‘Once again, you are right. What is confusing is not his behaviour after the murder, but his behaviour after his arrest,’ I said.
Patricia nodded. ‘Precisely. Though to be fair, he did say specifically that Fredriksen was dead when he went back, and he shook his head when you asked him if he had seen the murder. So perhaps he did not have much more to say. The parallels with Hauptmann and van der Lubbe indicate that he was well aware of the situation, despite his communication problems. But his refusal to give his name or other details is very strange and clearly did not help his already difficult situation. There is something irrational about it which could indicate mental disturbance and thus make it possible that he did commit the offence after all. But it was most probably due to shock or an exaggerated belief that you would quickly be able to uncover the truth. Whatever the case, the story of the boy on the red bicycle is so puzzling that we cannot simply write him off as a tragic red herring. However, the most interesting thing is, in fact, not the boy’s reaction, but-’
Patricia stopped speaking and looked very pensive indeed. It was obvious that the cogs in her brain were whirring furiously.
‘But the mother’s reaction?’ I tried tentatively.
Patricia shook her head with what looked like irritation. ‘No, no, given that she had been away for the weekend and did not get back until Monday, that part of the story is believable enough. What I find strange is your boss’s reaction. In part because he is so keen to close the case and put the young boy down as the perpetrator. And in part because he keeps saying that if the investigation is to continue, the focus should be on Fredriksen’s private life and the tragedy in 1932. At the risk of sounding paranoid, I wonder whether Fredriksen’s murder might be like an iceberg, and that we still cannot see the bulk of what is hidden under the surface. There is one thing that could point in that direction, and I do not like it one bit.’
Patricia fell silent again. Then suddenly she drank the rest of her coffee in one go. Then she said five words: ‘The man in the hat.’ She sat deep in thought without saying anything as the seconds ticked by. ‘I would very much like to know who the man in the hat is. If he really is just a passer-by whom you happened to meet twice in the same day, it is all far less dramatic and I wouldn’t fret. However, I do not think that is the case. If he was following you, he could of course be a friend, relative or private detective who is following you on behalf of someone in the Fredriksen family, his mistress, the Ramdals or Hauk Rebne Westgaard. But it would be fairly risky for any of them to ask someone to follow a police detective like that. And what they stood to gain by knowing where you were going is unclear. So I doubt that that is the explanation. In which case, the man with the hat points to something bigger which is still lurking beneath the surface, in possibly rather icy water. Too much importance should not be placed on his missing finger joint, in isolation, but that detail does not make the case any more pleasant…’
Patricia’s hands were shaking ever so slightly when she lifted the coffee cup to her mouth. She appeared to be lost deep in her own thoughts and did not notice that the cup was empty.
‘No, there are far too many possibilities here for me to be able to give you any more help tonight. I need more facts in order to discard those that don’t work. Let me know when you have more. Check the alibis of everyone we have spoken about, ask the family if they know about any of Fredriksen’s other mistresses, follow up his political life, be open to the possibility that your boss is not telling you everything he knows about the case – and meanwhile, take good care of yourself.’
The latter was said in a slightly tremulous voice.
I was deeply touched by Patricia’s concern in the midst of it all. I told her so, thanked her for her help so far and gave her a hug as I made to leave. Patricia’s reply was short: ‘Good. We will talk again tomorrow, then.’ But her cheek burned hot against mine, and I felt that our meeting had been unexpectedly successful.
It was only when I was at the door that I realized what we had not talked about, and that was Miriam. Patricia had not asked after her and I had not mentioned her.
XIII
Despite the new conclusions and Patricia’s warnings, as I drove home I thought less about the investigation and more about the dilemma I now found myself in. The magic and optimism of my renewed contact with Patricia receded as soon as I could no longer see or hear her. It felt almost as though I had been unfaithful to Miriam, simply by visiting Patricia without having asked her first. It reached the point by the end of the journey where, despite the progress we had made on the investigation, I regretted having gone and was more worried about what Miriam’s reaction might be were she to find out.
It seemed increasingly to me that the best solution for all parties would be if the case could be solved within a day or two, without Miriam ever needing to know about Patricia’s involvement. Patricia appeared to be happy with the situation and her role being kept secret, from Miriam as well, and obviously did not need any form of recognition. Miriam was happy when she could discuss the case with me, without knowing that I was also discussing it with Patricia.
My flat lay in darkness when I parked outside at half past nine. I had by then decided that the solution to my great dilemma would be that I would not tell Miriam about my visit to Patricia unless absolutely necessary, but that I would answer honestly if she asked if I had contacted Patricia.
XIV
The night was dark and there was a fine drizzle in the air. I sat indoors alone and stewed until about half-past ten, but did not manage to pull myself together enough to think systematically in any way about the case.
For the first time I found myself thinking it would perhaps be just as well if Miriam did not come as agreed, so that I could talk to her in the morning when I was rested instead. But I knew she would come: partly because she was curious about the case, but mostly because she had promised she would. And I was right, of course. Two minutes after the half-past-ten bus had passed, a familiar figure in a raincoat with a thick book in her hand emerged from the dark.
Miriam snapped the book shut as soon as I opened the door to the flat. ‘Sorry, the last meeting dragged on. Did young Vera Fredriksen bring the investigation any closer to a conclusion?’ she asked, before she had even taken off her shoes.
I had to tell her that Vera Fredriksen had unfortunately been killed herself before she had a chance to tell me anything and that the investigation was therefore now even more complex.
To begin with, Miriam was very sad to hear about young Vera’s death, but soon became increasingly interested to know what had happened.
I had tried to ease my bad conscience by preparing a late supper with the best food I could find in the fridge, which Miriam seemed to appreciate. She ate more than me, of course; I had already had a three-course meal, and was struggling with my guilt. Otherwise, everything went unexpectedly well. Miriam digested the food and the story of Vera Fredriksen’s death at the same time, and did not ask about Patricia. It struck me that the situation was the same as it had been at Patricia’s: Miriam did not ask, and I did not divulge.
I did not mention the explanation as to why the boy on the red bicycle had taken the murder weapon with him when he fled the scene of the crime. And I kept my worries about the man in the hat to myself. But I did say that it had struck me, before the results of the autopsy were clear, that one possibility was that both Eva Bjølhaugen and Vera Fredriksen had been drowned, using water from the bathroom.
Miriam was very impressed and said that the idea was a good example of my creative thinking when it came to investigations. There was a slightly awkward atmosphere when she said this, but it was the closest that we got to mentioning Patricia that evening. We quickly changed tack; it felt as though both of us wanted to.