I told her the truth: that it was not illegal if that was all she had done, and as this was a murder investigation I was now duty-bound to ask her for a full explanation. And it should be credible, I added.
‘The truth is hopefully always credible, certainly when it concerns a lonely, middle-aged woman’s egotism and dreams. I am an anti-communist through and through, but will not try to make myself sound any better than I am. I had lost all hope that Per Johan would leave his marriage for my sake, as long as he was a leading politician. But I thought that if he got caught up in a scandal and had to resign as a politician, the marriage might fall apart anyway. And then I would be the one who was left and who would give him all the support, and a new family with me would be a new start for him. So I told the police security service about his contacts at the Soviet Embassy – on the promise that they would never reveal their source. And it is very disappointing that they have now broken that promise.’
I assured her that I had not heard it from the police security service, but had worked it out myself. Then I added that, strictly speaking, it was not the main line of inquiry in the murder investigation.
She nodded quickly and smiled in appreciation.
‘Very good. Given how things stand now, it would be best for everyone if it never got out. Per Johan was unbelievably naive in his dealings with the Soviets. He thought that as an individual he could play an important role in building a bridge between the East and West. And he thought that he would gain widespread recognition if he succeeded. I tried to tell him it was unrealistic, but he didn’t want to listen. I am still glad that he discussed it with me, though.’
I saw no reason to start an unnecessary conflict with Harriet Henriksen, so I said that as far as I knew, she was the only one he had spoken to about this. I did not point out the irony that he was then betrayed by the one person he confided in. She did not appear to have thought along those lines herself.
‘Oh, how wonderful. I really was the one whom he trusted and loved,’ she exclaimed. She stood there with her hand in front of her mouth for a few seconds, before she added, ‘But one thing does bother me, as I start my new life alone: I hope that my contact with the police security service had nothing to do with Per Johan’s death?’
I suddenly heard a strong undertow of fear when she said this. Again I was struck by the paradoxical similarities between her and Oda Fredriksen. Both deified a man, and then continued to orbit around him like satellites even after he was dead, even when they were aware of his less virtuous sides. However, the difference was also clear and important. Oda Fredriksen was a rich woman with a family, who had killed her own daughter and sister. Harriet Henriksen was not rich, she was alone, and she had not done anything criminal. So I told her the truth: that the betrayal of her lover had put him in a very dangerous situation, but as far as we knew, it had not been a factor in his death.
She immediately held out her hand and said that it was an enormous relief to hear that. We parted on good terms. It was now ten to three.
VIII
Danielsen was standing in the hallway with Lene Johansen and Edvard Rønning Junior, the lawyer, when I arrived at five minutes past three. Rønning gave me a stern look over his lorgnette, but let his feathers be smoothed when I apologized for my lateness and then said that all the murders in this case could now be seen as solved.
It apparently dawned on us all at the same time that there were not four chairs anywhere in the flat. I suggested that we could just stay standing where we were, as it would not take more than a few minutes. Everyone nodded. And it suited me well. There was a coat stand beside us that was missing three hooks. The only item of clothing hanging there was an old green winter coat. It was the final proof that I needed.
I told them that Oda Fredriksen had been arrested and had confessed to the murder of Vera Fredriksen. Then I took a dramatic pause.
‘That is, of course, very interesting, but what about the murder of Per Johan Fredriksen? My client would very much like to have her son’s innocence proved,’ Rønning said.
My chance was there, and I grabbed it.
‘Your client has known all along that he was innocent. The knife that killed Fredriksen came from this kitchen, and he was not the one who used it,’ I said.
It worked. Rønning dropped his lorgnette again and his client lost all self-control at the same time. In a matter of seconds, the colour drained from her face and she swayed as though about to faint before I even had a chance to continue.
‘Fredriksen had treated you very badly, so there may well be mitigating circumstances. But your betrayal of your son afterwards, and the attempt to exploit his death for economic gain was heartless,’ I said.
It was not a nice thing to say. But when I heard my own words I realized I felt very indignant. And it worked. She gasped loudly for air and leaned heavily against the wall.
‘Good gracious!’ Rønning exclaimed, having finally regained the power of speech and retrieved his lorgnette. But I was not to be put off my stride by him.
‘We have a new statement, from a man with a PhD, no less, who witnessed the murder and has given a description that fits your client perfectly. According to him, the murderer was a dark-haired, middle-aged woman in a green winter coat,’ I said, and pointed at the coat stand.
Rønning looked as though he was about to protest. But Lene Johansen looked at me and beat him to it.
‘I didn’t mean it to end like this. I thought that either we would be allowed to stay here a bit longer, or Tor would be looked after and have the chance of a better life than me. Yes, I ran away from the scene of the crime when I saw there was a chance that I might get away with it. My instincts kicked in. But I had never thought of laying the blame on Tor. I almost fainted in the telephone box when I heard that he’d been arrested. I thought I would confess when you came to speak to me, but then the priest got here first and told me that Tor was dead. And then I had no one to live for except me.’
Lena Johansen looked so tragic standing there, swaying. But she had first of all committed a murder, then not told the truth after her son’s death, and threatened to sue me and the police. So I still felt no sympathy and saw no reason to be considerate.
‘But the sheer audacity – to claim that you are innocent and demand compensation for your son’s death, when you yourself were guilty…’
On the far left of my vision, I registered that Danielsen had paled. I looked straight at Lene Johansen, who pointed an almost accusing finger at the lawyer.
‘I just wanted to crawl silently into a hole under the ground in the hope that no one would see me for the rest of my life. But then he came to my door and said that I might have rights and could perhaps get fifty or a hundred thousand in compensation. I have never got anything from society, so I felt that I owed no one anything. And fifty thousand is an incredible amount when you only have two kroner to your name and are about to be thrown out onto the street any day.’
I kept looking at Lene Johansen. I vaguely registered that Rønning, to my right, was now even paler than Danielsen. And that he had started to speak.
‘I realize now in retrospect that my behaviour then may have seemed odd. However, I did all that I did in the good faith that my client and her dead son were innocent, and given certain terms and conditions, I was obliged to inform her about her rights,’ he said.
I continued to ignore the lawyer, and looked straight at his client. She was leaning heavily against the wall, but still looked as though she might collapse at any minute. Her hair was grey, her eyes were red and her expression black.
I saw her other face now. And even though it was a murderer’s face, it was still a face I felt sympathy for. So I said, in a slightly more conciliatory tone, ‘Fredriksen had exploited you and let you down, that was why you hated him.’