Chapters
Shownotes Transcript
What's in a name? William Shakespeare, arguably the greatest playwright of all time, once posed this question to audiences of centuries past. He sought to remind them that names are meaningless. What truly matters is what lies beneath. After all, a rose will still smell sweet, regardless of what we call it.
Shakespeare's words do hold weight, but he ignored the importance of the self. There is power in a name and, according to Derek Abbott, everybody deserves one. The professor's search for the Somerton Man was, at its core, a search for a name. Whilst these collections of letters don't define us, they do differentiate us. Names are an extension of our identity that gives us a sense of individuality.
They outlast generations and connect us to our heritage. We are born with them, we die with them, and we are remembered by them. But what of those whose names are lost? The Somerton Man was, and still is, a nameless body. Until the South Australian coroner addresses Abbott's findings, the man has no name and, thus, no identity. He is simply a corpse without context, an enduring enigma.
and he is not alone. More than half a century ago, the body of a woman was discovered deep within Ulriken, the highest of seven mountains that tower above the Norwegian city of Bergen. She, too, was nameless and, over the years, she, too, took on many forms.
She was a Holocaust survivor, an Israeli spy, a suicidal madwoman, a member of the organized underworld, and a particularly elusive prostitute. Now, however, she is known only as the Isdal Woman. It was meant to be a temporary moniker, a placeholder for the name she was given at birth. Instead, it has become her identity.
Law enforcement agencies across Europe joined forces to change that, but curiously, their biggest obstacle turned out to be the woman herself. It seems that for her, there was power in being nameless. The woman abandoned her true identity and hid behind others, a decision that ultimately caused her death. Or did it? Was the woman murdered? If so, why? And by whom? Was she on the run or on the prowl?
we might never know the answers to these questions. Advancements in technology have brought us closer to the truth than ever before, but still, she remains one of Norway's greatest mysteries. This is the story of a woman with many faces and a body with no name. This is the story of the Isdal Woman. Part 1. Death in Ice Valley.
The snow-riddled slopes of Ulriken rise far above its sisters, casting shadows that engulf the valley below. Over 2,000 feet of icy crags and cascading ridges mirror the land that sits at Ulriken's base, which is as desolate as it is brimming with stubbornly resilient life.
It may surprise you, then, to learn that locals know it as Death Valley. Izdalen, loosely translated to "Ice Valley," earned its morbid moniker in the Middle Ages after wretched souls made a habit of committing suicide there. Centuries later, the land is still regarded with macabre awe. Izdalen is a beautiful but unforgiving place. In between pockets of seemingly perennial snow and moss-covered rocks is sparse shrubbery.
Towering above are the clusters of conifers and tall spruce trees that flourish and shed with the seasons. Only the hardiest survive the valley's gusting winds. The terrain is rugged and angular, with menacing icicles clinging to all that protrudes.
It's no wonder, then, that those who try to summit its surrounding peaks often suffer terrible accidents. That said, Isdalen's enduring relationship with death doesn't originate from its perilous wilderness, but from a discovery that made the valley famous. On November 29, 1970, sunlight was scarce and winter was looming.
The driving rains and howling winds of autumn would soon give way to thick fogs and biting snowfall. Eager to enjoy the ever-dwindling daylight hours, a local man and his two young daughters set out for a Sunday morning hike. They trekked through Isdalen, following its snaking trails into the foothills of Ulriken's North Face, and eventually left the familiarity of the footpath.
It was a popular spot for hikers, but few ever ventured that far into the highlands. The family was soaking up Isdalin's breathtaking scenery, as they had many times before, when one of the girls noticed something new: a strange smell. The 12-year-old tracked the burning stench to a clearing in a forest that revealed yet another steep slope, and a sight no child should ever see.
There, discarded in the brush and wedged between boulders overrun by lichen, was what looked to be a badly burnt mannequin. Upon closer inspection, though, the girl recoiled in terror. It was no mannequin. It was the charred body of a woman. Traumatized and fearing for their lives, the family fled. They skirted around Lake Svartidike, looking over their shoulders with every step, and made a beeline for Bergen to alert the authorities.
Just under two hours later, the phone rang at the Bergen police headquarters. Karl Halver Aas, a 31-year-old lawyer on duty at the time, remembers it well. In a city where violent crimes were almost unheard of, it was hard to forget. Halver tagged along with a few officers as they made the grueling trek into Ulrike's foothills. How two little girls had managed the ascent, he didn't know.
It was certainly no hiking trail. The men clambered up steep rocky slopes that seemed impassable, but they dutifully followed the family's directions until they arrived at the scene. It was the stench that tipped them off. Guided by the acrid odor of burning flesh, the men eventually stumbled upon its source. A dead woman lay straight and supine, her hands clenched in the fencer's position. The entire front of her body had been burned beyond recognition, and her clothes turned to ash.
Strange, there was no campfire nearby. The police were perplexed by the discovery. Had the woman fallen into the flames of some impromptu fire and thrown herself back? Or did someone set her alight? Reinforcements were sent for and soon afterward. The desolate slope was alive with detectives, police dogs, metal detectors, and forensic technicians. They scoured the scene for answers, but were left with more questions.
Littered around the corpse were the charred and melted remains of an umbrella, two plastic water bottles, a plastic passport container, a pair of rubber boots, women's clothing, a matchbox, a purse, traces of burnt paper, 12 sleeping pills, and an empty bottle of St. Halvard liquor, a cheap liqueur.
Was this some sort of self-immolation? Or the scene of a homicide? Perhaps the answer lay in the woman's identity. Her name would surely tell a story that led them to the truth. But what was her name? Investigators combed the slopes for clues, looking for anything that would reveal who the woman was. They found nothing. In fact, like the Somerton Man, they found that all traces of her identity had been deliberately erased.
The labels from her clothing had either been meticulously snipped away or rubbed clean, and any distinctive markings on her possessions were scraped off. Someone wanted her to remain nameless, but who? Investigators continually questioned themselves as they searched the scene, vacillating between theories of suicide and murder. Then, they found a fur hat stuffed under the body. It reeked of petrol.
Investigators wondered if the woman had doused herself with the combustive fuel, but after observing the scene at a distance, it didn't seem likely. Her jewelry and watch had been removed and placed beside her. In fact, according to forensic technician Tormod Bones, most of the woman's belongings had been arranged around her body somewhat ritualistically. "It looked like there had been some kind of ceremony," Bones would later tell the BBC.
This episode is brought to you by Acorns. Imagine if every purchase you made could help build your financial future effortlessly. Thanks to Acorns, this is possible. Acorns makes it easy to start automatically saving and investing for you, your kids, and your retirement. You don't need a lot of money or expertise to invest with Acorns.
In fact, you can get started with just your spare change. Acorns recommends an expert-built portfolio that fits you and your money goals, then automatically invests your money for you. And now, Acorns is putting their money into your future.
Open an Acorns Later IRA and get up to a 3% match on new contributions. That's extra money for your retirement. It's easy, stress-free, and in my honest opinion, a smart move. Start small, dream big.
and let Acorns guide your financial future. Head to acorns.com slash crimehub or download the Acorns app to start saving and investing for your future today. Paid non-client endorsement. Compensation provides incentive to positively promote Acorns. Investing involves risk. Acorns Advisors LLC and SEC Registered Investment Advisor. View important disclosures at acorns.com slash crimehub. Part 2. Case number 13470.
the Bergen police faced a real dilemma. They had the body of a woman who died under mysterious circumstances, but no name. Without a name, they had no story. And without a story, they had no leads. Perhaps an autopsy would enlighten them. In the meantime, however, investigators had to call the corpse something.
They settled on case number 13470. Norway, on the other hand, settled on the Isdal Woman. Her autopsy was performed at the Gads Pathologiske Institute, where pathologists deduced that she was probably between 25 and 40 years old. They believed that she was around 5 feet, 4.5 inches tall, and likely had a small round face, small ears, and dark eyes.
Her hair had been tied into a ponytail that survived the blaze. Surprisingly, it was long and dark brown. The Isdal Woman's features were a far cry from those of the locals, almost all of whom had blue eyes and blonde hair. That being said, foreigners were few and far between in 1970. Still, visitors weren't unheard of.
The pathologists brushed it off, but their confusion only deepened as they explored the Isdal woman's body for evidence. Her neck was bruised, but it was near impossible to determine why. Perhaps it was nothing. Maybe she had really fallen. Of course, they couldn't rule out the possibility that someone had hurt her either.
The pathologists continued searching for a cause of death and sliced open her esophagus where they found deposits of soot. Finally, something straightforward.
the inhaled soot told a story, and a particularly horrific one at that. The Isdal woman was still alive as she burned, leading them to conclude that she had died from carbon monoxide poisoning. It was never going to be that simple though. As the pathologists dissected her body, they found another killer lurking within.
Analyses of the woman's blood and stomach revealed that she had ingested between 50 and 70 sleeping pills. Unfortunately for her, however, most of them didn't dissolve fast enough to save her from what one can only imagine was excruciating pain. The pills alone didn't kill her, but they would have, and they certainly contributed to her death. The question is, did the Isdal Woman swallow them willingly?
Something about the case screamed murder, but, frankly, it was hard to ignore the pills. Investigators couldn't explain how anyone would have been able to force the woman to swallow that many against her will. Suicide seemed to be the only logical answer. When coupled with the empty bottle of liqueur, matchbox, and petrol-soaked fur hat found at the scene, it made sense. Still, they had to prove it.
The investigation raged on, eventually including personnel from the National Criminal Investigation Service and police forces from across Europe. Even then, however, little tangible evidence surfaced. Investigators were at a loss, but their perseverance was soon rewarded. Three days after finding the Isdal woman's corpse, a promising discovery was made.
one that was eerily reminiscent of the Somerton Man case. The police were tipped off about two suitcases that had been abandoned at the left luggage office at Bergen railway station. Investigators suspected that the bags belonged to their victim. They were right. However, like the Somerton Man, the contents would offer no insights into the woman's identity, leaving them with more questions than answers.
The Bergen police headquarters buzzed with excitement when news of the suitcases broke. According to Tormod Bones, they genuinely believed that the luggage held the key to cracking the case. That changed when they examined the contents within.
Most of the items were expectedly mundane: clothes, shoes, cosmetics, eczema cream, maps, train timetables, and a pair of sunglasses. Investigators managed to salvage a partial fingerprint from the lens of the sunglasses, which matched their nameless corpse, proving that the suitcases belonged to her.
The remainder of the contents, however, were anything but ordinary. In the lining of one suitcase, investigators discovered Norwegian, Danish, Belgian, British, and Swiss currency. They also found several wigs, a cache of makeup, and a pair of what looked to be prescription glasses. Upon closer inspection, investigators realized that the lenses were fake. At that moment, things began to make sense.
The Isdal Woman's identity wasn't a mystery at all. It was a secret, one she had intentionally taken to the grave
It seemed that, for some unknown reason, she was using disguises to change her appearance and hide her identity. It was she who was behind the absence of identifying evidence. Like the items arranged around her body, the contents of her suitcase were stripped of all manufacturing labels. Even the prescription sticker on her eczema cream had been scraped off. The Isdal Woman had to have been hiding something, but what?
Investigators were understandably disappointed. They inquired with major department stores in Norway and abroad, but none were able to identify the woman's makeup or clothing. Their case was far from closed. That said, they were certainly making progress. You see, the suitcases contained two invaluable clues: a notepad and a plastic shopping bag. Part 3: The Many Faces of the Isdal Woman
Investigators were most intrigued by the notepad. It was completely blank, aside from the very first page. There, in blue ink, was line after line of elegant handwriting. The page was covered in purposeful combinations of letters and numbers. A code, perhaps? Whilst some investigators pored over the notepad to find out, others were dispatched to a shoe shop in Stavanger, a city almost 1300 miles north of Bergen.
The plastic shopping bag found in the Isdal Woman's suitcase came from Oskar Rortvedt's footwear store. It was a tiny family-owned business, but it turned out to have a big impact on the case. Investigators got a statement from the owner's 22-year-old son, Rolf Rortvedt. Despite the steady stream of customers who shopped there daily, he remembered the woman well. She had come to his store three weeks earlier and, frankly, she stood out.
First, it was her foreign appearance. Rolf recalled that the woman had long brunette hair, dark brown eyes, and a round face. Just as the pathologists suspected, she was of medium height and attractive, wearing fashionable clothing that accentuated her curves and pretty legs. Next, it was her behavior. Rolf reported that the woman asked a lot of questions in broken English and took an unusual amount of time to choose her shoes.
Eventually, after careful consideration, she settled on a pair of blue rubber boots, the very same that were found melted by the fire that had disfigured the Isdal Woman. Finally, and oddly, it was her scent. According to Rolf, she smelled strongly of garlic. That wouldn't be surprising in the Norway of today. However, in 1970, garlic was hard to come by and rarely used by locals.
Thanks to Rolf, investigators could confirm that the Isdal Woman had been in Stavanger. That much was certain. However, at the time, the boots she had purchased were trending in Norway. All the women were wearing them. The boots would be useless in uncovering her identity. Rolf's detailed description of the Isdal Woman, on the other hand, proved to be very useful indeed.
Confident that she was a foreigner, investigators checked out local hotels in hopes that she might have checked in at some point. They didn't have to look very far. A receptionist from Hotel St. Svithin, which was just around the corner from the shoe shop, reported that a woman who fit her description had stayed there for a few days. Apparently, the woman had dark hair, golden skin, wide hips without being fat, and spoke poor English. That's not all.
She also had a name. The receptionist told investigators that the woman claimed to be Belgian and checked in as Fenella Lorc. What's more, she was positively identified by a cleaner who saw her wearing an identical pair of blue rubber boots. Finally, a break in the case. The Isdal woman was Fenella Lorc. With the corpse's identity confirmed, investigators set out to determine what had happened to her after she arrived in Bergen.
Once again, they inquired with local hotels but, this time, they weren't as lucky. No one by the name of Fenella Lorc was listed in any of the registers. It was then that a crushing realization dawned on investigators. Perhaps Fenella Lorc wasn't her name, but her alias. Considering the Isdal Woman's fondness for disguises, the theory held water, and investigators promptly put it to the test.
They already had samples of her handwriting from the coded notepad. All they needed to do was compare it to the alien registration forms. In the 1970s, any foreigner checking into a hotel in Norway was required to fill in their details, including their name, address, and passport number. Over the next few days, forensic document examiners analyzed alien registration forms from hotels throughout Norway.
Each had been completed by foreign women in the past year, and each of those women would have been required to produce a valid passport. The Izdall woman's handwriting was found on several of these forms, leading to an extraordinary discovery. She had been checking in and out of hotels across the country for weeks, each time under a new name.
To the investigators' utter disbelief, it came out that the Isdal Woman had not one, not two, but at least seven different identities, each of which had a corresponding valid passport. Sometimes she was Elizabeth Lienhau, other times she was Claudia Nielsen or Claudia Tilt. She was also Genevieve Lancier, Alexia Zarn-Merquez and Vera Jarley.
Seven were Belgians born in 1945. One was a Slovenian born in 1943. All of them were the Isdal Woman. Part 4: A Red Herring Investigators knew that the Isdal Woman had many faces. Now, she had many names to match. However, whilst her appearance and identity seemed to change at a whim, two things remained: her apparent ties to Belgium and her peculiar behavior.
Investigators found traces of her in Bergen and beyond, tracking her furtive trail to Stavanger, Oslo, and Trondheim. At some hotels, she was a traveling saleswoman. At others, she was an antique dealer. Her inconsistent stories made for an increasingly frustrating investigation, but they felt that the truth might be found in Belgium.
the Isdal woman filled out each form in either German or French, and almost exclusively registered herself as a Belgian citizen. Investigators reached out to the Belgian police, who immediately ran a background check on her many identities. All of them were fake. After wasting precious time on what was surely a red herring, the Bergen authorities made an appeal to the public.
Their plea for information about the Isdal Woman was broadcasted on every major news outlet in Norway. And the hospitality industry didn't disappoint. Hotel employees from across the country came forward with bizarre stories about the woman's eccentric behavior.
According to them, she always seemed to be cautious and on guard. She rarely left the safety of her room and frequently changed rooms immediately after checking in. At one hotel, she asked to change rooms three times. It was strange, to say the least, but what she did inside those rooms raised more than a few eyebrows. Staff from several establishments reported that the woman would rearrange the furniture without rhyme or reason.
In many instances, she left tables and chairs upside down in the hallway. Was the Isdal woman in hiding? Or slowly losing her mind? It was hard to tell. The staff could only comment on what they observed from afar, which was less than enlightening. She was known for her poor English and thick accents, wearing wigs and a fur hat, eating porridge for breakfast, and stinking of garlic.
She was also known for eating alone. In 1970s Norway, single women were a rare sight in hotel dining rooms. Yet, there she was, traveling solo and enjoying her food without a companion. It was an unusual phenomenon, one that left a notable impression on Allveild Rangnäs, a young waitress at Hotel Neptune in Bergen.
The 21-year-old admired the woman's fashionable style, confidence, and proud posture. She was the epitome of self-assured elegance and seemed comfortable traveling on her own. That said, Allweild noted that she did, at times, dine with men in thick woolen coats. The waitress told investigators that, on one occasion, she noticed that the woman sharing a table with two German Navy personnel, one of whom was an officer.
They were seated right next to one another, but never once interacted. The woman stayed at Hotel Neptune from October 30th to November 5th, where she was known as Alexia Zern-Merquez, a Slovenian from Ljubljana. She was last seen on November 23rd at Hotel Hordaheimen after checking out of room 207 under the name Elizabeth Lienhelfer. One week later, her charred remains were discovered deep in the foothills of Ulreiken.
It had unofficially been ruled a suicide, but after the latest developments in the case, investigators weren't so sure. In fact, like those who had worked on the Somerton Man case, many of them began to suspect espionage. She had erased all traces of who she was, made use of disguises, operated under multiple false identities, switched hotel rooms repeatedly, and covered her tracks in an unnervingly professional manner.
All of this pointed to the Isdal Woman being a spy, something the press had already alluded to. Though the Norwegian government would deny it for decades, the country's intelligence service was eventually brought into play. You see, 1970 was rife with political tension. The Cold War had yet to thaw and, just two years earlier, the Soviet Union and its allies had invaded and annexed Czechoslovakia.
America was still battling the spread of communism in the Vietnam War, and Norway was feeling the pressure. The small Scandinavian country found itself on the front lines of the two superpowers' ideological conflict. With the Soviet Union breathing down its proverbial neck and America on the warpath, Norwegian leaders felt vulnerable.
to make matters worse. It was no secret that foreign agents had already infiltrated their borders. Of course, this wouldn't become public knowledge until years later. Part 5: Lead, Kindly Light Whilst the Norwegian intelligence service monitored the case from the shadows, the Bergen police faced the brunt of the speculation head-on.
The public wanted answers. Who was the Izdal Woman? Why was she burned alive in the highlands? How did she get her hands on seven valid passports? Why was she tiptoeing from town to town? And what entity, if any, was funding her extensive travels? Officials didn't have the answers. They did, however, crack the code.
Almost two weeks after the gruesome discovery in Izdalin, investigators managed to decipher the cryptic notes found in the woman's suitcase. It was an itinerary of sorts. The combinations of letters and numbers corresponded to the cities she had stayed in and the dates she arrived and left. Forensic document examiners were brought in once again. This time, however, they were asked to analyze check-in forms from hotels throughout Europe.
The task was a needle in a haystack headache, but, astonishingly, it bore fruit. The Isdal woman had checked into a number of hotels in Paris, posing as Vera Schlosseneck of Antwerp, Belgium. That brought her tally up to at least eight known false identities with matching passports. The discovery didn't prove that she was a spy, but it didn't rule out the possibility either. Few tourists would hide their travel routes within a cipher.
The Bergen police promptly used the Isdal Woman's itinerary as a tracker, tracing her movements from France to Norway. As far as they knew, she started her journey in Paris before traveling to Stavanger. From there, she moved on to Bergen and Trondheim and eventually headed down south to Stavanger once again. Finally, she traveled back to Bergen. That, dear listeners, is where her journey came to a gruesome end.
Disappointingly, just as Bergen proved to be the Isdal Woman's final destination, her coded note turned out to be the investigator's last actionable lead. There was simply no more evidence. Even so, they pressed on, refusing to let her case grow cold.
Investigators commissioned composite sketches of her using eyewitness descriptions and the pathologist's analysis of her remains. The portraits were circulated throughout Europe with the help of Interpol, but, frustratingly, nothing came of them. Investigators turned once again to the Isdal Woman's many names, distributing them to Interpol and fellow officers across Europe, North Africa, and the Middle East. Still, nothing.
The names and passport numbers didn't exist, and there were no missing persons who fit her description. The Bergen police found themselves planted firmly on square one. They had a body with no name. Without a name, they had no story. And without a story, they had no leads. However, perhaps the body itself was the key to the mystery.
It has been said that the eyes are the windows to the soul but, in forensics, the teeth offer a glimpse into the self. Gisela Bang, a professor of dentistry, was called in to examine the Isdal woman's teeth. As it turns out, they had an interesting story to tell. They proved to be quite distinctive, with 14 having been repaired with fillings and a further 10 adorned with pre-made gold crowns.
Professor Bang found this particularly unusual for a woman of her estimated age range. However, what he considered most perplexing were the crowns themselves. According to him, they weren't used in Scandinavia, but in the east and certain parts of southern and central Europe. Unfortunately, the Isdal Woman's teeth said little more than that. It was a devastating blow for the Bergen police. One rubbed raw with salt just before Christmas.
In December of 1970, Asbjorn Bern, the chief of police, hastily ruled the Isdal woman's death a suicide, concluding that her behavior was that of a woman overcome with paranoid mania. He felt that the only logical explanation was that she had traipsed into the isolated foothills of Ulreiken, left the path and her identity behind, washed down a few handfuls of sleeping pills with a bottle of cheap liqueur, and set herself alight.
The case of the Isdal Woman was officially closed by the time Christmas had come and gone, just over one month after it had been opened. Two months later, she was finally laid to rest. On February 5th, 1971, the unnamed corpse was placed in a white coffin, decorated with tulips and carnations, and given a Catholic burial. Considering her fondness for using saints' names as aliases, it seemed fitting.
the dimly lit chapel resonated with lead, kindly light, a prayer for guidance and comfort in troubling times. Hands danced upon the keys of a magnificent organ as 16 men and two women looked on in somber silence. None knew who the woman was, but all had done their damnedest to find out.
The officers huddled in the icy rain, watching as the coffin disappeared beneath the earth of Molendal Graveyard in Bergen. There was no tombstone because there was nothing more to say. Still, the parish priest tried. After lamenting the foreign woman buried in a strange land with no family present, the ceremony concluded and dirt rained upon her coffin. It was lined with zinc to slow the decomposition process, investigators' final attempt at preserving their precious evidence.
The zinc lining also protected the coffin itself, staving off its disintegration just in case the Isdal Woman's family came forward to claim her corpse. Of course, no one ever did. Not even today, almost 53 years later. Part 6: The Man and the Penguin Missile The mystery of the Isdal Woman continues to haunt Norway over half a century later.
Many wonder how she was never identified, considering the vast arsenal of resources deployed. Many also wonder why the police closed the case so quickly, despite the myriad of unanswered questions. Though the Bergen police were regarded with skepticism, investigators were just as frustrated by the outcome. To them, it was personal, a professional failure they could never come to terms with.
they refused to accept that she had committed suicide, citing what the police considered "conspiratory behavior." As it turns out, the investigators weren't alone in their suspicions. Several inquiries into the matter were launched over the decades by investigative journalists, forensic specialists, and true crime authors. Even the Norwegian intelligence service explored the mystery, though it kept its involvement quiet.
You see, whilst some dismissed the allegations of espionage as petty conspiracy theories, they certainly seemed probable. As I mentioned, the Isdal Woman case came at a time of heightened political tension. The Cold War raged on, and foreign agents were abundant. Mossad, the Israeli National Intelligence Agency, had a reputation for deploying female agents and was active in Norway at the time of the Isdal Woman's death.
This became embarrassingly obvious three years later when a very public case of mistaken identity turned deadly. In 1973, Israeli spies assassinated a Moroccan waiter in Lillehammer, thinking the man was a terrorist. The Norwegian intelligence service was understandably on high alert, but its hushed interest in the Isdal Woman centered around another revelation.
Decades after the discovery of her body, it finally went public about its investigation, which only strengthened the espionage theory. Apparently, the agency had been investigating reports that a woman fitting her description was seen lingering around military installations in Western Norway. These same facilities were the sites of strange disappearances that occurred in the 1960s, which had been linked to international espionage. That's not all.
It seems that the woman, who may or may not have been our nameless corpse, had allegedly been observing the military test new rockets. According to the declassified records of the Norwegian Armed Forces, the Isdal Woman's routes corresponded with top secret trials of an advanced weapon, the Penguin missile.
The anti-ship missile was, at the time, state of the art. Guided by lasers, it skimmed across large bodies of water at high subsonic speeds and took out its targets with ferocious accuracy. The Penguin missile served as a beacon of hope for Norway. Its successful development would have thrust the country to the forefront of military technology, offering protection against the ever encroaching Soviet Union.
With that in mind, why, then, did the Isdal Woman's movements mirror the classified tests being carried out in Norway's port cities and military bases? Why did a fisherman claim to have seen her skulking near a penguin missile testing site in Stavanger? Based on its investigation reports, the Norwegian intelligence service never found out, leading to talk of government cover-ups or organized crime.
Still, it was just speculation, and no theory has ever been conclusively proven. In the wake of decades-old uncertainty, the Isdal Woman continued to capture the imaginations of people the world over. Hearsay was rife, and outlandish theories abundant. That said, one potential witness did eventually come forward with a story as plausible as it was ominous.
In 2005, a Bergen man gave an interview with a local newspaper. He had been around 26 years old when the Isdal Woman's remains were found in Isdalien and, after seeing the composite sketch circulated throughout the media, he realized that he recognized her. The man explained that, just five days before the horrific discovery, he was hiking in the hillsides of Fløyen, one of the seven mountains that towered above Bergen.
Whilst trekking through the wilderness, he came across a woman who seemed out of place, her light clothing more suited to the city than the rugged terrain of the highlands.
Walking a few paces behind her were two southern-looking men in thick coats. The man caught her eye as he passed. She seemed resigned and started to say something, but stopped before any words left her lips. Something about the encounter was unsettling enough for the man to report it to the Bergen police. Astoundingly, however, he was told to forget about it.
The man's name was lost to time and his alleged sighting of the Isdal Woman was never recorded nor investigated. Whether it held the key to Norway's enduring mystery, we might never know. The Isdal Woman remained a nameless corpse in a zinc-lined coffin for another 11 years, until advances in technology brought about renewed interest in her story.
In 2017, a surprising discovery was made, prompting the Norwegian police to reopen her case. Part 7: Through Clenched Teeth Whilst the Isdal woman remained six feet under, her jawbone somehow still resided with the living.
Many had thought it was destroyed after the death of Professor Hilsa Bang. Forensic specialist Inge Morild was told it had been discarded because it stank. However, when investigative journalists from NPK, a Norwegian public broadcasting agency, inquired with Professor Morild, it reappeared. There, buried within a cellar of Auckland University Hospital's forensic archives, was the Isdal woman's jawbone, teeth intact.
These gold-crowned reservoirs of preserved evidence inspired the police to make use of the latest forensic techniques, hoping to shed some light on her identity. It worked, to an extent. The very same year her case was reopened, the Norwegian Criminal Investigation Service and the University of Bergen conducted isotope analyses on her teeth.
The science behind these techniques is complicated but, in short, experts hoped to determine the types of water and food the woman consumed as she grew up, which areas the water came from, and the type of soil commonly found there. It was an unprecedented undertaking for the Norwegian police. Even so, it yielded results. The analyses indicated that the Isdal Woman had been born in 1930, making her about 40 years old at the time of her death.
That being said, the inaccuracy of the techniques meant that her true birth date could have been four years earlier or later. It seemed that she was native to Nuremberg, Germany, but had likely moved to France as a child. That would explain the Isdal woman's use of both German and French when checking into hotels. It also lined up with her elegant handwriting which, according to forensic document examiners, suggested that she had gone to school in France or a neighboring country.
The analyses lined up with Professor Bang's initial theories about her gold crowns too. It seemed that she had seen a dentist in either East Asia, Central Europe, Southern Europe, or South America. The results were certainly interesting but, still, they did little more than fascinate those who continued to follow the case. That said, the Isdal Woman's date and place of birth did spark a particularly convincing theory. Perhaps she was a Holocaust survivor turned spy.
1930 was the year that the Nazi party of Adolf Hitler's tyrannical regime became the second largest political party in Germany, making the beginnings of its terrifying rise to power. It was also the year the Isdal Woman was supposedly born there. Had the dark-haired child been a Jewish girl? If so, was she one of the 10,000 children crammed into the Kindertransport and whisked away from the horrors of the Holocaust by the United Kingdom?
It was unlikely, but it also wasn't impossible. The theory supported the allegations that the Izdal Woman was an Israeli spy. Perhaps, after escaping the genocide of her people, she went on to join the Mossad. Still, it was just speculation. Something that became a frustrating theme in the story of the Izdal Woman
One year later, however, NRK and the BBC World Service started Death in Ice Valley, a podcast series that produced more concrete answers. It captured interviews with eyewitnesses and forensic scientists, many of which supported the results of the isotope analyses conducted by the Norwegian police. It also captured the attention of two individuals who offered more insights into the Isdal woman's ever-elusive identity.
In 2019, the Death in Ice Valley team was contacted by Colleen Fitzpatrick, the very same forensic genealogist who might have solved the Somerton Man case. She was eager to sink her teeth into another cold case and offered up her expertise in the search for the Isdal woman's identity. Fitzpatrick used genetic genealogical isotope techniques to test samples of tissue that had been taken during the woman's autopsy.
The results indicated that she came from Southeast Europe or Southwest Asia, not Germany, a Western European country, as was previously thought. Once again, the discovery was more confusing than it was illuminating. The podcast series and its contributors have brought us no closer to identifying the Isdal Woman or understanding why she met her grisly end. That being said, one avid listener has put forth another plausible theory.
Dennis Zachar Aske, an author, speculated that the Isdal woman was a prostitute. He cited her meticulously planned route as evidence of this, explaining that it demonstrated she had clear goals and always returned to the same point, which was likely her home.
Aske argued that her obsession with anonymity further supported his sex worker theory, as did her tendency to leave furniture outside of her hotel rooms. He felt it was her way of making her door, something prostitutes were known to do. Though ostensibly far-fetched, Aske's theory was reasonable. It certainly explained why the men who were seen with the Isdal Woman never came forward. Having said that, a confession from a potential eyewitness proved to completely contradict it.
That same year, a man came forward with an interesting admission after reading an article in the French newspaper, La Republican Lorraine. He hailed from Forbach, a village near the German border, and claimed to have been romantically involved with the Isdal Woman in the summer of 1970.
According to him, she was a polyglot with a thick Balkan accent who had a penchant for dressing younger than she was. The man recalled that she wore wigs, was tight-lipped about her personal life, and had a strict schedule of calls from abroad. He was certain the woman was a spy, but feared that she would retaliate if he reported her to the authorities. If only he had. That, dear listeners, is where our story comes to a painfully unsatisfying end.
Through clenched teeth, I'm afraid to say that the Isdal Woman has never been identified, nor have any of the questions surrounding her suspicious death been answered. She remains a nameless body buried in a foreign land where the truth seemingly died with her. The mystery, however, lives on.
