I said, as diplomatically and vaguely as I could, that the investigation had to keep all leads open, but that there was an eyewitness whose account gave reasons to doubt that her pupil had been the murderer.
‘What kind of eyewitness, what did they see?’ she asked, leaning even further forwards over the desk.
It frustrated me that I had to say, for obvious reasons, that I was unfortunately unable to tell her more.
‘Of course. I understand. Confidentiality is important,’ she said, with palpable disappointment in her voice, and finally leaned back in her chair.
Then she said that she would soon have to relieve the babysitter, if there was nothing more she could help me with.
I replied that there was nothing for the moment, but that I would contact her again if it became necessary. Then I added that I would inform her when the question of Tor’s guilt had been clarified.
We left the now empty middle school together. Outside the gates, we stopped at the bus stop. She hesitated at first, but then pointed over the road.
‘A couple of times when I came out from evening meetings, I saw Tor cycling past on his way home. I sometimes wondered if I should stop him and ask where he had been and how he was. But, unfortunately, I never did. And now that he’s dead, I regret that. I should have done more for him while he was alive. But that’s the trouble when you have too many pupils in each class, and a husband and child at home.’
I agreed with her that that was how it was; whether you were a policeman or a teacher, it was not possible to help everyone you met who needed it. She had no reason to reproach herself for the tragedy that had struck one of her pupils. Whether he was guilty or not, she very definitely was not. To the contrary, I had come to see her because his mother had told me how much he appreciated her.
Eveline Kolberg was so happy to hear this that she nearly missed her bus. We separated with a brief hug before I more or less pushed her onto the vehicle.
I stood there and watched the bus drive off. I thought that it had been a rare and inspiring meeting with a rare and idealistic teacher, whom I would gladly meet again under different circumstances. But she had a husband and a child who had to be collected from the babysitter. I had only one hour left before having supper with my fiancée – and more than enough to think about in the meantime.
VIII
It was five to four before I could leave the police station. The day’s meeting to report back to my boss was longer than expected.
Based on my description, my boss had no idea who the man in the hat might be, and he thought that it might well just be a coincidence. Otherwise he praised me for having taken the time to interview both Per Johan Fredriksen’s employees and Tor Johansen’s teacher, but could still not see any clues that might point to another murderer. It all rested on a somewhat unreliable observation by a 104-year-old woman who only contacted the police two days after the murder took place.
My boss was not in the best mood today. He was fortunately more interested in Hauk Rebne Westgaard’s story and agreed that after hearing his version, the death from 1932 was even more suspicious. At a quarter to four, we agreed that it was a serious breach of duty that an autopsy had not been carried out at the time. Three minutes later we also agreed that I should keep all possibilities open and carry on with the investigation, but that it still seemed natural to focus on Per Johan Fredriksen’s private life, in light of the mysterious death in 1932.
I was very relieved to hand over the hairs from 1932 for technical examination. And then I drove home – pleased that the investigation was to continue, but unsure about how to go about it. Already the case had too many uncertain details that pointed in too many different directions.
Once again I longed for Patricia’s clear, sharp voice. As I parked the car, I decided that I would discuss the matter with Miriam over a good meal and then ask for her permission to ring Patricia if we still had not got any further. I suspected that Miriam would not like it, but thought that she would accept that we now had to try every means possible to draw out the truth and prove the innocence of the boy on the red bicycle.
But I did not have the opportunity to discover whether this tactic would work. I did not even have time to say my planned ‘sorry I’m a little late’ when I got to the flat at five past four.
‘There you are, at last. Vera Fredriksen rang for you about half an hour ago. She seemed to be happy and rather excited and said that it was really important that she spoke to you as soon as possible. I said that you were not home yet, and asked if I could give you a message. She asked me to tell you that she was at Haraldsen’s Hotel and that she thought she could explain to you what had happened there. I immediately understood what she was talking about, but didn’t say anything. I just promised to give you the message as soon as you got in. So you have to go there, straightaway, don’t even think about it.’
Miriam was obviously fired up by this unexpected chance of a solution. As was I, of course. So I thanked her and promised to be back as soon as I could.
She said that she would wait until six, but then had to go to her meetings, and would then be back around ten. I gave her a quick kiss on the mouth before running down the stairs and back out to my car.
IX
It was rush hour in Oslo, and I got stuck in traffic twice. So it was twenty to five by the time I got to Haraldsen’s Hotel in Ullern. It was a small but reputable old hotel which looked as though nothing had changed since before the war, either inside or out.
And the amount of business now did not bode well for the future. I saw myself reflected in two elegant full-length mirrors on the wall in reception. The only other person I saw was a well-dressed male receptionist, possibly in his sixties, who also looked as though he had been there since before the war. According to his name badge, he was the head of reception and his name was Valdemar Haraldsen.
He looked at me with a friendly smile and asked: ‘And what can I do for you? Apologies if I seem a little distracted, but it has been an unexpectedly busy day here today.’
This seemed slightly comical, given that he did not seem to be in the least distracted and it did not look like he had had a busy day.
I introduced myself and said that I had agreed to meet a Miss Vera Fredriksen, who was staying at the hotel.
He squinted at me over his glasses with a smile, then looked down at a good old-fashioned guest book.
‘Yes, that is correct. The young lady turned up around midday, without prior warning, and asked if Room 111 was available. It is rather unusual to ask for a specific room, but she paid in cash and made a very favourable impression. Miss Fredriksen asked about the hotel’s history and thanked me politely when I could confirm that there has been no major renovation since just after the First World War. Room 111 is as it was then – it had an en suite bathroom even back then.’
The receptionist was obviously a friendly and patient man by nature. I felt a little less patient and a little less friendly right now. So I asked if he could please call Room 111 to let her know that I had arrived.
Valdemar Haraldsen replied in a manner that was just as friendly and patient, that the hotel, true to style and tradition, had not yet installed telephones in the rooms. However, Room 111 was the first room to the left down the corridor upstairs, and he would be happy to go and knock on the door if I so wished.
I assured him that I was perfectly able and happy to do so myself, thanked the head of reception for his help and started up the stairs.
I found the corridor and Room 111 without any difficulty. However, there was not a sound to be heard inside when I knocked on the door. I knocked twice and called out Vera’s name once without getting any reaction. The door was locked when I tried it.