Patricia stopped and looked at me. I had no questions, so I gave an impatient wave for her to continue.
‘The mother, on the other hand, had a murder to hide and thought she had been discovered. She got straight down to business with almost impressive efficiency. She asked her daughter to sit tight and not open the door to anyone until she got there. Then she made herself a kind of alibi by phoning her other daughter just before she left the house. She also rang her son, but got no answer, which gave her an even better idea for an alibi. On her way to the hotel, she stopped at a telephone box, rang her son again, then hung up without waiting for an answer. She knew from previous visits to the hotel that she could get in without being seen from the reception area. As soon as she had been let into the room, she showed her true face and attacked. Poor fragile Vera fainted, as she so often did in frightening situations. Whereupon Oda Fredriksen drowned her youngest daughter in the same way that she had drowned her younger sister forty years earlier. It is a horrific story for those of us who want to believe in kind mothers and secure families. But that must be what happened, and it is unfortunately not unheard of that people with a strong ego or who are secretly deranged have killed members of their family.’
I had to agree with this.
Patricia had spoken for some time with great passion. Now she looked depressed and her hand was shaking when she lit a cigarette. She smoked half of it in silence, before continuing.
‘It is not a happy ending, if that is what you were hoping for. But it is the truth, and so the only solution I can give you to the two murders.’
The shock was subsiding now. I realized that my failure to react had disappointed Patricia, and felt that it was ungrateful of me. So I slowly clapped my hands – and assured her that I was more than happy to have established the truth about the two murders.
Patricia smiled when I started to clap. But if she really was happy, it did not last long. She stubbed out her cigarette, then leaned across the table towards me. Suddenly her face was inches away from mine. I found myself wondering if it was a coincidence that she was wearing a very loose white blouse and an undoubtedly expensive perfume that I had not smelt before. And suddenly found myself very jealous of Johan Fredriksen.
‘It is a little early to applaud, I am afraid. As the case stands, I am not sure that a good lawyer might not get her acquitted on the basis of reasonable doubt, with no witnesses or evidence. I have told you how it happened and the sequence of events, now you have to get her to confess. And at the same time, you might find out whether, behind the facade, she is slightly deranged or just extremely calculating. But the overlap there can be scarily hard to define. Come back when you have done that, and we can then hopefully talk about Per Johan Fredriksen and other things of mutual interest.’
I took the hint. Patricia did not want to tell me who had killed Per Johan Fredriksen yet. She knew, but she wanted me to come back – and she had given me the answer to two of the three murders. That qualified as a very good start to the day. On my way from the house into the centre of town, I pondered on who might have killed Per Johan Fredriksen, and what Patricia had meant by ‘other things of mutual interest’.
IV
It was a quarter past eleven by the time I parked outside the Fredriksens’ family home on Bygdøy, having first swung by to collect DI Danielsen from the station. Danielsen had been working his way through a pile of papers, but his face lit up and he immediately put on his jacket when I asked if he would like to help me with a final push in the Fredriksen cases.
I did not tell Danielsen how it all fitted together, just that it was an important interview. I felt under a lot of pressure but did not let it show. I did not doubt that Patricia was right with regard to the murder of Vera Fredriksen. But she was unfortunately also right with regard to the lack of evidence. I needed a confession. The chances of getting one would undoubtedly be best if I was alone with Oda Fredriksen in the drawing room. But that might cause problems if she did say something that incriminated her, but then later denied it.
The solution was that I took Danielsen with me, introduced him to the widow, and told her that he was only there as a matter of procedure, and that the two of us could talk together alone first, as it involved some very sensitive information. Danielsen gave his most charming smile and offered to wait outside in the hall.
I walked into the drawing room behind her and made sure not to close the door completely. Then I sat down on the sofa and nodded to the chair opposite. Oda Fredriksen sat down – with her back to the door. She had shoes on, and yet seemed to glide across the carpetless floor without a sound. I hoped that Danielsen would hear most of what was said in the event of a later dispute.
And there we sat, Oda Fredriksen and I, face to face in the drawing room, with all the red velvet furniture and a sea of flowers on the table beside us.
‘You wanted to ask me some personal questions?’ she said, in her slightly distracted voice.
‘I understand that this is still a very difficult time for you, following your husband’s death. But we have to go back in time first. To your childhood in Vestfold. Your sister was by all accounts a very beautiful and popular young lady. But from what other people have said, I also understand that she could be quite difficult and that it was not always easy for you, being the big sister.’
Oda Fredriksen frowned for a moment, but responded swiftly.
‘I don’t know who you have been speaking to, but they are right. Eva was always the most beautiful and brightest of us. And she knew it, and what is more, liked it. She had our parents wrapped around her little finger until she was confirmed. And then she started to wrap men around her fingers. I was always just, well, the ugly stupid little sister, even though I was the eldest.’
She sounded angry and bitter when she said this, with knitted brows. I saw a new Oda Fredriksen emerge in the scowl and unblinking eyes. A bitter, older woman looking back on the frustrations in her life. And I wanted to feed this feeling.
‘It must have been very hard for you. Especially when she fell in love with the man you loved.’
She nodded vigorously, almost furiously.
‘Not only was it hard, it was unbearable. Eva must have known by then that he was the one I wanted. I lay in bed crying alone for hours, whenever he came to visit her. And the evening that I heard that they had broken up, I stood jubilant in front of my mirror.’
‘But your victory was not yet won. Another woman you knew inconveniently took her place.’
Her gaze was fixed on me and she nodded again – a little less vigorously this time.
‘Solveig Thaulow, yes. My only friend. Clever Solveig. She was also prettier and smarter than me. That is what they all said. I heard them. If only Oda could be a bit more like Solveig, or like Eva, my mother once said to her parents. Then they all nodded. My father, as well. Solveig was less annoying than my sister. But all the same, the fact that they started going out together was terrible, and then even worse, they got engaged. I did not see anyone for several days. When finally I ventured out, I went down to the jetty and seriously considered throwing myself into the water.’
She did not blink and her face had hardened. A third face now appeared from the past. It was a younger, more self-conscious and dangerous face. I sat there and watched, fascinated, as I carried on talking.