Chameleon People (45 page)

I had to agree with this.

Patricia had spoken for some time with great passion. Now she looked depressed and her hand was shaking when she lit a cigarette. She smoked half of it in silence, before continuing.

‘It is not a happy ending, if that is what you were hoping for. But it is the truth, and so the only solution I can give you to the two murders.’

The shock was subsiding now. I realized that my failure to react had disappointed Patricia, and felt that it was ungrateful of me. So I slowly clapped my hands – and assured her that I was
more than happy to have established the truth about the two murders.

Patricia smiled when I started to clap. But if she really was happy, it did not last long. She stubbed out her cigarette, then leaned across the table towards me. Suddenly her face was inches
away from mine. I found myself wondering if it was a coincidence that she was wearing a very loose white blouse and an undoubtedly expensive perfume that I had not smelt before. And suddenly found
myself very jealous of Johan Fredriksen.

‘It is a little early to applaud, I am afraid. As the case stands, I am not sure that a good lawyer might not get her acquitted on the basis of reasonable doubt, with no witnesses or
evidence. I have told you how it happened and the sequence of events, now you have to get her to confess. And at the same time, you might find out whether, behind the facade, she is slightly
deranged or just extremely calculating. But the overlap there can be scarily hard to define. Come back when you have done that, and we can then hopefully talk about Per Johan Fredriksen and other
things of mutual interest.’

I took the hint. Patricia did not want to tell me who had killed Per Johan Fredriksen yet. She knew, but she wanted me to come back – and she had given me the answer to two of the three
murders. That qualified as a very good start to the day. On my way from the house into the centre of town, I pondered on who might have killed Per Johan Fredriksen, and what Patricia had meant by
‘other things of mutual interest’.

It was a quarter past eleven by the time I parked outside the Fredriksens’ family home on Bygdøy, having first swung by to collect DI Danielsen from the station.
Danielsen had been working his way through a pile of papers, but his face lit up and he immediately put on his jacket when I asked if he would like to help me with a final push in the Fredriksen
cases.

I did not tell Danielsen how it all fitted together, just that it was an important interview. I felt under a lot of pressure but did not let it show. I did not doubt that Patricia was right with
regard to the murder of Vera Fredriksen. But she was unfortunately also right with regard to the lack of evidence. I needed a confession. The chances of getting one would undoubtedly be best if I
was alone with Oda Fredriksen in the drawing room. But that might cause problems if she did say something that incriminated her, but then later denied it.

The solution was that I took Danielsen with me, introduced him to the widow, and told her that he was only there as a matter of procedure, and that the two of us could talk together alone first,
as it involved some very sensitive information. Danielsen gave his most charming smile and offered to wait outside in the hall.

I walked into the drawing room behind her and made sure not to close the door completely. Then I sat down on the sofa and nodded to the chair opposite. Oda Fredriksen sat down – with her
back to the door. She had shoes on, and yet seemed to glide across the carpetless floor without a sound. I hoped that Danielsen would hear most of what was said in the event of a later dispute.

And there we sat, Oda Fredriksen and I, face to face in the drawing room, with all the red velvet furniture and a sea of flowers on the table beside us.

‘You wanted to ask me some personal questions?’ she said, in her slightly distracted voice.

‘I understand that this is still a very difficult time for you, following your husband’s death. But we have to go back in time first. To your childhood in Vestfold. Your sister was
by all accounts a very beautiful and popular young lady. But from what other people have said, I also understand that she could be quite difficult and that it was not always easy for you, being the
big sister.’

Oda Fredriksen frowned for a moment, but responded swiftly.

‘I don’t know who you have been speaking to, but they are right. Eva was always the most beautiful and brightest of us. And she knew it, and what is more, liked it. She had our
parents wrapped around her little finger until she was confirmed. And then she started to wrap men around her fingers. I was always just, well, the ugly stupid little sister, even though I was the
eldest.’

She sounded angry and bitter when she said this, with knitted brows. I saw a new Oda Fredriksen emerge in the scowl and unblinking eyes. A bitter, older woman looking back on the frustrations in
her life. And I wanted to feed this feeling.

‘It must have been very hard for you. Especially when she fell in love with the man you loved.’

She nodded vigorously, almost furiously.

‘Not only was it hard, it was unbearable. Eva must have known by then that he was the one I wanted. I lay in bed crying alone for hours, whenever he came to visit her. And the evening that
I heard that they had broken up, I stood jubilant in front of my mirror.’

‘But your victory was not yet won. Another woman you knew inconveniently took her place.’

Her gaze was fixed on me and she nodded again – a little less vigorously this time.

‘Solveig Thaulow, yes. My only friend. Clever Solveig. She was also prettier and smarter than me. That is what they all said. I heard them. If only Oda could be a bit more like Solveig, or
like Eva, my mother once said to her parents. Then they all nodded. My father, as well. Solveig was less annoying than my sister. But all the same, the fact that they started going out together was
terrible, and then even worse, they got engaged. I did not see anyone for several days. When finally I ventured out, I went down to the jetty and seriously considered throwing myself into the
water.’

She did not blink and her face had hardened. A third face now appeared from the past. It was a younger, more self-conscious and dangerous face. I sat there and watched, fascinated, as I carried
on talking.

‘But you did not jump, and you discovered new hope. You watched and saw that all was not well between Solveig and Per Johan. And this became even clearer on the trip to Oslo, didn’t
it?’

‘Yes, I kept a close eye on them, and could tell even on the train. They did not sit together and barely spoke. I ingratiated myself with Solveig that evening, said she looked so serious,
asked if everything was all right. She told me that things were not going well with Per Johan and that she was considering breaking off the engagement. Then she said that she thought he might be
interested in me, and perhaps it might be better if that was the case. It was one of the greatest moments in my life. I had never been together with a man, and I had been unhappily in love with Per
Johan for several years.’

‘Suddenly your goal and your great love were within reach. But then your sister appeared again, like the serpent in Paradise. She fluttered her greedy eyes at Per Johan once more. That is
what you discovered that afternoon when you went to her room, isn’t it?’

‘Yes. She told me. She was dressed when I got there. But I could see that the sheet was crumpled. When I asked her who had been there, she smiled her meanest and most horrible smile. She
told me that Per Johan had been there and that he wanted her back. And she said that she had to think about it, but probably would take him back. It might make me even more jealous and unhappy, but
she could not let that stop her. She was so indescribably mean.’

This was said with a hiss. Oda Fredriksen’s face was now unrecognizably stiff. I understood better than ever before what Patricia meant when she talked about chameleon people, and
instinctively pulled back a little for fear that her tongue might suddenly dart out.

‘It certainly sounds like it. You did not go there with the intention to harm her. But then she had one of her epileptic fits and fainted. You might even have helped to get her onto the
sofa. Then it struck you just how vile and mean she was, and that her death would solve all your problems. It was actually a very smart idea.’

She nodded, almost without thinking.

‘Thank you. Yes, I thought it was quite smart myself. No one would think that she might have drowned. Mother and Father would think it was suicide, and as the good old Christian fools they
were, they would refuse permission for an autopsy. And if there was an autopsy, they would discover that she had drowned, but would still not know who had killed her.’

I nodded with encouragement.

‘Suspicion was more likely to fall on her boyfriend, whom she was in the process of jilting. Especially if you left the room key on the floor outside his door. That was quick thinking and
very smart.’

She nodded again, pleased. ‘I was not as stupid as everyone thought. I fooled them all. I got the man I wanted, and I managed to keep him, right until . . .’

Suddenly her face changed completely – to the grieving widow. She covered her eyes with her hands and I saw the tears sliding down her cheeks.

‘Right until someone killed him. Which was terrible. But were you not sad about Vera? Your sister was nasty, but Vera was so young and kind.’

It did not take much more for the embittered face to appear again. She carried on talking, fast, and pointed her finger as though accusing me.

‘Vera was young and kind, but she was so spineless – weak. I always knew that I would outlive Vera. She somehow did not have any fight of her own. Per Johan loved Vera and looked
after her well. And now that he was dead, she would die too. She had tried to take her own life before and would have succeeded in the end, if I had not helped her. Sooner or later she would have
poisoned herself or starved to death. And in the meantime she would have squandered all her inheritance on that artist twit of a boyfriend. It was not easy. I saw Per Johan’s face in hers as
she lay there on the sofa and did think it was terribly sad. But Vera was not worth it, and she was threatening to expose me!’

And with that, everything had been said and explained. And suddenly, as if the trance had been broken, Oda Fredriksen was back in the present again. She recognized me and pressed her hands to
her face. Her voice was almost normal again, but the bitter undertone remained, when she carried on talking after a brief pause.

‘You have no idea what it is like. To live every minute, every hour and every day for so many years in the constant fear of being caught. I hoped it would get better over the years,
particularly once the limitation period had expired. But it didn’t get easier. My greatest fear was in fact not that I would be caught by the law, but be exposed by my husband, my children
and everyone I knew. Keeping it secret became an eternal obsession. Behind the mask, you become an animal, a predator – your instincts and survival mechanisms kick in, especially when
threatened.’

Earlier in the conversation I had experienced a horrified fascination listening to Oda Fredriksen. But now the fascination had gone, and only the horror remained. I was still uncertain as to
whether she was in her right mind, but the court would have to decide that. I had all the answers I needed, and suddenly felt a great reluctance to talk any more with this emotionally cold,
egotistical person.

‘Self-preservation instinct is what some people call it. Well, I guess it’s time for us to go back to the station and get you a lawyer.’

Oda Fredriksen nodded curtly and stood up unexpectedly fast. She stood there, still as a statue, while I got up.

The movement was sudden, just as I was about to stand up straight. I caught a glimpse of some long, sharp nails and thought that they reminded me of a lioness’s claws, before I felt them
scratching just under my eyes. Instinctively, I raised my hands to stop her claws. They disappeared from my eyes and instead I felt a hand fumbling around inside my jacket. The hand was thin and
burning hot against my skin and the nails tore at me like claws.

Then I heard a semi-triumphant ‘haah’ and caught another quick movement as she jumped two steps back.

And, for the second time in my life, I found myself looking down the barrel of a loaded gun.

This time it was my own service gun. The experience was no less frightening because Oda had managed to fumble the safety off, and her finger was now shaking violently on the trigger.

The woman in the black dress was now unrecognizable. Her eyes flashed, and she gasped for breath as she hissed: ‘Who else knows that I killed Vera?’

I thought about the only other time I had looked down the barrel of a pistol. It had also been a terrifying experience that hounded me in nightmares for months after. But that time I knew that
the person holding the pistol was entirely rational. I thought about what Patricia had said: that the overlap was hard to define. I looked at Oda Fredriksen’s wild eyes and feared that she
might pull the trigger, intentionally or unintentionally, at any moment.

The question was a rational one from her perspective. She repeated it: ‘Who else knows that I killed Vera?’

I answered with the truth: ‘Only one other person knows that you killed Vera, but several people know that I am here. The truth will come out, whether you shoot me or not. And if you shoot
a policeman, you will get a life sentence.’

As I said this, I noticed Danielsen in the background.

He came in quietly, in his socks, gliding cautiously over the floor. He was unarmed. But he was in the room and it was an enormous relief that I was not alone with a half-mad murderer.

It was not clear to me if Danielsen’s arrival increased or diminished the chance that I would be shot within the next few seconds. Oda Fredriksen’s finger was still shaking violently
– and the pistol was still pointing at my chest.

‘If I am caught, I will be sentenced to life regardless, for the murder of my daughter. My only chance is not to get caught, so I have to shoot you first. Shoot you, hide your body and
escape in the car – to Sweden or somewhere like that.’