I no longer thought that the boy had committed the murder and did not think that he held the answer. But I was still curious about his role in the story and so decided that I would have a chat with the teacher he had apparently been so fond of. However, that would have to wait until the end of the school day. For now, having tried without success to find answers in Per Johan Fredriksen’s close family and his friends involved in the 1932 tragedy who were still alive, I wanted to get to know the businessman and politician.
V
The company, Per Johan Fredriksen A/S, had centrally located premises in an office block on Roald Amundsen’s Street, close to the National Theatre, but they were far smaller than I had expected. Three office clerks sat side by side, squeezed between the bookshelves in a room that was smaller than my office. The offices of the office manager and accountant were also surprisingly small and filled to bursting with lever arch files.
The office manager, Odd Jørgensen, was a slightly overweight, thin-haired besuited man with horn-rimmed spectacles, who looked around fifty or so. He was sitting half buried in a pile of rental contracts, but cleared his desk as soon as I arrived. He suggested that we might like to call in the accountant, Erling Svendsen, straightaway.
I agreed that this was a practical idea, even though there would not be much room round the table in Jørgensen’s office. Svendsen was a few years younger, had a bit more hair, a bit less girth and smaller glasses, but was otherwise remarkably like Jørgensen.
I started by asking about the company’s financial situation. Jørgensen left this to Svendsen, who gave a very sombre account, similar to the one I had heard from Kjell Arne Ramdal. The company was operating with a healthy profit and had a sound property portfolio, but in recent years had lost ground and momentum in a rapidly expanding market. The investments that had been made in the older flats, for which there was falling demand, were not sufficient and the administration was too overworked to keep a full overview of existing properties and possible new acquisitions.
Jørgensen nodded in agreement to this and then took over, having exchanged a glance with Ssvendsen.
‘To be frank, even though it is only days since he died, part of the problem was that Fredriksen was too shortsighted and averse to risk as a businessman. He liked to say that his strategy was to go for the best possible gains next month without the risk of losses this month. He was what is called a quarterly capitalist.’
I looked at Svendsen, who nodded vigorously. It was clear that the two men had worked together for a long time and were reading from the same page when it came to their assessment of the situation. Svendsen quickly took over where Jørgensen left off.
‘The offer he was given by Ramdal was extremely good and possibly a few million too high, if one was to add up the estimated value of the properties right now. We both recommended that Fredriksen should accept the offer. But he was hesitant, and we almost wondered if he was considering turning it down. Despite all his years in the capital, he was still a farmer at heart and was inherently sceptical about giving away land and property. In many ways, the business was his life’s work.’
I asked if they, for their part, were in favour of the possibility of a takeover. They exchanged a quick look and then nodded simultaneously. The office manager was the one who spoke.
‘We and the rest of the office staff were all in favour of it. Ramdal is known to be a demanding but fair boss and open to suggestions from his staff. We hoped that we might get a bit more space, less overtime and, more than anything, slightly more humane working conditions.’
I gave them a puzzled look and said that according to his family, Fredriksen had always been a kind-hearted and generous man.
They exchanged glances again. Jørgensen nodded and Svendsen spoke.
‘His son said the same thing when he came here, and we have to admit that it came as a surprise to us. Fredriksen never invited us to his home and until his son came to the office, we had never met any of his children. We only knew the businessman. And the word heartless would be closer to the truth in describing him, I’m afraid. In fact, Odd and I have remarked more than once that the only time we have seen Fredriksen smile is when he was being a politician on television, but never when he was here as a businessman.’
Svendsen suddenly fell silent, as though he felt guilty and ashamed of what he had said. Jørgensen swiftly picked up the thread and continued in the same vein.
‘Fredriksen has not been here much in recent years. He concentrated more and more on his role as a politician and only spoke about the office when someone asked him about business. Fredriksen’s instructions to us were clear and ruthless: anyone who falls behind with the rent is to be evicted as soon as it is legally possible, and new tenants are to be offered the highest rent permitted by the law and the market. But the rental market is a hard place to be heartless: plenty of poor and desperate people come to our door, not knowing that we can’t help them.’
‘And one of the poorest and most desperate came here last Thursday, didn’t she?’ I said.
They both nodded at the same time. Jørgensen took off his horn-rimmed spectacles and covered his eyes with his hand for a moment or two. Svendsen came to his rescue and carried on talking in a tremulous voice.
‘It was the most terrible experience. The woman had obviously done her utmost in a very difficult situation. But the only thing that mattered in terms of our instructions was that she had no money and no means of earning any money. One former tenant shot himself the day after being evicted, but there were no changes to our instructions as a result. And we had to follow the instructions. We feared that it might end in suicide, but obviously had no idea that it would ultimately affect Fredriksen himself – if it was her son who killed Fredriksen.’
I deftly avoided answering that and emphasized that I was in no doubt that they had simply been following instructions. However, Jørgensen hastily came to their defence.
‘It was heartbreaking all the same. And what made it worse was that the woman was a former employee. She had worked here as a cleaner in the mid-fifties. It was before Erling’s time, but soon after I had started. She only worked for a few hours in the evening. However, I met her in the doorway several times and remember thinking that she was a beautiful and always cheerful woman, despite her simple clothes and poor pay. It was not easy to see her on her knees, so desperate here the other day.’
I immediately latched on to this new loose connection between the two deceased men, but it was hardly conclusive. To begin with, we already had a clear motive for the boy on the red bicycle to kill Per Johan Fredriksen, and what was more, he had in all likelihood not done it. However, there were clearly a puzzling and striking number of knotted threads that criss-crossed this case.
Jørgensen lowered his hand when he stopped talking. I saw two tears before he hastily wiped them away and put on his glasses again. Even though his crying was silent and discreet, it made quite an impression on me to see an office manager in his fifties, dressed in a suit, sit in his office and cry.
I asked them in conclusion if it was only because of the money that they both had continued to work for Fredriksen for so many years, despite the very difficult working conditions and extremely unpleasant brief.
The office manager and accountant were still remarkably synchronized; as was now to be expected, Svendsen answered my question about their finances and Jørgensen nodded in agreement.
‘The wages are not particularly high, in fact, they are probably a band or two below what is normal for similar positions in the sector, but we have permanent jobs with a relatively good salary, and we know what needs to be done, and there is a good atmosphere in the office, despite the lack of space. Better the devil you know, as they say, especially in times like these. So we gritted our teeth when tensions ran high and sat tight waiting for better times. Which we hope will finally come now.’