In my overwrought state, I did not recognize the doctor until he said his name. But I was ridiculously relieved and almost cried with joy when he did. Bernt Berg had appeared to be incapable of feeling, but in fact he was a warm-hearted and dedicated doctor, and in the summer of 1970, he had saved Miriam when, in connection with one of my previous cases, she had been shot and had hovered between life and death.
I said that I knew who he was and that it was very nice to be remembered by him, and that he had indeed done the right thing by calling here. As he did not respond to this, I asked how the patient was and when it might be possible to see her.
‘The police are welcome to see her whenever they like, if that is of interest. She is asleep right now. She was semiconscious when she was found and should be left to sleep off the effects of the drug, so it probably will not be possible to talk to her before later on tomorrow morning.’
The senior doctor’s voice was like a machine, steady and reassuring – just as I remembered it on the odd occasion that I thought about the drama in 1970 that had brought Miriam and I together. It felt strange, almost moving, that we should now be brought together again by the same doctor. Above all, it was a huge relief that she had been found and was in good hands at Ullevål. My voice was shaky all the same, when I asked Bernt Berg how he assessed the patient’s condition this time.
He replied in an equally calm and unruffled voice: ‘It would seem that there is no danger at all. A young and healthy person should be able to cope without any permanent damage, and there is nothing to indicate that she has been harmed in any way. There are, however, effusions of blood on her wrists which indicate that her hands have been bound for some time, and that would be particularly uncomfortable for anyone who already has shoulder and neck injuries. She could barely move her arms when we found her. But the mobility will gradually return. We will keep her in hospital over the weekend, as she needs rest and quiet. But as far as I can see, there is no reason to fear any long-term physical harm other than the injuries she already had. And we will have to wait until she wakes up to see how she is mentally. As I said, when she was admitted she was terribly confused and kept repeating the same words over and over again. Though I have to say, I am not sure of their significance.’
My heart felt lighter and lighter – but then sank a little when he said this. I immediately asked what the word was.
His reply was short and deadpan: ‘The library book. At first I thought I had misheard, but then she said it again, several times.’
It was impossible not to laugh when he said this. I apologized and explained that I knew the young woman in question rather well, as she was now my fiancée. She had been kidnapped, she loved books, and when she was abducted, she had dropped a library book. The fact that she remembered and was worried about the library book showed that she was pretty much herself.
He said, just as seriously, that there was little need to worry then and that I would be allowed to go in and see her sleeping for a few minutes if I came by the hospital in the next hour or two.
I said that I would do that, and ended the call.
I stood there with my ear to the receiver for a moment. And then a wave of euphoria washed over me that needed physical expression. I leapt up and hit the ceiling with joy.
It was only when I landed that I remembered I was in Danielsen’s office and not my own, and that Danielsen was standing right behind me.
He took it with good humour, as did I. We generously and jubilantly congratulated one another.
On my way out of the office, I asked how many of the past twenty-four hours he had been on duty. He smiled briefly and said: ‘Fifteen. I think I can perhaps go home with a clear conscience now.’
I thanked him profusely and said that he could certainly stay at home all weekend with a clear conscience. He replied that he would like to go home now, but, if it was all right with me, he would come back again tomorrow to help with the Fredriksen investigation. I told him I appreciated that.
I felt tears of joy flood my eyes when I went back into my own office. And seconds later they were streaming down my cheeks as I spoke to Miriam’s mother in Lillehammer and told her and the family that Miriam had been found. She asked when they could visit Miriam in hospital tomorrow. I said that I was about to go up there and they could try later on tomorrow morning. We thanked one another three times before we finally put down the phone.
Then I rang Patricia. It was a shorter and far less emotional telephone call. She thanked me for letting her know that Miriam had turned up and said that she was pleased, but was so casual and swift about it that I started to wonder if her boyfriend was there.
‘Well, a summary of today would read: great relief, another death and some useful information. Ring me as soon as you know any more tomorrow,’ she said, and put down the telephone.
I sat there and wondered if she had actually invited her boyfriend down, as soon as I had gone – or if she was actually jealous of Miriam. And I have to admit, despite my joy at having Miriam back, I found the latter more appealing than the first.
XV
I felt an almost indescribable joy and relief as I stood by Miriam’s hospital bed with the senior doctor, Bernt Berg, at around half past nine.
Miriam was, as far as I could see, whole and there was no sign of any physical harm. She was lying with her bandaged arms by her sides, unmoving, but the effusions round her wrists were not as bad as I had feared. She looked as though she was sleeping as peacefully as she did at home, with her hair spread out over the pillow in the same way.
With the senior doctor’s silent consent, I gently stroked Miriam’s cheek. After such a dramatic and emotional day, I had to touch her to feel that she really had come back alive. It worked. Her cheek was warm and soft against my finger.
Just then, there was a slight movement in her lips, as though deep in her sleep she knew that I was there, and was trying to smile.
I had a few words with Dr Bernt Berg in a side room. He believed that everything was fine and that the patient should be able to converse by the late morning or afternoon tomorrow and would no doubt enjoy getting visitors.
It was a strange experience to see Miriam in the same hospital with the same senior doctor as two years before. But I was delighted to see her alive. As I walked down the stairs on my way out, I realized that the dominant feeling was one of relief, whereas excitement and fascination had been the stronger two years before.
XVI
I ended my slightly surreal Friday, 24 March 1972 quietly, alone in my flat at Hegdehaugen.
I ate a couple of dry slices of bread as I watched the final news of the day on television at eleven o’clock.
Miriam’s disappearance and return, which had been the day’s great event for me, had not made it into the news. Another mass demonstration against the EEC in Bergen fortunately dominated the programming. The rest focused on the shooting by the National Theatre and the postponed signing of the Barents Sea agreement.
The prime minister, Trond Bratten, was interviewed. He stated in a characteristically laconic and serious manner that it would be irresponsible of the Norwegian Labour Party to submit such an important agreement to the Storting, when incidents such as the killing of Fredriksen and the shooting at the National Theatre remained unresolved. The police would now be given the time necessary to finish the investigation and only then would the agreement be submitted for debate.