‘You are, as usual, to be praised for following up every lead, Kristiansen. How old did you say this new witness was?’
I took a deep breath, in and out. Then I replied: ‘One hundred and four. She is very old indeed, but has perfect vision and a clear head. I found her to be wholly credible.’
I hoped that my boss would nod. But instead, he just sat there waiting.
‘It is, however, a ripe old age for an eyewitness who has seen something through the window at dusk. The only thing she said that can be checked and that was not reported in the papers, is that Fredriksen was stabbed twice. She might, of course, simply be guessing. That being said, it is unsettling news and could indicate that Fredriksen’s murderer is still at large. But it might cause confusion and unfounded speculation if we were to step up the investigation after the prime suspect has committed suicide and left behind a note that was as good as a confession.’
We fell silent. All at once, I found I was not sure of my boss. But I felt that I had to say something, before he asked me to wrap up the investigation as planned.
So I said that the solution would be to announce that the prime suspect had indeed taken his own life and left behind a note that could be interpreted as a confession, but that the police would continue the investigation as a matter of course.
My boss gave a quick nod.
‘Yes, let’s do that. You follow up things with the family. Question whom you want, call in Danielsen if you need help and let me know immediately of any new developments.’
I promised to do that and stood up to leave. My boss remained sitting. I got the distinct feeling that there was something else, and that he was deliberating whether to bring it up. So I stayed where I was.
He coughed and then said: ‘If we follow it through and remain open to the possibility that someone other than the late young Tor Johansen…’ he paused. ‘It seems more likely that we should look for the clues in Fredriksen’s private life and any connection to the old mystery from 1932, rather than his political activities. So perhaps it would be best to start with the friends in the group who are still alive?’
Further investigation into the mystery from 1932 was at the top of my list of priorities. So I agreed without hesitation, but added that we should in principle be open to all possibilities as the victim had been a senior politician with many strings to his bow.
My boss could hardly disagree with this. So he simply nodded. I got the impression that he had more on his mind than he was willing to say, and left in anticipation of what more I might discover about the murder mystery from 1932.
XIV
Miriam had been given the spare key to my flat and used it well. Supper was already on the table when I got home at twenty-five past six.
I thanked her for her understanding and apologized for being late. She replied merrily that it was important to use time efficiently, as she had a meeting at the party office at eight. She then asked me to tell her without further ado about any developments in the investigation.
She lost her twinkle when I told her about the death earlier in the day and what had happened since then. Miriam looked as though she might burst into tears for a minute or two when she heard the story of the boy and his mother. She sat deep in thought for the latter part of the meal.
‘Tell me again what the quote was,’ she said, eventually.
I got it out of my bag.
‘“Because either it is the world that is turned to slavery, or me… and it is more likely to be the latter”.’
She nodded mournfully. ‘Just as I thought. It’s from a book on the Norwegian literature curriculum – at the end of Jonas Lie’s One of Life’s Slaves. The protagonist, Nikolai, is a young man who has grown up in very difficult circumstances and has done his utmost to be a law-abiding pillar of society, but he ends up in prison all the same. In the novel, Nikolai ends up committing murder out of sheer desperation and frustration. So it could be interpreted however you want. But you don’t think he committed the murder, do you?’
Her question was unexpected, but I shook my head firmly all the same. ‘What about Hauptmann, then?’
Miriam gave this some thought while she ate the rest of her food.
‘I’m not sure. It’s a new name to me, but there is something familiar about it,’ she said. She sat quietly for a while longer. Then suddenly she pointed at me and jumped up from the sofa.
‘I think we saw something about him when we went through the history book,’ she said.
Four seconds later she was already over by the bookshelf. She leafed with impressive speed to the middle of the book, then exclaimed with satisfaction: ‘And here we have Hauptmann! If he is who I think he is. And it has to be, surely?’
I rushed over to her, looked at the picture and said without thinking that I agreed, it had to be him.
The photograph was from 1936. Hauptmann’s first name was Bruno. He was a dark, thin and serious young man in the photographs taken during a court case in New Jersey, where he was being tried for the kidnapping and murder of the legendary pilot, Charles Lindbergh’s little boy. Hauptmann came from a simple background and the evidence against him was so controversial that he was not executed until a year after the court case. Hauptmann was a German immigrant who could barely make himself understood, but maintained his stammering innocence until his death.
Miriam and I stood there in the middle of the room, with the book between us and read what was written with wide eyes. Then we looked at each other.
‘I think he was innocent,’ I said.
‘Hauptmann or the boy on the red bicycle?’ Miriam asked, more than a little pedantically.
‘Both,’ I said.
She nodded in agreement and we kissed on it.
‘Your memory is impressive. I should have called you as soon as he mentioned Hauptmann,’ I said.
We both stepped back and fell silent. The thought that the boy on the red bicycle had been innocent and that he might still have been alive if I had realized this sooner, was very unsettling. It seemed Miriam understood.
‘But I was in the library, so you would not have been able to get hold of me by phone. And in any case, we will never know whether the outcome might have been different. He certainly didn’t make it easy for you. He was clearly a well-read and intelligent boy, despite his handicap. But it does seem strange that he only added to his problems by speaking in riddles in the way that he did,’ she said, slowly.
Again, I had to agree. The young Tor Johansen’s mental state remained a mystery within the murder mystery, and we might never know the answer. It did not make the investigation any easier, even though we now assumed that he had come to the scene of the crime after the murder, and had not seen who did it.
‘Why on earth did he take the knife with him if he wasn’t guilty?’ I wondered.
Miriam stood thinking. Then she sighed heavily and said: ‘I don’t know. It’s just one of the things we’ll have to ponder. But right now I have to leave for the meeting at the party office, if I’m going to be on time. And tomorrow I’m afraid I have a Socialist People’s Party regional meeting and an anti-EEC meeting…’
She looked rather apologetic when she said this. I said that I would be more than happy to drive her, but she replied that public transport was more environmentally friendly and also more efficient timewise. Then she made a speedy exit. I had to dash after her to say thank you for her input today and that I would phone her at the halls of residence tomorrow before her meetings.
Then once again I stood alone at the window and watched Miriam become smaller and smaller until she was just a smudged shadow in the evening dark. And I thought about the big question we had not had time to discuss today – in other words, Patricia.