‘And you? What about yourself?’
‘I struggled more with books than Vera, so I stopped studying. I started to work in politics and in a shop when I was twenty-one. But at the moment I can’t work because our society doesn’t offer childcare to single mothers who want to work, and I had to pay my former husband a small fortune to get him out of the house. Father simply refused to pay for his only grandchild to lose one of her parents. He also felt he could not give me any of my inheritance without doing the same for Vera, and he certainly did not want to do that. So my only option was a bank loan which I’m paying interest on. I can get by, but a few million wouldn’t go amiss right now.’
‘And what about Johan’s family situation?’
‘Johan is more of a businessman than a charmer. He has always been well off, but never any good at going out and spending his money. Since he turned thirty, he has made it very obvious that he wants a family, but any attempts to get one have not ended particularly well. Although, we have not heard mention of it for a couple of years now. He is still unmarried and childless, but I think he might have something on the go at the moment. I have always had a good relationship with him – even though we are very different and he is rather boring – and last time we met at our parents’, he told me that he might have a good deal in the offing, as he put it. I realized there was something he did not particularly want to talk about, so now I am waiting with bated breath to hear what the problem is this time. It’s just as interesting every time.’
She stretched unabashed in the chair again – and managed to surprise me once more.
‘So, how little have the unsociable people in my family actually told you? Don’t tell me they said nothing about the murder mystery from Father’s youth?’
At first I thought she might be joking. Then we exchanged looks and immediately became serious again.
I said that no one had mentioned any earlier murder mystery in Per Johan Fredriksen’s life. I hastily added that I should, of course, be told about it now that he himself had been killed.
Ane Line Fredriksen sighed and rolled her eyes, then lay her arms heavily on the desk as she leaned forwards.
She leaned so far over that I could see the top of her unusually large breasts. However, the story that she told was so sensational that it quickly took all of my attention.
VIII
‘When I was eleven and then again when I was sixteen, I noticed a certain tension at home both before and after my parents went out for a mysterious meal. It was just a few weeks after the second meal that I first heard the story about the murder in 1932. It was Father who started to tell me about it, one Saturday when he had had a few too many drinks. The case had always plagued him and he had been thinking about it even more in recent years. He said he would happily give ten million kroner to know what had happened. It was obviously a story that he and Mother both knew very well, but that they had never told us children. My brother and sister had never heard about it either until I told them.’
There was a short, dramatic pause. I waved for her to continue. She flashed me a coquettish smile and then carried on eagerly.
‘Father was the MP for Vestfold. He was born there and was heir to a large estate with half a forest. There were big class differences in Vestfold back then. Our Labour prime minister was born around the same time only a couple of miles away, but grew up in poverty. Anyway, in March 1932, Father and five other friends from Vestfold went to Oslo for the spring break. They all came from very wealthy families at a time when there was widespread poverty and need. They had each booked a room at a hotel out by Ullern, which was one of the most desirable parts of town, and presumed to be a safe area. And yet, something very dramatic happened there. On their second evening at the hotel, the youngest, a twenty-one-year-old woman, called Eva Bjølhaugen, was found dead in her room. She was found lying on the sofa and there was no visible sign of violence. She suffered from epilepsy and it was assumed that she died as a result of a seizure. But there was no autopsy. Father was not convinced that that was what had happened at all. There were several things he felt did not fit.’
She stopped and looked at me with teasing eyes, but hurried on obediently when I asked if she could remember what it was her father had doubted. It crossed my mind that we had hit it off remarkably well, despite being so different.
‘Yes, but unfortunately, he was more secretive about that. The strangest thing was the key, he said. The door to the hotel room was locked, but the key was lying on the floor out in the corridor. And apparently the woman only suffered from petit mal. But there were a few other things that were odd about the whole affair. Father, who was otherwise not prone to being abstract, became remarkably vague when he talked about it. It could as easily be suicide or murder, as epilepsy, he said.’
The story had piqued my interest now. I hastened to ask if she knew who else had been there.
‘Apart from my father and the young Eva Bjølhaugen, her boyfriend and sister were there. There was also the young woman whom Father was engaged to at the time, and another friend. So there were three young men and three young women, two couples and one set of siblings. Plenty of opportunity for romance and jealousy there, I reckon. From what I understood, Father and his fiancée broke up soon afterwards.’
‘How strange that there was no autopsy,’ I said.
She nodded eagerly. ‘That is what I thought. Father simply said that there was no autopsy.’
‘And the restaurant visits – where do they fit in?’
Just then, the phone on my desk started to ring. I hoped that it might be information about the suspect’s identity, and answered immediately. I was becoming so focused on the case that it was almost a disappointment to hear Miriam’s voice at the other end.
‘Hi. I just wondered if half past four was still a realistic time to meet, or if we should make it later? I’m sure you’re having a busy day, and I should probably study a little more to prepare for the exam,’ she said.
Miriam still had two and a half months left until the exam. However, her ambitious perfectionism meant that she pretended to have only two weeks left when, in fact, there were two months, and that she only had two days left when it was actually two weeks. I saw no reason to discuss this here and now, and was without a doubt having a busy day. So I gave it five seconds’ thought and suggested that we meet at the Theatre Cafe for supper at half past six.
‘Deal,’ she said, and put the phone down.
‘Apologies, I had to arrange supper with my fiancée,’ I said.
To my disappointment, I saw no disappointment in Ane Line’s eyes, only greater curiosity. She opened her mouth to say something, almost certainly to ask about my fiancée, but I just managed to pip her to the post.
‘Now, where were we? Yes, the meals that the group from 1932 had are more relevant to the case than my own dinner plans.’
‘Yes, they really are quite something, which only underlines how serious the situation was. The other five from the group who were in Oslo in 1932 continued to meet every five years to mark the day that Eva Bjølhaugen died, at the restaurant of the same hotel. They all hoped that someone might say something that would throw light on the tragedy, Father said, but that never happened.’