Death on Pilot Hill

“My car?”

Agnes Haugen looked slightly confused.

Had she forgotten whose car she had driven up to the Haugen farm to plant the lunch box in the barn? Or was she merely pretending to be confused so as to force Sohlberg into revealing exactly which car the neighbors had seen at the Haugen farm?

“Yes. Your car.”

“I don’t think so Detective. Not my car.”

“Oh. . did you think Fru Haugen that I was referring to your red Audi sports car?. . No. I was referring to your husband’s white pickup. . which you drove to Grindbakken Skole. . Pilot Hill elementary school. . with Karl the day that he disappeared.”

“I rarely drive that car.”

“The neighbors at the farm saw you. . a redhead with long hair. . driving your husband’s white pickup truck.”

“My husband must have taken another woman up there with him.”

“I doubt it.”

“He’s no saint.”

“Are you Fru Haugen?”

“What are you implying?”

“I’m not implying anything. I’m letting you know the facts. . the evidence. . you drove the white pickup truck to the farm.”

“Have you considered my husband?”

“Ja. . but he was traveling with another Nokia executive in rather distant locations. Now I’d like you to tell me why someone other than you would take your cell phone up to a farm owned by your husband’s grandfather?”

“I don’t know. . ”

“Did you know Fru Haugen that several neighbors also remember seeing your red Audi sports car up there several times in the months of April and May of last year?”

“I lend my car out quite a lot.”

“Who got your loaner car on May third of last year?”

“I don’t remember. . like I said. . I lend my car a lot.”

Constable Wangelin threw Sohlberg a look that said, “You see! I told you that the Haugens make the unnatural seem normal.”

“Fru Haugen. . why would someone take your car up to a farm owned by your husband’s grandfather?”

“I don’t know. . ”

Sohlberg leaned forward as if he was actually throwing her such a difficult curve ball that she would not be able to return his volley. He said:

“How did your stepson’s lunch box wind up buried in the farm that once belonged to your husband’s grandfather?”

Sohlberg would later write down in his final report to the prosecutor that a smile briefly crossed Agnes Haugen’s face when he told her about the lunch box. During the interview however Sohlberg was not sure if she had indeed smiled.

After a long pause Agnes Haugen said:

“That’s a good question.”

Agnes Haugen’s brilliant response left Sohlberg dumbfounded. He had rarely met a suspect who could make such unresponsive and evasive answers to his questions while at the same time leading him on to other suspects. Sohlberg fell back on his time-tested question of ‘Why?’

“Fru Haugen. . why is it a good question?”

Another long pause. “Because the farm is where my husband and his brother were raped by their grandfather.”

Sohlberg let out a short and silent sigh. She had finally opened and walked through the door to incriminate her husband. “So you think that is linked to your stepson’s disappearance?”

“You could say so.”

He admired her sly response. He offered her another door to further implicate her husband. “Actually. . Fru Haugen. . he was not their real grandfather. . right?”

“Ja.”

“Your husband and his brother were adopted. . were they not. . after being abandoned by their birth parents?”

“Ja.”

“Abandoned. . thrown away like garbage by the birth parents. . and then abandoned a second time by their adoptive parents. . who left them in the hands of the predator grandfather. Abandonment. . that’s life for the adopted.”

“Ja. . I know it first-hand because I too was adopted.”

“So. . Fru Haugen. . do you think that your husband or his brother or both of them took and killed your stepson Karl because your husband or his brother were abandoned and molested?”

“You could say that. I couldn’t.”

“Why not?”

“I. . I’m not qualified. . am I?. . I’m not a detective. I’m not a shrink. I studied to be a teacher. . not a psychologist or a psychiatrist. . or a detective like you.”

Sohlberg’s had never felt as frustrated by a suspect’s answers. It was time to throw her another curve ball to keep her off balance. He shrugged and said:

“Ja. . Fru Haugen. . you are not trained as a psychologist. . psychiatrist. . or detective. But you are trained as a teacher. Is that why you taught Karl Haugen sign language?”

For the second time Sohlberg saw a dark and sharp look of worry or anger cross the soft almost chubby peaches-and-cream complected face of Agnes Haugen.

Her silence triggered another Sohlberg inquiry. “Fru Haugen. . why did you teach sign language to a boy who was not deaf or hearing impaired?”

“My husband and I thought it would be a good learning experience that would prepare Karl for school. . and increase his learning capacity. Some parents have their children learn music at an early age for the same reasons. We just happened to pick sign language.”

Sohlberg had finally caught her in a lie. Gunnar Haugen and everyone else had e-mails and other documents showing that Agnes Haugen was the only person who had decided to teach sign language to Karl. The lie would be useful in a prosecution. Therefore Sohlberg did not ask the follow-up question that he desperately wanted to ask Agnes Haugen as to whether she had in fact taught sign language to her stepson so that they could communicate in secret without anyone else knowing what she was telling the boy.

Sohlberg stared at Agnes Haugen. He switched his line of questioning back to the timeline to keep her off balance. “Fru Haugen. . let’s go back to the timeline for your whereabouts on June fourth. . Exactly where did you go from twelve-twenty when you left the gym to two o’clock when your husband saw you in the house after he came back from buying his lunch?”

“From twelve-twenty to two o’clock?. . I’m sure that I was driving around. . trying to get my baby to sleep.”

The clever evasion irked Sohlberg. “You’re sure you were driving around?. . I need you to be more than sure.”

“That’s the best I can do.”

The double meaning was not lost on Sohlberg who frowned and said:

“Fru Haugen. . where did you drive around?”

“I don’t remember. It was all a blur that day. I just drove around to calm down my baby daughter.”

“Your husband says that he’s never ever seen you driving around to calm the baby or get the baby to sleep.”

“He doesn’t know much. . he’s too busy. . too wrapped up in his work to notice these things at home. He