Satellite People

by Hans Olav Lahlum

  When asked about how much he expected to inherit, Fredrik Schelderup was almost serious for a moment. He replied that he hoped he would get a third of his father’s fortune, and it was reported in the papers that his total wealth was valued at more than 100 million. But he did not dare assume that he would get any more than the 200,000 kroner he had claim to as one of the heirs. He had been looking forward to receiving his inheritance for many years, but was in no way in any kind of financial straits and had not asked his father for money for years – knowing that should he ask, he was unlikely to get anything other than sarcasm in return.

  Over the years, Magdalon Schelderup had repeatedly expressed his disappointment in his eldest son’s lack of initiative and business acumen. The son was no longer hurt by this and had, on a couple of occasions, responded by expressing his disappointment in his father’s treatment of his first two wives and their sons. The conversation had usually stopped there.

  Fredrik Schelderup was again earnest for a moment when I asked about his dead mother. She had been four years younger than Magdalon Schelderup and had been a great beauty with many admirers, when, at the age of twenty-three, she said yes to his proposal of marriage. More than once in her later years she had told her son that Magdalon Schelderup had married her simply because it was the only way he could get her into bed – which apparently became an obsession from the first time they met. She had won over Magdalon Schelderup, but in doing so had lost herself, she often said with increasing bitterness.

  Fredrik was the only child from a deeply unhappy marriage, which ended in a bitter divorce just before the war. Fredrik’s mother was a Christian and had very much enjoyed being ‘the Queen of Gulleråsen’ at Schelderup Hall. She was strongly opposed to divorce, but her husband had found someone else and eventually threw his first wife out of the house, ‘almost physically’. Fredrik had stayed with his father for several years after the divorce, ‘for reasons of pure ease’, but had then suddenly found it ‘more comfortable’ to move into his own flat once he had finished school. His mother did not suffer financially, but she never really recovered from the divorce. Nicotine and alcohol had both contributed to a permanent deterioration in her health, and she died of liver failure at the age of forty-nine.

  With regard to his relationship with other members of the family, Fredrik Schelderup now declared that he liked his father’s second wife marginally more than the third, but that he had never had much contact with either of them. In terms of the rest of the family, he tended generally to have the warmest feelings for his eleven-year-younger half-brother. They had grown closer when his brother entered puberty and had himself become the child of divorced parents. But any contact was still sporadic. They were very different, and his brother had ‘been sensible enough to realize that I was not a good role model’ when he was about to come of age. Fredrik Schelderup’s relationship with his twenty-year-younger half-sister had always been distant. However, he did say that for someone her age, she appeared to be a remarkably determined and enterprising young lady.

  A hint of seriousness returned once again to Fredrik Schelderup’s otherwise jocular expression when he said this. And when he had left the room, I sat and ruminated on whether I had also seen a hint of respect or fear when I looked in his eye.

  VII

  Leonard Schelderup was an intense, gum-chewing man of twenty-seven, about half a head shorter than me. He appeared to glide into the room, with the classic light step and lithe body of a long-distance runner. He had managed to regain some composure by the time he came in for questioning, two hours after the murder, but was clearly still deeply affected by the drama in the dining room. He admitted as much himself and started by apologizing for his confused behaviour. He then added that the day’s events really were quite extraordinary, and that he felt particularly exposed.

  I said that I fully understood his situation, and then tagged on a comment that he and his dead father seemed to be very different. Leonard Schelderup chewed frantically on his gum for a few moments before his answer more or less tumbled out of his mouth: ‘Yes and no. It’s easy to understand that it might seem that way. I am very influenced by what other people think and say about me, and I actually care about other people’s feelings. Neither were ever traits of my father. I am often nervous when meeting people and have never been interested in business. But there were similarities. I have a lot of my father’s willpower and his competitive streak, but use it instead on the track and at university. And that was not what my father wanted. But in recent years it seemed that he did understand and respect me a little more. We have unfortunately never had a good relationship. But I hope that it was not quite so bad in the last year of his life.’

  He swiftly added: ‘I was eight when my father came into my room one day and told me that my mother was moving out and that I would be staying here without her. Our relationship never really moved on from there. I have long since accepted that my father is who he is and had absolutely no reason at all to wish him dead now. It still seems very unreal that he has been murdered, and why he chose me to taste his food is a mystery.’

  The formulation ‘had absolutely no reason at all to wish him dead now’ immediately caught my attention. I asked, in a sharper tone, whether that meant that he had previously wished his father were dead.

  Leonard Schelderup’s jaws worked even harder on the chewing gum before he answered.

  ‘I may have said something of the sort to him when I was a teenager, when I was rebelling. I thought he treated my mother appallingly both before and after the divorce, and whatever I did was apparently of no interest whatsoever to him. Shouting at my father was like banging your head against the wall. He never lost control and just looked down at me and through me, superior in every way. Even when I was taller than him. It always ended with me coming to apologize. And then he still just looked at me overbearingly. Deep down I hated him for many years, and in my youth I had some violent outbursts. But I have never really wanted to kill him and, what’s more, have never done anything to attempt it.’

  He squirmed in his chair and added in a quiet voice: ‘Though God knows who will believe that now.’

  I sympathized with him. Leonard Schelderup was indeed in an exposed situation vis-à-vis the others around the table, partly because he had been selected to taste the food, and partly because he was the one his father had pointed to after swallowing the powdered nuts. And what was more, he had no alibi when it came to the punctured tyres. According to his statement, he had been in the Oslo area in the days before the murder, tramping along the well-worn path from his flat in Skøyen to the track at Bislett, and to his office at the university.

  Leonard Schelderup appeared to be as ill-informed about the inheritance situation as his older brother – and far less interested. He hoped that he would get a third of the fortune, but was fully prepared for the eventuality that it might be the minimum amount of 200,000 kroner. His older brother had wanted to discuss the issue with him several times, but he had tried to think about it as little as possible. It would make relatively little difference to his life if he inherited 200,000, a million or thirty million. He was happy working on his Ph.D. in chemistry at the university, and was getting better and better on the track. Any notion of joining the business was alien to him. If he inherited five million, two would go into his own account and three to his mother, who he believed should have got more after the divorce. But they both had healthy balances as it was. Leonard Schelderup did not have his own family and had no plans to get one. He added, without any prompting, that his experiences from childhood did not make it an attractive prospect.

  As for the guests who were not part of the family, Leonard Schelderup had really only ever exchanged pleasantries with them. He did comment though that Wendelboe, behind his grave mask, was possibly a warmer person than his own father had ever been.

  Leonard Schelderup told me that he had only sporadic contact with his older brother. The two of them had always got on well,
despite the age difference, and there had never really been any serious conflicts between them. However, their differences had become more pronounced over the years, and they now had very little in common outside the family. Their father had on one occasion remarked to the young Leonard that his lack of interest in the business was a disappointment, but he had at least had one son who was interested in something other than the next party.

  Leonard Schelderup said that he had had a good relationship with ‘Aunt Magdalena’ ever since he was a child, but that they did not meet very often. Leonard Schelderup did not hide the fact that he disliked his father’s new wife, who he believed had used her youth and beauty to usurp his mother’s place. However, they now had a formal and relatively relaxed relationship. She was an intelligent and active woman, who always asked politely about his running results and work situation whenever they met on social occasions. Leonard Schelderup grimaced when he added that, in recent years, his stepmother had in fact shown more interest in his life than his own father ever had done.

  ‘There is one episode from last year that I should perhaps mention to you,’ he said abruptly. His voice was trembling slightly when he continued. ‘I bumped into my father on Karl Johan, where he was standing talking to a business contact. My father took me almost respectfully by the hand and said “This is Director Svendsen and he saw you at Bislett and wanted to congratulate you on winning the Norwegian Championships. And I would also like to do that. You really have become an impressively good runner!” I shook them both by the hand. Then I went and sat alone in the corner of a cafe and cried over a cup of coffee. I was twenty-six years old and it was the first time that I had ever heard my father say anything positive about my running. And the last time too.’

  Leonard Schelderup had very little contact with his younger half-sister. Like his brother, he had the impression that she was unusually intelligent and determined. Even though she did not do any sports, he believed that his sister was also an exceptionally competitive person.

  ‘We really only meet on social occasions, and my little sister is like a cat in the company of adults. She slips in and out without making any noise, but looks like she keeps her eyes and ears keen as a predator. I suspect that her claws and teeth might also be very sharp, without ever having tried to find out,’ he concluded.

  My curiosity regarding Magdalon Schelderup’s daughter was in no way diminished by this remark. In fact, it led me to conclude my interview with Leonard Schelderup relatively swiftly. He appeared to be relieved and asked for permission to continue with his training and work as normal. He shook my hand with something akin to enthusiasm when I granted him this, and promised that he would be available in the event of any further questions.

  Magdalon Schelderup’s youngest son certainly seemed to be far less sure of himself here in his childhood home than when I had seen him at the Norwegian athletics championships at Bislett last year. I had to admit though that I still liked him and hoped that he was not the murderer. But given the circumstances I could not disregard that possibility.

  VIII

  With the few steps that it took Maria Irene Schelderup to enter the room, I understood immediately what her brother had meant with the cat metaphor. The eighteen-year-old floated in across the carpet, self-assured and almost silent, on light, agile feet. Her handshake was unexpectedly firm, without any of the trembling I had felt in her older brother’s hand. Once she was sitting comfortably in the armchair she leaned forward with something akin to eagerness, but waited to speak until she had heard my question.

  In the first part of our conversation, Maria Irene Schelderup did not waste words and gave clear, concise answers. Yes, her father’s death had been unexpected. No, she had no reason to suspect anyone present more than anyone else.

  Then she slowed down and added calmly that her father’s dramatic death should strictly speaking not have been a surprise – given that his life had always been so dramatic.

  ‘In a way,’ she added, ‘he was cut down in his prime today, at just the right time.’

  I looked at her questioningly and she carried on, with equal calm: ‘My father was a very dynamic sixty-nine-year-old, but he was born in the eighteen hundreds, after all. Time was starting to take its toll. Over the past few years, he has become more cautious. You could even notice it in his driving. Before, he consistently drove above the speed limit; now he drove just under. The past decade has seen a peak in his career, but I doubt that he would have been able to lead the company on to achieve new records over the next ten years. His personality and will were just as forceful, but he did not understand the new technology well enough, nor the changing demands and expectations of younger generations. He preferred to continue scaring people into doing what he wanted. Nowadays, appearing to be nice and considerate is obviously a far more effective strategy.’

  I stared with a mixture of fascination and fear at the young Maria Irene Schelderup and asked what her thoughts were on the future of the company. Her reply was unexpectedly quick.

  ‘That all depends on what we are now waiting for with baited breath: in other words, my father’s will. We came to these suppers for the most part because he was Magdalon Schelderup, but also because we were waiting for him to tell us at some point about his will. But that never happened. Either he was still in doubt, or he just wanted to keep us on tenterhooks.’

  She hesitated briefly, but then continued with youthful zeal.

  ‘And as regards the inheritance, perhaps my father died a few years too early. The only one of his children who is capable of taking over – in other words, me – is still too young, in practical and legal terms, to head a consolidated company of that size. The alternative is to divide up the business, and that would not be profitable at this point. The company is on the offensive, and appears to be in the middle of several transaction processes that make the situation unclear for the next year. My father also liked to keep secrets from those closest to him. It was part of his strategy for holding the reins and keeping everyone around him on their toes. So none of us know what it says in the will. I know that my mother has pressured him to leave a company that was as consolidated as possible to me, but I have no idea whether she succeeded or not. It was not easy to persuade my father to do anything – not even for my mother. I presume that you will shortly be told the content of the will and I would be very grateful if you could telephone as soon as the mystery has been clarified.’

  The latter was said with a tiny sweet smile. I registered vaguely that I was nodding in reply, and that her smile widened with even greater sweetness. Maria Irene Schelderup was her father’s daughter: a player who needed to be watched. This feeling was in no way diminished when she continued.

  ‘So, the situation is this: I may have a motive for murder, but if that is the case, it depends on the content of a will that I know nothing about. But I did not kill my father, regardless of what it says. I realized that he did not have many more years left, and anyway I wanted to study for a few years before taking over the business. So time was in my favour.’

  I felt I was slightly at sea and tried to regain control of the interview by asking about her and her father’s relationship with her two half-brothers.

  ‘I for my part feel very little for either of them, positive or negative. Leonard is of course closer to me than Fredrik, both in age and personality. But the distance between us is still too great for me to have any sisterly feelings. The fact that we have different mothers who cannot stand the sight of each other has naturally taken its toll. I have grown up as my mother’s only child, but have always been painfully aware that my father had two older sons.’

  I resisted the temptation to ask her whether she had feelings for anyone other than herself, and instead indicated that she should carry on telling me about her brothers. And this also seemed to be a topic she had thought about a lot.

  ‘As regards my half-brothers’ relationship with our father, I don’t think he ever saw much hope in Fredrik. A fath
er who paid attention to every detail and a son who cares about nothing are not compatible. I would not be surprised if my father had not always stayed on the right side of the law, but it mattered to him greatly that he had never been convicted of anything, and that no one should be given the opportunity to do this. Fredrik, on the other hand, could have papered an entire wall with his speeding and parking fines. Father once commented that he had hoped to have a son who understood the laws of the land well enough to avoid them, but instead he had a son who did not even realize that laws existed. I am sure it was a great disappointment and, based on that alone, I do not think that Fredrik will get much in the will. But my father was an unpredictable man, even for me, and he had some strange and highly irrational old-fashioned ideas about the eldest son and the family’s reputation and things like that. I may be wrong, but I would guess that Fredrik will fare least well.’

  She continued with a slightly more earnest expression.

  ‘I see Leonard as a more dangerous contender. He has never used his talents in the way that Father wanted him to. But Leonard has both talent and willpower, and it seemed as though Father felt closer to him in more recent years. Leonard’s success on the track was eventually to his advantage. Father had no interest whatsoever in athletics, but he approved of any quantifiable success that was discussed in the papers and by the people he met. So my bet would perhaps be that Fredrik receives the two hundred thousand that he has the legal right to claim, whereas the rest will be divided between Leonard and myself in some way or other.’