Hauk Rebne Westgaard gave another of his sharp nods. ‘That was not important to me. I would have wanted Eva even if she was the daughter of a poor farmhand, but of course I knew full well that she was heir to land and property worth millions. I both saw and heard that it was important to other young men, from families that were often far richer than my own. The wealthy farmers down here used to joke that there were no engagements in Vestfold, only mergers.’
He smiled fleetingly when he said this. But the smile disappeared as soon as I asked if he had known that Per Johan Fredriksen had shown some interest in his girlfriend.
‘Yes. He paid a lot of attention to my girlfriend, and Kjell Arne Ramdal showed a lot of interest in both my girlfriend and Per Johan’s fiancée. So the atmosphere on the way into the capital and at the hotel was rather tense. I could feel that a drama was brewing, but the form it then took came as a shock. On the surface, Eva was the most carefree and relaxed of us all. She lived to be adored. We had discussed it and I was happy for her to be the centre of attention.’
I noted that jealousy could have been a possible motive for Hauk Rebne Westgaard. I then asked him what he believed happened.
‘It was not epilepsy that killed Eva, I am almost certain of that. I had been to the doctor with her a few days before. He had assured her that epilepsy was something she would die with, but not from. Otherwise she was as fit as a fiddle with no sign of any illness. It seems just as unlikely to me that she committed suicide. First of all, she had been in a remarkably good mood all spring, and still was only a few hours before. Second, I don’t understand how she committed suicide, if she did. I was with her when she packed and did not see medicine of any sort either then or later in the hotel room. I smelt her lips after she had died, and they did not smell of anything. Even though I cannot categorically dismiss the possibility that she committed suicide or died as a result of her illness, I have always believed that she was murdered. But how she was killed, why she was killed and by whom, remains as much of a mystery to me now, forty years on, as then. And I would be so grateful if you could tell me.’
There was a faint spark in the eyes of the man opposite me when he said this. Despite his control, he suddenly scared me a little, with the feeling only enhanced by all the guns and trophies on the wall.
I said that I was not able to tell him now, but that I would do my utmost to find out.
‘I thank you for that. It’s more than can be said of the police in 1932. They danced to her father’s tune. He was a very conservative and powerful old man who was less interested in finding out the truth than in hiding the potential scandal a suicide would have entailed. As her young boyfriend, and with no contacts in Oslo, I had no rights whatsoever and was ignored when I tried to support her sister’s demands for an autopsy. And, likewise, when I informed them that it was clear that another person had been in her room in the hour or two before she died, and also in her bed.’
Hauk Rebne Westgaard’s hard and defiant eyes pierced me to the core when he said this. He replied swiftly and without hesitation when I asked him how he could be so sure of that.
‘I was the first person into her room when we all went up. I immediately noticed that the bed, which had been made up earlier in the day, was now crumpled. Eva was full of energy and as good as never slept in the afternoons. She may, of course, have done so that day, but there were also three black hairs on her pillow. Eva had blonde hair, so they were clearly not hers. The police said they were unable to establish who the hair came from. They examined the bed as soon as they were told, but found no evidence of sexual activity and suggested that the hairs could have got there by all manner of ways that might not be directly linked to her death. But I can still only think of one plausible explanation, and that is that there was a dark-haired man in her room – and bed – only hours before she died.’
He said this in a very quiet voice, almost a whisper – which I could well understand. If his story was true, Hauk Rebne Westgaard had lived for the past forty years not only with the uncertainty of how his girlfriend had died, but also with the question of who she had been unfaithful with beforehand.
Hauk Rebne Westgaard’s still-black hair was right in front of my very eyes as we sat there looking at each other. So I cautiously asked if those black hairs might not be his own. He nodded very firmly to this and then spoke very fast.
‘Yes, I understand that you have to ask. I realized that that was what the police suspected. But Eva and I had not shared a bed that day and, in fact, I had been nowhere near the bed in her hotel room. So the hairs had to be from someone else. Per Johan and Kjell Arne both had dark hair at the time, so if it was either of them it would be difficult to say which one. There may of course have been a third man, unknown to me, but it seems much more likely that it was one of those two… and, of course, there is nothing to say that whoever was in the bed took Eva’s life afterwards, but again, it seems likely.’
I had to agree with both points, and asked him which of the two he suspected.
Hauk Rebne Westgaard gave it some thought, then answered in an even quieter voice. ‘I don’t know. I have thought about it a thousand times and changed my mind at least five hundred. I knew Per Johan best from childhood and have always liked him best. But from a very young age he was a man with many faces. On the other hand, I had never cared for Kjell Arne, but only ever saw one face. So it has always seemed more likely to me that it was my childhood friend, Per Johan, who took Eva’s life and left mine in ruins.’
He said the latter in an almost inaudible voice and with a faint glow in his eyes. I was aware of all the guns and trophies behind him and thought to myself that Hauk Rebne Westgaard was not someone I would like to have as an enemy.
He apparently realized that he had perhaps gone too far.
‘You asked, and I am giving you an honest answer. Obviously, I would not have said that if I had killed Per Johan. Which I didn’t. I still don’t know if I had a reason to hate Per Johan and I don’t know who killed him.’
I quickly followed this up by asking what his thoughts were when Per Johan made his unexpected announcement at the memorial dinner a few days earlier.
‘Initially I thought that he had found something out that linked Kjell Arne to the murder. Then I looked at Kjell Arne, and his only reaction was to knit his eyebrows and look puzzled. So then I thought perhaps Per Johan was saying it to deflect any suspicion, but it was hard to understand why he would do that now. And then he said nothing more. He raised his glass of water demonstratively and remained silent for the rest of the meal. It was an interesting meal in that respect, but left me none the wiser.’
I thought to myself that Patricia would be able to discern something from this, but I could not see what it might be.
Before I had time to ask another question, Hauk Rebne Westgaard suddenly moved – with unexpected speed and force. As though pulling a gun, he pulled out his wallet and put it down on the table between us. It was made of brown leather and, as far as I could see, was full of notes and coins. He put his fingers into a small side pocket and carefully took out a small white stamp bag.
And hey presto, there we were with three dark hairs from 1932 between us.
I stared intensely at them for a few seconds, but was unable to guess to whom they belonged.
Hauk Rebne Westgaard asked me in a quiet voice if technology was now so advanced that it was possible to establish someone’s identity from three forty-year-old strands of hair. I replied in an even softer voice that it was worth a try, but that normally it was not possible.
He said: ‘A small chance is still better than no chance at all,’ and pushed the bag containing the three hairs over towards me.
I put it carefully in my own wallet and said that I would look after it well. He said that he would like them back afterwards, and I promised him that he would get them.