The Unsolvable Case of Death Part 4: Open End

As I had previously mentioned, this case had long ceased to be the purview of the Bergen police, having instead become the domain of Norway's secretive intelligence service. In 2018, Marit Higraff and Neil McCarthy embarked on the creation of Death in Ice Valley, a podcast that successfully reignited the investigation into the Isdal Woman, seeking to apply modern investigative methods in hopes of uncovering her identity.

In a surprising turn, they were granted access to confidential files from the secret police. Upon perusing the documents, they were disheartened to find the material scant and underwhelming—much of the information contained therein had already been made public through the regular police reports.

Yet, there was one singular revelation that piqued their curiosity: the Isdal Woman had once visited another man. The report alluded to a witness from a remote fishing village, not far from Stanga in Taner, who claimed to have seen her. The document bore the date December 22nd.

The report indicated that someone was to be sent to interrogate him. Yet, on the very same day, the police convened another press conference. With little fanfare, they announced the abrupt closure of the investigation, declaring the case to be a tragic suicide after just three weeks of inquiry.

The police fielded questions from the press, and one journalist ventured to ask if it was possible the Isdal Woman had been a spy. The spokesperson swiftly dismissed the suggestion, asserting that there was no evidence to support such a theory. Although she had traveled extensively across Norway, her purpose during this time remained a complete mystery.

The reporters were not satisfied, expressing their frustration at how unusually tight-lipped the police seemed to be about the case, far more so than usual. One journalist even recounted how he had been granted access to the case files at the station.

As he sifted through the papers, his hand fell upon a sealed envelope that felt as though it contained a tape. The envelope bore a label, instructing that it was to be opened only by the chief of the secret police. Fearing the loss of his police contacts, the reporter wisely chose not to defy the instructions. However, when the case documents were later reviewed, this mysterious envelope was nowhere to be found in the records of either police force

Today, several documents and items from the case appear to be missing—lost over time. Even the Bergen police found themselves frustrated by the case, seemingly unable to comprehend why it had been closed so abruptly.

They were prohibited from pursuing any leads that might have taken them abroad, hindering their ability to form a clearer picture of the Isdal Woman’s movements.

Instead, they were forced to rely on the limited information that other countries were willing to provide, and they felt their hands were tied further by the secret police’s involvement. They did not believe it was a suicide or an accident, and the mounting frustration of being unable to resolve the mystery was all the more apparent in the number of officers who attended the unknown woman’s funeral.

Through a combination of accounts and an interview with the son of the fisherman from Tanga, we can begin to piece together what may be one of the most revealing aspects of the story. The fisherman recalled working on his trawler when he noticed an unusually well-dressed woman walking along the docks. She stood out to him, not just for her attire—which was far too fine for the environment—but also because she did not seem to belong.

She approached a naval vessel that was docked nearby and struck up a prolonged conversation with one of the officers. After the story broke in the press, the officer became convinced that this woman was the Isdal Woman and, feeling certain of his discovery, contacted the police. Yet, whether anyone ever followed up with him before the case was officially closed remains uncertain. What did occur, however, was unsettlingly odd.

Just before Christmas, the man was preparing to board a train in Stanger, intending to spend the holiday in London with his family. As he stood on the platform, two men approached him. They identified themselves as police officers and asked if they could speak with him.

He agreed and walked with them for about twenty minutes before returning to his family. When he rejoined them, he said little, only explaining that the officers had wanted to ask him some questions. It was only after the holiday, upon his return to Norway, that he confided in his family about the strange encounter. He had not wanted to disturb their peace during what was meant to be a joyful time together.

The two men, if indeed they were police officers, were not in uniform and did not present any identification. Instead, they handed him a small handgun and a knife, instructing him to keep them on him at all times while in London. the man was told to keep the handgun and knife on him in case he needed to protect himself, though he admitted he had no idea who or what he was supposed to be protecting himself from.

The experience left him paranoid for a long time, constantly fearing that someone might be coming for him, all because of what he had witnessed on the docks that day.

But why was a naval ship docked there that day? The Navy was conducting a test for the Penguin missile system, a cutting-edge, lightweight guided missile system designed for use on small ships.

This technology, still in its infancy, was of immense interest to one of Norway's neighbors: Russia. It was the height of the Cold War, and Norway, as a founding member of NATO, was aligned with the United States and Europe. Russia made little effort to conceal the fact that it was closely monitoring Norway's small but highly developed arms industry, and Russian ships were often spotted near the test zones during trials of the Penguin missile system.

This missile system was to be a crucial asset in the defense of the West, and Russia was eager to learn everything it could about it. Many Norwegians grew up hearing rumors that the country’s deep coastal fjords were filled with Russian submarines, silently observing their every move. What was even more unsettling was the fact that the Isdal Woman’s movements between Stanger and Bergen seemed to coincide with multiple tests of the missile system.

She was even reported to have been seen near the test sites on several occasions, which points to one very obvious conclusion that she was a Soviet spy. The evidence seems to align—numerous false identities, meetings with suspicious men, her constant travels, and her presence near a cutting-edge missile test site. On the surface, it all fits. But if she were a spy, she was certainly a rather inept one.

The Isdal Woman left a lasting impression on everyone she encountered. Many noted that she always seemed out of place, never quite fitting into the locations where she was seen. Moreover, experts in Soviet espionage methods argue that a spy would likely maintain one or perhaps two false identities, each carefully constructed and consistent. The idea of managing eight, or more, identities is inconceivable.

Furthermore, a spy’s clothing would typically reflect the region they were operating in, or at least their supposed origin. The fact that the Isdal Woman had gone to the trouble of cutting out labels from her clothes and erasing any identifying marks raises more questions than it answers.

If she were truly a spy working for Russia, Despite the uncertainties, it seems almost undeniable that the Isdal Woman was involved in some form of espionage, though perhaps not for the Soviets.

She might have been an operative for another country, or perhaps she was simply a courier—passing information from one agent to another, moving between locations with a singular purpose. This could explain her encounters with several men, as well as the naval officer she spoke to. Could these figures have been fellow informants or undercover agents?

Yet, some have proposed a less nefarious explanation: that she was a high-class sex worker. This theory draws on the men she was seen with and the matchbook from an erotic lingerie company that was found among her belongings. However, there are complications with this line of thought.

She often stayed at Christian-run hotels, which adhered to strict codes of conduct—no alcohol, for example—making them an unlikely venue for a sex worker to conduct her business. While her refined appearance and sophisticated wardrobe might support this theory, they fail to explain much of her other peculiar behavior.

In more recent years, tests have been conducted on her teeth, and DNA samples preserved by the hospital have been analyzed. These investigations, which began with the analysis of her teeth It is suggested that the Isdal Woman was between 25 and 30 years old when she died, a detail that seems to align with the rough ages she often included on her hotel cards. However, a recent carbon-14 test conducted on her teeth, as part of the Def I Valley investigation, places her age closer to 45. Could this discrepancy explain why she might have lied about her age?

There have also been connections made to non-state organizations, potentially terrorist groups, with particular mention of pro-Palestinian movements.

Could she have been gathering information for these groups? This might explain some of her less professional behavior, especially if she wasn’t a traditional spy but rather worked for smaller, political factions. A lot of this speculation, however, stems from her being in the same city at the same time as a Geneva-based banker who supported Palestinian resistance movements. But that is another rabbit hole altogether, should one choose to pursue it.

DNA tests, along with isotope analysis conducted on her remains in recent years, suggest that she at least grew up in Germany, possibly moving to Belgium or a neighboring area at a young age. Yet, none of this information about her origins brings us any closer to understanding what truly happened to her in that valley.

After the Death in Ice Valley podcast was released, a man who had lived in the area came forward, claiming he had witnessed something unusual just a week before the Isdal Woman’s body was found. While hiking near the Isdal Valley in Fløyen, he noticed a woman who appeared oddly dressed for a hike, walking along a mountainous hillside. As he continued on his way, he saw two serious-looking men walking not far behind her. At the time, he thought little of it, but later, as he became aware of the Isdal Woman case, he connected the dots.

Earlier, I mentioned an enigmatic line of code from the woman’s notebook, “ML23 NMM.” Despite all that we know, It seems almost certain that "23N" marks the 23rd of November, but could it have been "ML" and "MM" who were walking alongside her that day on the mountain?

And what became of them after the witness saw them disappear into the distance? Alas, this trail leads to no satisfying resolution. The enigma of the Isdal Woman remains elusive, her purpose in Norway in 1970 still an open question, and the mystery of her final moments in the Valley of Death only deepens.

As the years slip by, only one of the original police officers involved in the case still survives, and with each passing day, the chances of finding someone who truly knew her grow ever slimmer. Her DNA, however, rests within the vast archives of databases, a potential key to unlocking her true identity—perhaps waiting for a long-lost relative to come forward. Until that day arrives, the story of the Isdal Woman lingers as one of the greatest, unresolved mysteries, haunting the corners of time.