had killed Per Johan Fredriksen. She had called you yesterday evening but did not get an answer, and did not want to ring the police
station. I promised her I would ring and ask you to go to meet her alone outside the National Theatre at half past eleven. I did not recognize her voice and I am afraid that I couldn’t guess
her age or anything like that.’

I thanked her for having called and said that I would of course go. Then I started to think about what she had said. In the meantime, she carried on speaking.

‘I feel slightly guilty about asking you to do this. It could possibly just be someone playing with us, or worse, there’s a danger that someone is planning to harm you. So you must
think hard about what you do. But if you think there is any chance that it can help us get Miriam back alive, we obviously hope that you will take the chance.’

I had not thought of my own safety in all of this. I answered that I thought it was far more likely that this would help us get Miriam back alive than that I would be killed, and that I would go
no matter what. If anyone wanted to harm me, there were less risky ways of doing that than asking me to meet them at one of the most public places in town.

Miriam’s mother said, in a slightly shaky voice, that she was worried that they would lose me too and that I must decide myself whether I told anyone else in the police or went alone.

I said that I would go alone, but asked her to ring the chief constable and tell him what had happened in the unlikely event that I did not come back.

In a tearful voice, she promised to do so.

It was a serious note on which to end the conversation. I said that I would call her later in the day. She replied that she sincerely hoped so, and that she was very fond of me.

It seemed clear to me, while talking to Miriam’s mother, that I should go to the National Theatre alone. But I must confess that it felt a little less clear a few minutes after she had put
the phone down.

Two people had been killed in the past week. I had stood on my own with the bodies of two young people. Both experiences had made a considerable impression on me. And earlier in the week I had
been followed by a man who ostensibly had killed several people. The thought that I might end up dead myself and that this might be my last day on earth was alarming.

But I could feel my adrenalin rising. This all fitted in with the telephone call to the halls of residence yesterday and the voice that had asked for Miriam. And the fact that it was a woman who
rang and not a man felt less dangerous. I was now very curious as to who she was. I knew that I would not be able to live with myself if I did not go, and Miriam was later found dead or not found
at all. The thought of living with that was worse even than the thought of dying today. Miriam had been injured for life during one of my previous murder investigations, and now apparently had been
kidnapped in connection with this one. It was a responsibility that I could not and would not shirk.

I was never in any doubt that I should or would be there at half past eleven. But I was in doubt as to whether I should tell my boss before I went or not. If I did, I was not sure that he would
let me go alone, and then I decided that I would not break my promise to Miriam’s mother in what was a desperate situation for her.

By half past ten I had come to the conclusion that I should not go to a meeting of this kind without first telling Patricia. It was unlikely that there would be any negative consequences if she
knew, and the chances of getting Miriam back alive were far greater if Patricia could glean more from this than I could.

Patricia answered the telephone after one ring. The fact that she was obviously sitting there waiting triggered a burst of joy in all the darkness and confusion.

I told her in short what had happened and said that I had to go.

There was an unusually long silence. I could not remember Patricia ever having thought for so long when I had called her.

Eventually I said that it was interesting to note that there seemed to be a connection between Per Johan Fredriksen’s death and the kidnapping of Miriam.

Patricia answered swiftly: ‘That is, strictly speaking, only the case if the woman who rang is telling the truth, and is right. But yes, apart from that, it is very interesting.’

Then there was silence again.