I asked why there was only one fingerprint in the flat, and why it was on the bureau by the door. The answer was that due to the gravity of the situation, she had not wanted to leave any traces in the flat of another suspect, so she had not smoked. She had been wearing gloves when she came in and had tried not to touch anything. Leonard had put out some coffee and biscuits, but she had on purpose not taken anything. She thought the fingerprint on the bureau was probably because she tripped on her way out and put a hand out to steady herself.
Magdalena Schelderup realized just how tenuous her situation was and asked me straight out if I intended to arrest her. The thought was tempting, especially given the conversation with my boss earlier in the morning. But I knew only too well how harsh the backlash could be in the event of hasty arrests, and had to admit that there was really still no evidence against her. And her explanation tallied with Leonard’s telephone call to me and the statements from the neighbour and Leonard Schelderup’s lover. It was of course possible that Magdalena Schelderup had returned sometime between midnight and three in the morning and then murdered her nephew. But there was no indication whatsoever that she had done this. So I concluded that any arrest would have to wait, but asked her to tell me immediately if she knew anything else of importance.
Magdalena sat and thought as she smoked her cigarette. Then she stubbed it out with determination.
‘In that case, under duress and against my will, I will confide in you something I promised many years ago never to tell another living soul, which is a promise I have kept to this day. And it is the name of the person who got me to join the NS in 1940 . . .’
‘And that is . . .’
She hesitated for a beat, and then launched into the story.
‘My dear older brother, Magdalon Schelderup. He came to my house one evening, put an already completed form down on the table and asked me to sign it. He had done the same with my brother. It would secure the family fortune in the event of a German victory and would be of no consequence should the Allies win. Fortunately we will never know if the first conclusion was right, but the latter certainly was not. I know that from bitter experience in the years after the war.’
Then she added: ‘You don’t believe me, do you?’
I thought about what Patricia had said about the chronology of events in 1940 and heard myself saying that I was not sure if it was of any importance to any of the murders, but that based on other discoveries I had made in the course of the investigation, I could in fact believe what she said about the NS membership.
Our parting was almost friendly. But my suspicion of Magdalena had only been strengthened by this latest failure to tell the whole truth. I had come there in the hope of a confession and left with the growing doubt that she actually had anything to confess.
IV
Even though I had more exciting things to ask both Herlofsen and the Wendelboes, I thought I might as well pop into Schelderup Hall as I was in Gulleråsen already.
Sandra Schelderup met me personally by the front door and looked as though she was in far better shape. She gave concise and clear answers to my questions. Following yesterday’s conversation, she had searched high and low without finding the missing key ring. The lock on the outside doors would be changed within a few hours and once that was done, she would not need to use precious police resources. There had been no signs of any disturbance at Schelderup Hall for the past few nights and the dogs had been quiet.
She said she realized that it was a very complex investigation and that I might not be able to say much more here and now, but that she hoped we were making progress. I confirmed this and said that we had our suspicions. Sandra Schelderup trilled with relief to hear this and said that her daughter wished to speak to me and would no doubt appreciate this news too.
V
The door to Maria Irene Schelderup’s room was closed, but was quickly opened when I knocked on it.
Her room turned out to be a combined bedroom and study. There was plenty of floor space, even though she had a separate corner suite with a television and stereo player, a large desk and a neatly made-up four-poster bed. In the doorway stood a smiling Maria Irene in an unexpectedly elegant outfit: a fitted black cocktail dress. The light caught the gold chain she was wearing around her neck and sparkled in the red diamond pendant.
Maria Irene had obviously been studying as some of her schoolbooks were lying on the desk, but she waved me in and closed the books. I commented that books on economy and law were not part of the curriculum when I took my exams. She laughed and replied that that was still the case, but that she was going to university in the autumn and, anyway, she was not an ordinary pupil.
I could not have agreed more, and queried whether such elegant working clothes were normal at Schelderup Hall. She laughed and replied with a quick wink that she only wore this when she was expecting very special guests.
I did not have much to tell her about the investigation, nor did I have many questions to ask her. As far as the ring was concerned, her answer was more or less the same as her mother’s, as was the case regarding the key ring and the situation at Schelderup Hall. The only thing that she added was an apology for her mother’s emotional outbursts in connection with the reading of the will.
We stayed sitting on the sofa all the same and time simply flew by. There was no doubt that Maria Irene still fascinated me more than any of the other parties in the case, despite the fact that as their pasts unfolded, their lives were far more gripping. There was something about the dignity and calm that she exuded, combined with her youth and beauty, which stood in sharp contrast to the outbursts from Magdalena Schelderup and the other older people who were nearing the end of their lives.
I allowed myself to say that it must have been very difficult for her to witness such tragedies in her close family at such a young age. Maria Irene assured me that she would cope, but admitted that the past few days had been very demanding. She thanked me with a very sweet smile for my concern.
Maria Irene placed her small hand on my shoulder as she said this. Her hand was softer and warmer than I had imagined. It was only now that I noticed that the top three buttons of her dress were undone, so that the upper part of her young bosom was visible.
I would later have considerable problems explaining even to myself what happened in the next few seconds. I seemed to leave my body in some peculiar way. I heard Maria Irene’s voice saying that she had found the last days here at Schelderup Hall very difficult and lonely, and that it would cheer her up immensely if I would dance with her. I heard my own voice saying yes, that taking three minutes out of my working day must surely be allowed, and certainly if it was to help her. I saw Maria Irene smile, lean forward, put a single on the turntable and start the record. The movement meant that even more of her bosom peeped out from under her dress and the gold chain.
Then, suddenly, we were up and I was dancing with her to the tune of a hit from a couple of years back, Nancy and Frank Sinatra’s duet ‘Something Stupid’. Under the veil of the music, Maria Irene whispered to me that it was her favourite song and that it was kind of me to dance with her. I replied that the song suited her well. I thought that Nancy Sinatra’s voice was very like Maria Irene’s, but that Maria Irene was more beautiful.
Whether I actually whispered this to her or not, I could not say for certain later. I remember that I thought her body felt safer and firmer in my arms, that her smile was more beautiful, and that her red lips were even closer to mine. I could hardly avoid letting my eyes slide down her neck, and did not even try. First they rested on the spectacular diamond, but then they slid down even further to look at her spectacular breasts. I was struck by the dizzying and slightly absurd thought that I had been asked to dance by a very beautiful young heiress who was worth at least 40 million kroner, in her home, when no one else was there.
We seemed to glide in circles over the floor as though entranced, with a slightly unreal feeling that I had never experienced before
on the dance floor. But then again, I had stepped out onto a very special dance floor with a very special young lady. We were over by the record player when, to my annoyance, the music faded out. To my relief, Maria Irene let go of one hand and deftly put the needle down again.
We continued to dance and circle round the room for another three minutes. Our circuit took us from the sofa to her four-poster bed. As the melody faded for a second time, Maria raised her red and breathy mouth to mine. It stopped less than an inch away. I looked down into her dark eyes. And in that moment I felt certain that she would not object in any way if I was to do the only thing in the world that I wanted to do. In other words, to lift her up and kiss her beyond all reason.
Suddenly I was at the point where the temptation was so overwhelming that the rest of the world and all its worries seemed to disappear. This time it felt as though I forgot not only time and place, but also age and planet. I looked down into Maria Irene’s face, with an almost taunting smile curled on her red lips and a twinkle in her brown eyes, but still that bottomless calm. I felt a flash of teasing anger, and a deep desire to remove that taunting smile and peace from her face. In my ears I heard a kind of echo of Maria Irene’s voice from our first interview, remarking that Synnøve Jensen was surprisingly voluble in bed for someone who otherwise was so quiet. And I was instantly overcome by an irresistible desire to find out what sort of sounds were hidden in Maria Irene.
I had just lifted her up the tiny distance that still separated us when we were quite literally brought back down to earth with a bump by a noise outside in the hallway. There was a knocking at the door and an extremely irritated maternal voice said: ‘Maria Irene, if the detective inspector is still with you, please do not plague him with that terrible music of yours.’
It was the first time in the investigation that I had actually hated one of the parties involved. I would later be very grateful to Sandra Schelderup and shudder to think what might have happened if she had come a little later or, even worse, walked straight in. It is more than likely that ten seconds later I would have been standing there with my tongue in Maria Irene’s mouth. And it was not unfeasible that a minute later, I would have been lying on top of her on the four-poster bed, the spell felt so strong. But thankfully it was broken by her mother’s voice. I let go of Maria Irene instantly, as though she was burning – which in fact was perhaps not so far from the truth.
We each took a couple of steps back in our shared fear that her mother would open the door. Within five seconds, Maria Irene had reached the record player and lifted off the needle. And she had already fastened the top three buttons of her dress, so that her bosom was hidden again. Then, in one lightning movement, she pulled off the gold chain and hid it behind her back.
I heard my own voice say very loudly that I was happy to have the music on, but I still had to ask about the missing ring and key ring. Maria Irene answered – also in an unusually loud voice – that she had helped to look for both those things, to no avail.
The danger passed quickly. Her mother left without even trying to open the door. But the magic had gone and the floor was firm beneath my feet. I was back in my body and had, to some extent, regained control of my mind. So I thanked Maria Irene and said rather loudly that I had now got the answers to all my questions, certainly for the time being.
Maria Irene smiled again and assured me – again in a voice that was perhaps louder than necessary – that I was welcome back whenever there was a need, if anything cropped up where she might be of help. She then added in a very quiet voice that she hoped she would be able to invite me back at some point later, once the case had been solved and the investigation closed.
I gave her a sheepish hug as we parted. It was then that I noticed that she had opened the top two buttons of her dress again. I mumbled that she should take care in the meantime and retreated swiftly.
Sandra Schelderup was waiting by the front door. I got a fright when I saw her, but then calmed down again when she said that she hoped that I had not found the music bothersome. She added that her daughter had a strong personality and her rebellious streak had become more apparent in the days since her father’s death. I assured her that it was fine and that she had a super daughter and said they should take good care of each other until the case was solved.
Safely back in the car, I sped through the gate as I contemplated what had happened in those minutes in Maria Irene’s room and wondered if it was real or a dream. My conclusion was that I had in reality been uncomfortably close to what could have been my life’s worst nightmare. At the same time, it could also be the opening for a dream situation once the investigation was closed, if only we arrested someone soon. I promptly agreed with myself that this episode must under no circumstances be mentioned to Patricia. And that I would simply write in the daily report to my boss that ‘both mother and daughter maintained once again that they had no knowledge of the missing key ring or the missing ring’.
VI
By the time I swung in to park outside the Wendelboes’ house in Ski, I was more or less in full control again. The investigation was now my biggest and only passion. Contrary to the situation only half an hour ago, I was now deeply grateful to Sandra Schelderup because she had so inadvertently prevented what might otherwise have turned into a scandal. I could not bear even to think about what my boss and jealous colleagues would have said, or what the media might have written about the case. So I thanked my lucky stars that I had been stopped in time, and promised myself to be more careful in my personal dealings with the people involved. Certainly until the case was closed. And I hoped that the Wendelboes might help me to do this.
Petter Johannes Wendelboe once again opened the door himself. I asked him how he and his good wife were keeping and was told that, unfortunately, things were still much better for him than for his wife. This was the closest to humour that I had known Petter Johannes Wendelboe to come and I felt that it was a promising start. So I suggested that perhaps we two should talk on our own again, without his wife. He nodded and showed me into the living room.
I got straight to the point and told him what I had discovered about Herlofsen’s visit to Arild Bratberg. Then I waited in anticipation for some kind of reaction, which never came. This reinforced my suspicion that I was onto something now. I reminded him that he had given a clear no to my question as to whether he had been in contact with Arild Bratberg or not. He immediately confirmed this. But to my question as to whether his wife had been in contact with him he replied, to my surprise, yes.
I looked at him askance, without eliciting any further reaction. I finally fathomed what the situation was, and asked the right question: in other words, whether Herlofsen had contacted them after his visit.
‘Herlofsen came here one day in the middle of February and was unusually agitated. He had been to see Bratberg and heard the story as you told it just now. As a result, he was now inclined to believe that it was Magdalon Schelderup himself who had shot Ole Kristian Wiig and that he might even be the Dark Prince. He asked me to consider whether we should confront Schelderup or take some sort of action. But that never happened, of course.’
He fell silent. I was starting to get to know Wendelboe now, and had understood what was needed to prod him, which was a concise question.
‘But you considered it enough for your wife to go and visit Arild Bratberg?’
Wendelboe nodded.
‘She went on her own initiative, in fact, without asking me. Yes, it is true that she went to see him and that she returned with the same impression as Herlofsen. The possibility of confronting Magdalon Schelderup was discussed again later. But never realized. Certainly not by us.’
‘Certainly not by us . . . So you think it is possible that Herlofsen may have acted alone?’
He shook his head.
‘There is nothing to indicate that he did, but that is of course not to say that he didn’t. He came here to discuss the possibility. And we dismissed it.’
; Wendelboe’s stony face closed again as soon as he finished speaking. It felt as if I was banging my head against a brick wall.
‘When you say confrontation or action, could that possibly include an attempt on his life?’
‘Herlofsen did mention that as an option. But he never acted on it, certainly not as far as my wife and I know.’
It frustrated me to admit that I was not going to get any further here and now. So I said to Wendelboe that I would unfortunately also have to confirm this with his wife. He got up without a word and went out into the hallway. I stood beside him as he called up to her that she had to come down.
She appeared from one of the rooms almost immediately, visibly frail, but dressed and on her feet. We sat at the table and I asked her the same questions as I had asked her husband, and was given the same answers.
Yes, Herlofsen had come to see them and talked about the possibility of either confronting Magdalon Schelderup or taking some form of action. Yes, she had gone to see Arild Bratberg on her own initiative and she also believed his version of the story. Yes, the three of them had discussed the possibility of how to tackle Schelderup afterwards. But no, nothing had actually been done. At least, not as far as she knew.
The atmosphere in the room during this conversation was sombre, but not unfriendly. I regretted that I had not asked Mrs Wendelboe to be there from the start, but had little reason to believe that it would have made any difference. The extent to which the Wendelboes’ version was true or not was not easy to say. But it struck me that whatever the case, it was watertight before I came to see them. So I asked them to stay at home for the rest of the day and not to contact Herlofsen. Then I drove across town to see him.
VII
I found Hans Herlofsen where one might expect to find him at half past three on a working day: in the office in the centre of town, hidden behind a pile of papers full of figures and columns. He remarked in a quiet voice that work was the only thing keeping him going.
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