‘But he was still ambitious?’
Petter Martin Arvidsen gave an unexpectedly broad grin. ‘Goodness yes, the man certainly never suffered from any lack of ambition or belief in his own abilities. He had intimated that he wanted to stand again in the general election next year, and undoubtedly hoped for a ministerial post if the party got back into government. There was even speculation that, despite his age, he rather fancied himself as a new party leader if our current leader stepped down at next year’s party conference. And there were those who believed and feared-’ All of a sudden he stopped and sat in silence for a few moments. Then he said: ‘Please understand that I will do whatever I can to help the police, but that my position in the party might make it difficult to talk openly about a late party member like Fredriksen. Will this meeting be minuted in any way?’
I considered this for a moment or two, then said that as this was not yet a formal statement of any kind; he could talk openly without worrying that it might be recorded in the minutes. I could contact him again later if I needed confirmation of anything.
It was a practical compromise that I felt was acceptable in order to move on with the investigation. To my relief, he readily accepted what was basically a horse-trade.
‘Very good. I appreciate that. So, there are also those who believed and feared that Per Johan Fredriksen was about to betray the party. He was from good old-fashioned farming stock, but had been living in the city for a long time. With his wealth in properties in the city, he had always belonged to the side of the party that was closest to the Conservatives. His seat in Vestfold was no longer secure, and there was speculation that the Conservatives might offer him a senior position as part of their offensive in rural constituencies. And that would seriously damage the Centre Party in terms of next year’s election. And even more sensational than that…’
Petter Martin Arvidsen paused, his face blanched, and when he continued speaking it was in a hushed voice.
‘There has also been speculation that he might change sides in the EEC debate and come out in favour of Norway joining! If one of the leading politicians in the party and our representative on the Standing Committee on Foreign Affairs were to change sides, it would have an enormous and devastating impact on both the party and the no campaign. In such a case, it would almost be better if he swapped party.’
I had to ask if anyone in the party might have seen the threat as being so critical that they would commit murder.
Petter Martin Arvidsen sat quietly and looked out of the window briefly before answering. Then he turned to face me.
‘I wish that I could answer no, but I don’t know that I dare to at the moment. There are powerful emotions at play out there. For some people in our party and in others, this is a religious war. For others it is a fight for their livelihood and to keep the farm that has been in their family for generations. Having said that, I have no one in particular in mind. But I would not like to say that there is no one out there who might be prepared to kill for, or against, the EEC.’
It struck me that Miriam had said more or less the same. And then I thought that I might perhaps have met one such person, when I sat opposite Hauk Rebne Westgaard and heard him say that the EEC would spell the end of agriculture in Norway as we know it.
IV
It was on the way back to the main police station, following my visit to the Centre Party office, that he suddenly appeared for the third time.
When I threw a glance back over my shoulder, there he was on the pavement, moving in the same direction, about four yards behind me.
The man in the hat had changed his suit, and he had his hat discreetly tucked under his left arm. But it was the same hat, and even before I had seen it, I had recognized his walk and expressionless face.
My first thought was to stop and ask him who he was. But I was also afraid of the man, and did not want to confront him. The nightmare where he threw a knife at me on Karl Johan Street had suddenly come back to haunt me in broad daylight.
All I wanted was to get back to the safety of the police station and have some time to think over the situation. So instead of stopping, I carried on walking, speeding up my pace a little.
It felt very uncomfortable to have someone following me so close behind when I had no idea who they were. I tried to pretend I was not concerned, but looked back sooner than I should have.
My encounter with the man in the hat lasted no more than two minutes. We did not exchange a single word; we were never close enough to do so. But it was still a very frightening experience.
As I took those final steps into the main police station, I reflected on what Patricia had said about icebergs, and the fact that the bulk of them lies hidden under the surface. I had not found out who the man in the hat was, but I was certain that he was not a random passer-by. And I was even more certain that he was not good news.
V
I got back just in time for my meeting with the boss at ten o’clock. He was sitting waiting in his office and started to talk as soon as the door closed behind me.
‘The pathologist has informed me of his conclusions regarding the most recent murder. He was, with good reason, very impressed that you knew the cause of death before he told you.’
I thanked him with appropriate modesty, and said that when using the process of elimination, it was fairly logical. I added that we were therefore also clearly dealing with murder.
My boss nodded. ‘I asked the pathologist if it was possible for Miss Fredriksen to have taken her own life with the help of water. And according to him this was unthinkable, especially as she was lying on the sofa with no trace of water nearby. Someone had poured water down her throat and possibly held her down until she drowned, then dried away any splashes and disappeared. A clear case of murder. And this makes it even more natural to look for the clues in Fredriksen’s personal life.’
I chewed on this for a few seconds. Then I said tentatively that there were other possibilities. For example, that the person who killed Fredriksen had also killed his daughter to hide his or her tracks.
He shook his head disapprovingly. ‘That seems very unlikely. I think you should focus all your attention on Fredriksen’s family and friends; that is where you will find the murderer.’
I thought for a beat, then put my trust in Patricia and took the plunge. ‘And with all due respect, I think there is something important that you are not telling me. Something that may not be decisive, but that I should definitely know, as I am investigating the murder of Per Johan Fredriksen.’
My boss started as soon as I spoke. It was a bold shot in the dark: I would have nothing to say if my boss asked what I thought he was hiding. And my boss could be sharp when his authority was challenged. I saw his teeth as he prepared to fire a caustic reply. But instead, when he did finally open his mouth, he spoke in an unexpectedly calm, almost feeble voice.
‘I should have known better than to think I could hide something from you, Kristiansen. I apologize as there is, indeed, something important that I’ve been keeping from you. I thought it was not significant and that it would be best for everyone concerned if you did not know. But it may be important and as head of the investigation you should know what it is, so that you are aware of the possibility. But this must be kept strictly between us – not even Danielsen can know.’
An incredible sense of relief flooded my body. I sent my heartfelt thanks to Patricia – and assured my boss that not even Danielsen would hear a thing about it.
‘What I have not told you is that when Fredriksen was killed, he was on the point of being arrested – on suspicion of being a Soviet spy. The police security service had been watching him for some time and believed they had grounds to arrest him. The timing was, as I am sure you can appreciate, highly sensitive in light of the imminent agreement.’