Chameleon People (43 page)

‘I will stay here, then, and hope for the best, and will be waiting from first thing in the morning. I would appreciate it if you could let me know that all is well with your
fiancée. Even though the documents and information she will give you will no doubt be of interest, I doubt that she will have anything conclusive to tell you. The Soviet aspect of the case
seems to be closed. But ring me as soon as you hear what and who the man with the hat saw on the evening that Per Johan Fredriksen was killed.’

I promised to do that. Then I left, with my heart hammering in my throat, to wait for Miriam to turn up. And for the first time, I thought that I would actually have liked to stay a bit longer
with Patricia.

It was now dark outside and the air felt colder than when I had arrived. It struck me that I still did not know where Miriam was out there in the dark. I did not even know for certain that she
was alive and only had the vice-ambassador’s word that she would come back, if she was still alive. In fact, I did not even have that, as the whole conversation had been indirect, with no
concrete promises. The anxiety sank deep as I sat all alone in my car, surrounded by darkness. And it was followed by an uncontrollable impatience as I swore at every red light on my way to the
station.

My mood had been ever-changing all through this long day. By the time I got to 19 Møller Street at half past seven, I was full, but my mind was distracted and my nerves
were frayed.

I popped my head round the door to Danielsen’s office, as he was still on duty, but he just shrugged and held up his hands. So I carried on to my own office – which had now become a
waiting room. I tried to pass the time by thinking about the Fredriksen case, but it still just seemed to be a chaotic ocean of possibilities that floated and merged together. I always came back to
Miriam – and was constantly changing my mind about the chances of her being released.

By ten to eight, I was seriously worried that she would not be released this evening, and at eight I shed a few tears because suddenly I was sure that she had been killed yesterday. By a quarter
past eight, I was optimistic once more, having relived the meeting at the embassy. By twenty-five past, my mood was plummeting again and I found it alarming that so much time had passed without
anything happening.

At thirty-two minutes past eight, as I was trying to pull myself back up by thinking about the meeting at the embassy, I jumped when the door to my office was opened without warning.

Danielsen was standing there.

‘There is a phone call in my office that I think you should take,’ he said.

I ran past him and through his door, lifted the receiver from the desk and with forced calm, said: ‘Detective Inspector Kolbjørn Kristiansen, how can I help you?’

I heard a very clear man’s voice speaking in a deliberate tone on the other end and I knew straightaway that I had heard it before, but I couldn’t remember where.

‘I am calling about a very confused young woman who was taken here in an ambulance after she was found wandering around up by the university, in a bewildered state. At first we wondered if
she was drunk, but it turned out that she was under the influence of some chemical or other. She was not able to tell us her name. But I recognized her from the time she spent here in 1970, and the
contents of her handbag confirmed that she was Miriam Filtvedt Bentsen. So I thought I should let the police know, in case she has been a victim of crime. My name is Berg and I am the senior doctor
here at Ullevål Hospital, and if you are Detective Inspector Kristiansen, I believe we have been in contact before, remarkably enough, in connection with the same patient.’

In my overwrought state, I did not recognize the doctor until he said his name. But I was ridiculously relieved and almost cried with joy when he did. Bernt Berg had appeared to be incapable of
feeling, but in fact he was a warm-hearted and dedicated doctor, and in the summer of 1970, he had saved Miriam when, in connection with one of my previous cases, she had been shot and had hovered
between life and death.

I said that I knew who he was and that it was very nice to be remembered by him, and that he had indeed done the right thing by calling here. As he did not respond to this, I asked how the
patient was and when it might be possible to see her.

‘The police are welcome to see her whenever they like, if that is of interest. She is asleep right now. She was semiconscious when she was found and should be left to sleep off the effects
of the drug, so it probably will not be possible to talk to her before later on tomorrow morning.’

The senior doctor’s voice was like a machine, steady and reassuring – just as I remembered it on the odd occasion that I thought about the drama in 1970 that had brought Miriam and I
together. It felt strange, almost moving, that we should now be brought together again by the same doctor. Above all, it was a huge relief that she had been found and was in good hands at
Ullevål. My voice was shaky all the same, when I asked Bernt Berg how he assessed the patient’s condition this time.

He replied in an equally calm and unruffled voice: ‘It would seem that there is no danger at all. A young and healthy person should be able to cope without any permanent damage, and there
is nothing to indicate that she has been harmed in any way. There are, however, effusions of blood on her wrists which indicate that her hands have been bound for some time, and that would be
particularly uncomfortable for anyone who already has shoulder and neck injuries. She could barely move her arms when we found her. But the mobility will gradually return. We will keep her in
hospital over the weekend, as she needs rest and quiet. But as far as I can see, there is no reason to fear any long-term physical harm other than the injuries she already had. And we will have to
wait until she wakes up to see how she is mentally. As I said, when she was admitted she was terribly confused and kept repeating the same words over and over again. Though I have to say, I am not
sure of their significance.’

My heart felt lighter and lighter – but then sank a little when he said this. I immediately asked what the word was.

His reply was short and deadpan: ‘The library book. At first I thought I had misheard, but then she said it again, several times.’

It was impossible not to laugh when he said this. I apologized and explained that I knew the young woman in question rather well, as she was now my fiancée. She had been kidnapped, she
loved books, and when she was abducted, she had dropped a library book. The fact that she remembered and was worried about the library book showed that she was pretty much herself.

He said, just as seriously, that there was little need to worry then and that I would be allowed to go in and see her sleeping for a few minutes if I came by the hospital in the next hour or
two.

I said that I would do that, and ended the call.

I stood there with my ear to the receiver for a moment. And then a wave of euphoria washed over me that needed physical expression. I leapt up and hit the ceiling with joy.

It was only when I landed that I remembered I was in Danielsen’s office and not my own, and that Danielsen was standing right behind me.

He took it with good humour, as did I. We generously and jubilantly congratulated one another.

On my way out of the office, I asked how many of the past twenty-four hours he had been on duty. He smiled briefly and said: ‘Fifteen. I think I can perhaps go home with a clear conscience
now.’

I thanked him profusely and said that he could certainly stay at home all weekend with a clear conscience. He replied that he would like to go home now, but, if it was all right with me, he
would come back again tomorrow to help with the Fredriksen investigation. I told him I appreciated that.

I felt tears of joy flood my eyes when I went back into my own office. And seconds later they were streaming down my cheeks as I spoke to Miriam’s mother in Lillehammer and told her and
the family that Miriam had been found. She asked when they could visit Miriam in hospital tomorrow. I said that I was about to go up there and they could try later on tomorrow morning. We thanked
one another three times before we finally put down the phone.

Then I rang Patricia. It was a shorter and far less emotional telephone call. She thanked me for letting her know that Miriam had turned up and said that she was pleased, but was so casual and
swift about it that I started to wonder if her boyfriend was there.

‘Well, a summary of today would read: great relief, another death and some useful information. Ring me as soon as you know any more tomorrow,’ she said, and put down the
telephone.

I sat there and wondered if she had actually invited her boyfriend down, as soon as I had gone – or if she was actually jealous of Miriam. And I have to admit, despite my joy at having
Miriam back, I found the latter more appealing than the first.

I felt an almost indescribable joy and relief as I stood by Miriam’s hospital bed with the senior doctor, Bernt Berg, at around half past nine.

Miriam was, as far as I could see, whole and there was no sign of any physical harm. She was lying with her bandaged arms by her sides, unmoving, but the effusions round her wrists were not as
bad as I had feared. She looked as though she was sleeping as peacefully as she did at home, with her hair spread out over the pillow in the same way.

With the senior doctor’s silent consent, I gently stroked Miriam’s cheek. After such a dramatic and emotional day, I had to touch her to feel that she really had come back alive. It
worked. Her cheek was warm and soft against my finger.

Just then, there was a slight movement in her lips, as though deep in her sleep she knew that I was there, and was trying to smile.

I had a few words with Dr Bernt Berg in a side room. He believed that everything was fine and that the patient should be able to converse by the late morning or afternoon tomorrow and would no
doubt enjoy getting visitors.

It was a strange experience to see Miriam in the same hospital with the same senior doctor as two years before. But I was delighted to see her alive. As I walked down the stairs on my way out, I
realized that the dominant feeling was one of relief, whereas excitement and fascination had been the stronger two years before.

I ended my slightly surreal Friday, 24 March 1972 quietly, alone in my flat at Hegdehaugen.

I ate a couple of dry slices of bread as I watched the final news of the day on television at eleven o’clock.

Miriam’s disappearance and return, which had been the day’s great event for me, had not made it into the news. Another mass demonstration against the EEC in Bergen fortunately
dominated the programming. The rest focused on the shooting by the National Theatre and the postponed signing of the Barents Sea agreement.

The prime minister, Trond Bratten, was interviewed. He stated in a characteristically laconic and serious manner that it would be irresponsible of the Norwegian Labour Party to submit such an
important agreement to the Storting, when incidents such as the killing of Fredriksen and the shooting at the National Theatre remained unresolved. The police would now be given the time necessary
to finish the investigation and only then would the agreement be submitted for debate.

There was broad support for this in the Storting, but leading members of the Norwegian Communist Party were critical of a postponement in signing the agreement with the Soviet Union. A couple of
SPP politicians were critical of the NCP politicians’ criticism, and feared that any prospects of cooperation to the left of the Labour Party in connection with the general election in 1973
were now slim.

It struck me as I watched that even though my personal drama was hopefully now over after a nightmarish twenty-four hours, I was still investigating two murder cases that could be of
considerable importance both nationally and internationally. And I felt remarkably calm about it. All that remained, now that the part of the case that involved a foreign superpower was resolved
and my fiancée had been safely returned, was a classic murder mystery. It was, to be fair, an unusually complicated murder investigation, with several parties involved and more possible
sidetracks than in any of my other cases. And yet I felt certain that we would solve it in the course of the weekend. Patricia had been so confident and happy, almost lighthearted, this evening
– it could only be a good sign.

A quarter of an hour after I had turned off the television, I found myself worrying largely about Patricia’s boyfriend. I accepted that Johan Fredriksen was clearly innocent of both
murders, and I respected the fact that he was Patricia’s boyfriend. But I reserved the right to dislike him and their relationship. The fact that I was jealous that Patricia had a lover
bothered me so much that I had to ask myself if my feelings would have been any stronger if it had been Miriam who had one. I remembered Miriam’s little smile in her sleep at Ullevål
and felt almost sick at the thought. But I still had to admit that the answer was not a clear-cut yes.

In the end, I had to acknowledge that I found myself caught in a painful and classic dilemma. Regardless of what happened now in the investigation, I still had a fundamental problem, in that I
now, in two different ways, was very fond of two different women. Both had sacrificed a lot for me, and I had had different strong and emotional experiences with both of them. Before the start of
this murder investigation, I had been certain of which one I could not live without. I was no longer so sure.

Paradoxically, the fact that Patricia now had a boyfriend was apparently what was needed for me to realize how much she meant to me. On a number of previous occasions, after her father’s
death in particular, I had found myself thinking how much easier it would be if Patricia had more friends than just me. And now that she did, I almost instinctively reacted negatively. And my
dilemma as to what I should tell Miriam about my contact with Patricia would once again become pressing the moment Miriam woke up.