‘But you did not jump, and you discovered new hope. You watched and saw that all was not well between Solveig and Per Johan. And this became even clearer on the trip to Oslo, didn’t it?’
‘Yes, I kept a close eye on them, and could tell even on the train. They did not sit together and barely spoke. I ingratiated myself with Solveig that evening, said she looked so serious, asked if everything was all right. She told me that things were not going well with Per Johan and that she was considering breaking off the engagement. Then she said that she thought he might be interested in me, and perhaps it might be better if that was the case. It was one of the greatest moments in my life. I had never been together with a man, and I had been unhappily in love with Per Johan for several years.’
‘Suddenly your goal and your great love were within reach. But then your sister appeared again, like the serpent in Paradise. She fluttered her greedy eyes at Per Johan once more. That is what you discovered that afternoon when you went to her room, isn’t it?’
‘Yes. She told me. She was dressed when I got there. But I could see that the sheet was crumpled. When I asked her who had been there, she smiled her meanest and most horrible smile. She told me that Per Johan had been there and that he wanted her back. And she said that she had to think about it, but probably would take him back. It might make me even more jealous and unhappy, but she could not let that stop her. She was so indescribably mean.’
This was said with a hiss. Oda Fredriksen’s face was now unrecognizably stiff. I understood better than ever before what Patricia meant when she talked about chameleon people, and instinctively pulled back a little for fear that her tongue might suddenly dart out.
‘It certainly sounds like it. You did not go there with the intention to harm her. But then she had one of her epileptic fits and fainted. You might even have helped to get her onto the sofa. Then it struck you just how vile and mean she was, and that her death would solve all your problems. It was actually a very smart idea.’
She nodded, almost without thinking.
‘Thank you. Yes, I thought it was quite smart myself. No one would think that she might have drowned. Mother and Father would think it was suicide, and as the good old Christian fools they were, they would refuse permission for an autopsy. And if there was an autopsy, they would discover that she had drowned, but would still not know who had killed her.’
I nodded with encouragement.
‘Suspicion was more likely to fall on her boyfriend, whom she was in the process of jilting. Especially if you left the room key on the floor outside his door. That was quick thinking and very smart.’
She nodded again, pleased. ‘I was not as stupid as everyone thought. I fooled them all. I got the man I wanted, and I managed to keep him, right until…’
Suddenly her face changed completely – to the grieving widow. She covered her eyes with her hands and I saw the tears sliding down her cheeks.
‘Right until someone killed him. Which was terrible. But were you not sad about Vera? Your sister was nasty, but Vera was so young and kind.’
It did not take much more for the embittered face to appear again. She carried on talking, fast, and pointed her finger as though accusing me.
‘Vera was young and kind, but she was so spineless – weak. I always knew that I would outlive Vera. She somehow did not have any fight of her own. Per Johan loved Vera and looked after her well. And now that he was dead, she would die too. She had tried to take her own life before and would have succeeded in the end, if I had not helped her. Sooner or later she would have poisoned herself or starved to death. And in the meantime she would have squandered all her inheritance on that artist twit of a boyfriend. It was not easy. I saw Per Johan’s face in hers as she lay there on the sofa and did think it was terribly sad. But Vera was not worth it, and she was threatening to expose me!’
And with that, everything had been said and explained. And suddenly, as if the trance had been broken, Oda Fredriksen was back in the present again. She recognized me and pressed her hands to her face. Her voice was almost normal again, but the bitter undertone remained, when she carried on talking after a brief pause.
‘You have no idea what it is like. To live every minute, every hour and every day for so many years in the constant fear of being caught. I hoped it would get better over the years, particularly once the limitation period had expired. But it didn’t get easier. My greatest fear was in fact not that I would be caught by the law, but be exposed by my husband, my children and everyone I knew. Keeping it secret became an eternal obsession. Behind the mask, you become an animal, a predator – your instincts and survival mechanisms kick in, especially when threatened.’
Earlier in the conversation I had experienced a horrified fascination listening to Oda Fredriksen. But now the fascination had gone, and only the horror remained. I was still uncertain as to whether she was in her right mind, but the court would have to decide that. I had all the answers I needed, and suddenly felt a great reluctance to talk any more with this emotionally cold, egotistical person.
‘Self-preservation instinct is what some people call it. Well, I guess it’s time for us to go back to the station and get you a lawyer.’
Oda Fredriksen nodded curtly and stood up unexpectedly fast. She stood there, still as a statue, while I got up.
The movement was sudden, just as I was about to stand up straight. I caught a glimpse of some long, sharp nails and thought that they reminded me of a lioness’s claws, before I felt them scratching just under my eyes. Instinctively, I raised my hands to stop her claws. They disappeared from my eyes and instead I felt a hand fumbling around inside my jacket. The hand was thin and burning hot against my skin and the nails tore at me like claws.
Then I heard a semi-triumphant ‘haah’ and caught another quick movement as she jumped two steps back.
And, for the second time in my life, I found myself looking down the barrel of a loaded gun.
This time it was my own service gun. The experience was no less frightening because Oda had managed to fumble the safety off, and her finger was now shaking violently on the trigger.
The woman in the black dress was now unrecognizable. Her eyes flashed, and she gasped for breath as she hissed: ‘Who else knows that I killed Vera?’
I thought about the only other time I had looked down the barrel of a pistol. It had also been a terrifying experience that hounded me in nightmares for months after. But that time I knew that the person holding the pistol was entirely rational. I thought about what Patricia had said: that the overlap was hard to define. I looked at Oda Fredriksen’s wild eyes and feared that she might pull the trigger, intentionally or unintentionally, at any moment.
The question was a rational one from her perspective. She repeated it: ‘Who else knows that I killed Vera?’
I answered with the truth: ‘Only one other person knows that you killed Vera, but several people know that I am here. The truth will come out, whether you shoot me or not. And if you shoot a policeman, you will get a life sentence.’
As I said this, I noticed Danielsen in the background.
He came in quietly, in his socks, gliding cautiously over the floor. He was unarmed. But he was in the room and it was an enormous relief that I was not alone with a half-mad murderer.
It was not clear to me if Danielsen’s arrival increased or diminished the chance that I would be shot within the next few seconds. Oda Fredriksen’s finger was still shaking violently – and the pistol was still pointing at my chest.
‘If I am caught, I will be sentenced to life regardless, for the murder of my daughter. My only chance is not to get caught, so I have to shoot you first. Shoot you, hide your body and escape in the car – to Sweden or somewhere like that.’