We sat in silence for a few seconds. It was Fredriksen’s widow who spoke first.
‘As you have gathered, the young man in the photograph is completely unknown to us. I can guarantee that he has never been here. However, you should know that my husband led a very busy life, and we only knew a fraction of the people he met. The fact that we don’t know the young man does not mean that he did not know my husband in some way or other. For us, Per Johan was always a good and kind family man. He wanted to spare us all his work-related worries. The boy could be a tenant in one of his properties for all we know, or an aspiring politician from one of the youth organizations. Though he does look rather young. Could he simply be disturbed, or perhaps it was a case of a robbery gone wrong?’
I told them the truth. It was unlikely to have been a robbery, as Per Johan Fredriksen’s wallet, complete with notes and coins, had been found in his pocket. However, the culprit had provided very little information, so the possibility that he was a disturbed individual could not be ruled out. And the option that the murder had been carried out in sheer desperation could not be ruled out either.
Once again, there was silence in the big room. It felt as though we were all thinking the same thing: that it was highly unlikely that Per Johan Fredriksen had been the victim of a random killing, no matter how disturbed the murderer might be.
I said that as a matter of procedure, I had to ask about the contents of the deceased’s will.
His widow replied that she had last seen it only a few months ago and that there was no possible explanation there. The will was simple and straightforward: she herself would receive two million kroner and the right to stay in the house for the rest of her life, and the rest of his wealth would be divided equally between the three children. There were no small allowances for anyone else that might give them a motive for murder.
In response to my question regarding the value of the will, the widow said in short that in the course of her nearly thirty-nine years of marriage she had never discussed the business with her husband and that she had no idea of the current or earlier value of anything.
She looked at her son as she spoke. So I then turned to him as well.
‘I’m afraid I don’t know the details of my father’s business operations either, but we did talk about it earlier this year. He estimated then that the total value of his assets, property and companies was somewhere between fifty and sixty million kroner,’ he said, in the same steady voice. He might have talked about a fifty- or sixty-kroner Christmas present in much the same way.
It seemed that this information came as a surprise to the other two.
‘I thought it was a lot, but I had no idea that it was that much,’ his mother said. Her daughter nodded quickly and chewed even more frantically on her gum.
I noted first of all that the deceased’s family seemed to keep secrets from each other, about things that other people might deem to be important. And, secondly, that the unexpected death would in no way benefit the presumed suspect, but the deceased’s children each stood to gain at least 15 million kroner. This was a large enough figure to give them all a motive – but, as yet, I could not see anything connecting them to the murder.
I said to Johan Fredriksen that I presumed it was he who now had the job of documenting all the assets and dividing them.
‘Yes, I will start on it first thing tomorrow morning, with the help of my father’s accountant and office manager.’
I asked him to inform me immediately if anything cropped up that might be relevant to his father’s death.
He replied: ‘Of course.’
His mother asked me to contact her as soon as there was any news regarding the young man’s identity and motive.
I replied: ‘Of course.’
Then we sat in silence again. This four-way conversation felt rather fruitless. I thought that I would far rather speak to them one by one, but did not want to suggest that right now and had not prepared any questions. So I went no further than asking the children what they did.
The son’s reply was succinct: ‘I am a qualified lawyer and work as an associate in a law firm.’
The daughter’s reply was even shorter: ‘I’ve studied a bit of chemistry and a bit of history of art.’
This was a most unusual combination, but I saw no reason to pursue it now. So I had one final question, which was why Per Johan Fredriksen, who had his home in Bygdøy and his office in the Storting, had been at Majorstuen the night before?
I did not expect the question to cause any tension or drama. After all, as a politician and businessman, Per Johan Fredriksen might have been in the area for any number of reasons.
However, my query was met with absolute silence. Vera Fredriksen looked even paler and chewed even more frenetically and her mother sank even deeper into the cushions and sofa. It was certainly not my intention to upset any of them. So I turned to the still unruffled Johan Fredriksen.
‘Strictly speaking, we are not sure why my father was at Majorstuen yesterday evening,’ he said, in the same voice, but with more deliberation.
‘But you have an idea?’ I guessed.
Johan Fredriksen did not answer. He looked questioningly at his mother. I turned to her too. As, I saw out of the corner of my eye, did Vera Fredriksen.
The widow gave in to the pressure of our combined attention. She let out a quiet sigh, and sank a little more into the sofa, then said: ‘No, we don’t know. But she lives there, so it’s reasonable to assume that he was either on his way to or from his mistress.’
These hushed words blasted into the otherwise still room like cannon fire. The picture that had been painted of Per Johan Fredriksen as a kind family man exploded in front of my eyes, though his smile in the portrait on the wall was just as friendly and reassuring. His wife’s mask fell at the same time.
‘You mustn’t think badly of my husband. We all have our weaknesses. And his only weakness that we knew of was this, his physical attraction to younger women and consequent breaches of the wedding vow. He had so many other good qualities that we forgave him this.’
The son and daughter both nodded. Suddenly the family appeared to be united.
I found the situation vaguely uncomfortable, but also increasingly interesting. And I heard myself ask whether that meant he had had several mistresses.
Oda Fredriksen sighed, but she sat up when she answered. ‘My greatest failure as a wife is that I did not keep my looks well enough to stop him from falling into the arms of younger women. But my greatest triumph is that he always came back to me, and remained my husband until death parted us. Yes, he did have more than one mistress. But for the past few years, there has only been the one in Majorstuen – as far as we know. Surely there is no reason to believe it has anything to do with my husband’s murder, and I hope that as I am grieving, I will not need to spend a lot of time and energy thinking over this. Most of all, I hope that the papers will not get wind of it.’
The latter was said in a choked voice.
I realized that the topic was very difficult for Mrs Fredriksen on a day like today and I did not want to bother her with any more questions. However, I was increasingly intrigued by the clearly complex man in the painting above me and was not as certain that his mistress had nothing to do with the case. There could well be a link, for example, if his mistress happened to have a teenage son with a speech impediment.
So I said I would leave them in peace to mourn and that there was no reason why this aspect of the deceased’s private life need reach the press. I was, however, obliged to ask for the mistress’s name so that I could rule her out of the case.