Satellite People

by Hans Olav Lahlum

  I assured him straight away that that side of the case was clear-cut and fine, but that some other important issues had cropped up that we needed to talk about. He nodded and reluctantly pushed the accounts to one side.

  ‘You told me that you had not contacted the Wendelboes after you went to see Bratberg,’ I started.

  The expression in his eyes hardened.

  ‘No, and they should not have told you that I did. I would not want in any way to cast a negative light on old friends from the war, and I was 100 per cent sure that they had nothing to do with Magdalon’s murder. But if they are trying to lay the blame on me, then I am now no more than 50 per cent sure. And, of course, I should have told you yesterday,’ he added swiftly, in his own defence.

  My patience with the people who were only telling me half-truths in this investigation was starting to wear seriously thin. I remarked curtly that he should definitely have told me before. Then I ordered him, in his own interest, to tell me everything he knew that might be of relevance, regardless of whether or not it involved old war comrades, or anyone else for that matter.

  He nodded, and started to talk. Unfortunately, his revised version was now very much in line with what the Wendelboes had told me. He admitted that he had contacted them in the middle of February, or 16 February to be precise, and mentioned the possibility of taking some sort of action vis-à-vis Magdalon Schelderup. They had resisted, but twelve days later called him back, after Mrs Wendelboe had also been to see Bratberg. They had then sat round the table and concluded that Magdalon Schelderup was guilty of killing Ole Kristian Wiig, but that the circumstances were so unclear that they did not feel confident enough to confront him in any way. So nothing was ever done. ‘At least, not as far as I know,’ he added, with some hesitation.

  I felt a growing anger with the main players in the case. It was clear that it was the Wendelboes and Herlofsen who had been in contact with Bratberg, and that they had then discussed the possibility of killing Magdalon Schelderup. The Wendelboes denied any part of it, but did not rule out the possibility that Herlofsen had acted on his own. Herlofsen denied any part of it, but did not rule out the possibility that the Wendelboes might have acted on their own. And I had no evidence that any of them had anything to do with poisoning him. Once again it felt as though I had come up against a brick wall just when the solution was within arm’s reach.

  I asked Herlofsen if he had any reason to suspect Mr Wendelboe. He waited a beat and then replied that he had once, twenty-eight years ago, heard Petter Johannes Wendelboe threaten to kill Schelderup, in connection with him joining the Resistance group. Wendelboe had been most sceptical about letting him join, and at Schelderup’s first meeting had said to him directly: ‘Welcome to the fight for the liberation of Norway. But if it ever transpires that you have betrayed any of us, I will kill you. And if you betray me, I will have made sure that someone else will kill you.’

  Herlofsen then commented that it was not entirely unthinkable that he might have carried out this threat many years later. He added that it was the only time in all these years that he had seen anything resembling fear in Magdalon Schelderup’s eyes.

  I noted this down with interest and promised both Herlofsen and myself that I would ask Wendelboe about it. Then I carried on with my offensive and said pointedly to Herlofsen that he still had things to explain, and that my conversation with Wendelboe might indicate that he himself had confronted Schelderup with his discovery.

  ‘Impossible, because . . .’ he exploded spontaneously.

  His face suddenly flushed red. We sat in silence for a short while. Then I finished his sentence for him.

  ‘Impossible – because you had not told them. But you did, didn’t you? And that is why he changed his will.’

  He nodded sheepishly. He put his hands down on the table in an attempt to calm himself.

  ‘It rode me like an obsession and I was starting to get desperate. I was more and more sure of my case, but Bratberg was dead and Wendelboe did not want to take it any further. They were all right financially, so I was the only one who could do it. So, having stopped at the last moment eight times, on the ninth day I went in to talk to him in his office. It was on 4 April, before I went home.’

  There were sparks in Herlofsen’s eyes. I waited with bated breath for him to continue.

  ‘It was both the greatest and the worst moment of my life. No one could know how Magdalon would react to blackmail. But I felt more and more confident. My hate for him grew ever stronger and my frustration with my financial situation intensified. So one day I just marched in and said it straight out. That I had talked to Bratberg before he died and that I now believed that Magdalon was the one who shot Ole Kristian Wiig. Then I said that unless we could finally resolve the issues that continued to hang over me, I would be forced to share my suspicions with Wendelboe.’

  ‘How did he react?’

  Herlofsen gave a bitter smile.

  ‘There was no reaction whatsoever. That was when I was convinced I was right. He just sat there in his chair and looked at me with complete calm. I have to admit that I was not telling the whole truth when I said just now that the only time I had seen Magdalon Schelderup show any fear was in 1941. To begin with, he sat in silence. Then he said it was, of course, all nonsense and speculation, but that one never knew what Wendelboe might believe, and it was perhaps time to draw a line under the past. So he took the promissory note and confession out from his drawer, handed them over to me and added that he would specify in his will that my debt to him was cleared.’

  It looked as though Herlofsen was reliving the emotions he felt in his meeting with Magdalon Schelderup as he told me about it. His face lit up, but one could also see a shadow of fear in his eyes and a faint trembling in his hands. It crossed my mind that it only went to show that Magdalon still wielded enormous influence over the lives of those closest to him, even after his death.

  ‘I did not dare to take his hand. So I just accepted them and assured him that I would not make any more fuss. I added swiftly that if anything should happen to me, both Wendelboe and the police would be sent a letter informing them of my conclusion. He nodded and then turned back to his work, while I returned jubilant to my office and burnt both the promissory note and my confession to cinders over a candle.’

  Hans Herlofsen smiled, but he was still trembling.

  ‘That was the greatest moment of my life since the war – greater even than when I saw my first grandchild. But then afterwards, a deep uncertainty came creeping over me as to what he might do. Even though I had warned him, I was on guard for the following weeks. I did not feel home and dry until the will was read out. He might not have done what he said he would, and he might have kept copies hidden somewhere of the documents I had burnt.’

  ‘But you did not leave any letters ready to be sent to Wendelboe in the event that you were killed, as that was not necessary. Because if you only confronted Magdalon Schelderup once Bratberg was dead, it was already several weeks after you had informed Wendelboe.’

  He nodded.

  ‘Absolutely. I went to see them sixteen days before I went to see him. I would undoubtedly have been willing to take some form of action against him. But only if I could be sure that my financial situation was secured in this way and only if they were willing to be part of it. Once I had the papers I wanted, I would not have been opposed if the Wendelboes had murdered him. I have no idea whether they did or not. I only know that I had nothing whatsoever to do with his death.’

  This conclusion was a disappointment that I should have expected. It had felt as though Herlofsen was in free fall. But he still categorically denied any involvement in the murder. There was no evidence that pointed to him as a more likely murderer than either the Wendelboes or Magdalena Schelderup.

  I felt no need to thank Herlofsen, despite the fact that he had provided me with some very interesting information. So instead I reprimanded him for not having told me this before. It was already
dawning on him just how vulnerable his position was and he was now visibly nervous.

  Just as Magdalena Schelderup had done a few hours earlier, he now asked if he was under arrest. After a short pause for thought, I replied that he was still free for the moment, but that he was a suspect and that he had to remain available for further questioning over the next few days. He repeated that he had nothing to hide with regard to the murders. As I left the office, he withdrew into the world of numbers again with a faint smile on his lips. I felt rather uncertain as to whether the smile was connected to the numbers or to the way in which the meeting had gone.

  VIII

  Fredrik Schelderup and I definitely had a lower percentage of alcohol in our blood today. He was almost totally sober when I arrived, and had even tidied up the table since I was last there.

  The first thing we talked about was the missing keys. He apologized for his outburst the night before and said that he would be happy to accept the offer of a constable to keep watch. He remembered his father’s large key ring well: it had always been a symbol of his power and control. His father had had a key to his door for years, but had never used it. Now that he was sober and had the safety chain on, Fredrik was relatively calm about the missing keys.

  I used the opportunity to ask him directly whether he knew that his brother had a lover, but that it was not a woman. He was undecided for a moment or two, but then nodded.

  ‘I might perhaps be lazy, egotistical and generally of no use to society, but I am not a criminal and I do not lie to the police. Yes, I have known for many years that Leonard was happiest in the company of men. I asked him about it when he was nineteen. I had had my suspicions for a while by then. Leonard was good at not saying anything, but was hopeless at lying. He admitted it straight away. He was terrified and asked me never to tell anyone. I promised that I would not. Then I added that I would be happy for him to keep it secret for my part too. It would hardly benefit my reputation as a party animal if people knew that I had a brother who slept with men. The ladies tend to think it is contagious and, what is more, hereditary. That is to say, a number of the ladies I socialize with do.’

  I sent him a stern look. He caught it and quickly carried on.

  ‘We never spoke about the matter again. We both knew what he was and neither of us wanted anyone else to know. So I know nothing about his boyfriends. But I do not imagine there were many. I happened to drive past a restaurant last year and saw him sitting outside chatting to a well-known sportsman. It would not have been noticeable to many others, but there was a kind of intimacy between them that made me guess that my brother had a lover. It also explained why he was in unusually good humour over the next few months.’

  ‘And how did you feel about it?’

  He shrugged.

  ‘In terms of my own opportunities, I hoped that it would not get out, but I was happy for Leonard to get his pleasure with whoever he fancied as long as I did not need to witness it.’

  ‘Did your father know?’

  Again, there was silence for a while, and this time it was definitely more protracted. Fredrik Schelderup swallowed twice before answering. I registered with some glee a faint trembling in his voice when he did.

  ‘I hope you appreciate my honesty and openness now. Yes, my father did know. He heard it from me some days after the episode last year that I just mentioned. I thought that it might be of interest to him to know what his son got up to . . .’

  Now I really did give him a very stern look indeed and could hear the indignation in my voice.

  ‘And the reason that you broke your promise to your brother was that you believed that it might be beneficial that your father knew this before he wrote his will?’

  He looked down and nodded. When he spoke again, his voice was definitely shaking.

  ‘As I hope you understand, I am a greedy but honest good-for-nothing. Yes, I feared for my own position in terms of the will and reckoned that young Leonard would do well regardless. He has always been so determined and conscientious. And I have never been either, so have to get by as best I can with what I was born with: family money and a degree of intelligence.’

  I did my best to show restraint and asked Fredrick Schelderup when this might have been, and how his father reacted. He thought hard, his brow furrowed.

  ‘I cannot remember the exact date, but it was late in the autumn, around November–December possibly. Father was a man of exceptional self-control. All the same, it was obvious that he was affected by the news and that he disliked it intensely. He said “thank you for the information”, and I cannot remember him saying anything like that since I came home from school with an unexpected top mark for one of my exams some twenty years ago. I have no idea if he ever talked about it with Leonard, nor if it was one of his reasons for changing the will. I certainly did far better in the second will than I did in the first, but fortunately that was also true of my brother.’

  I noticed that Fredrik Schelderup was suddenly being very familiar with me, and I was not flattered by it, given the conversation.

  ‘So you broke your promise and let your brother’s greatest secret out of the bag, all to increase your own share of the inheritance. Not only that, you then went on to inherit millions more when your brother was shot. I hope you understand that these developments in the case now make you a prime suspect.’

  His temper flared up briefly and there was indignation in his voice.

  ‘I understand that you have to regard everyone as a suspect, and that inheriting vast sums of money when both your father and brother are murdered may give rise to some suspicion. But other than a fatter bank account, there is no evidence that would point the finger at me more than any of the others in the case. There is absolutely nothing to link me directly to either of the murders. And I have just demonstrated my honesty by telling you something that I am not proud of in any way and that shows me in a very bad light.’

  I assured Fredrik Schelderup that he was only one of several suspects in the case and had not yet been given any official status. He immediately calmed down again and said that he was happy to hear that. We parted without falling out, but also without shaking hands.

  It was tempting to believe that he was a greedy but honest good-for-nothing. However, I was more certain of his greed than his honesty. A couple of times over the past day or two I had seen a glimpse of a far less jovial Fredrik Schelderup, who seemed to make an appearance whenever his interests were threatened. Despite all other apparent differences, he suddenly reminded me of his Aunt Magdalena. I could appreciate that living in the shadow of Magdalon Schelderup could not have been easy, even if in purely financial terms they had not a care in the world. But I still could not bring myself to like either Fredrik or Magdalena – and I dared even less to trust them.

  IX

  There was no news of any importance waiting for me when I returned to my office around four. I still had more questions for the Wendelboes, but they were the only ones, and after what had so far been a turbulent day, I desperately wanted to talk to Patricia before doing anything else. So in the end I called her and suggested that we had our daily meeting earlier than usual at five, to which she agreed. In the meantime, I wrote a short report which I left in my boss’s pigeonhole on the way out.

  My meeting with Patricia was shorter than usual, and we agreed to limit the refreshments to coffee and cake. I omitted to tell her about my visit to Maria Irene, and mentioned only briefly my conversation with her mother at Schelderup Hall. On the other hand, I told her the day’s other news in great detail. Patricia nodded in appreciation.

  ‘The investigation is continuing to make significant breakthroughs. We now know who went to see Bratberg, and we have confirmation that the Wendelboes and Herlofsen did speak and may have had some form of plan to deal with Magdalon Schelderup. So now more than ever, all parties have some kind of motive to murder Magdalon Schelderup, but we lack any evidence that someone actually carried this through.’

  S
he said nothing for a moment, but then carried on forcefully.

  ‘But we do know one thing for certain: the circumstances and incidents are so numerous that none of the guests could have acted alone. All of them could have committed one or more murders, but no one could have done it all.’

  I could not follow her.

  ‘Maria Irene and Sandra have alibis for Leonard’s death. But the others, well, alibis are still sorely lacking . . .’

  Patricia shook her head.

  ‘For the murders, yes, but not for other things. All of them could have put the powdered nuts in Magdalon Schelderup’s food, and all of them could have posted the threatening letters. But all of them could not have phoned Leonard to scare him. It would have been impossible for Magdalena to do it, as, according to the neighbour, she was already there. Hans Herlofsen was sitting in a meeting at the office when the phone call was made. And I think we both agree that Ingrid Schelderup could not have killed her son.’

  I was increasingly bewildered.

  ‘What about the Wendelboes then? Either of them could have called him, or they could have phoned together, and committed both murders?’

  Patricia gave an impatient shake of the head.

  ‘Yes, in theory, but they could not have slashed the tyres on Magdalon Schelderup’s car. They were still in Bergen when he telephoned you about that.’

  It slowly dawned on me that this was not only true, but that it could also be of considerable importance.

  ‘So, what you are saying now is that it must be a conspiracy between two or more of the guests who are still alive?’

  Patricia nodded pensively.

  ‘That is absolutely a possibility. It may also be that there was no organized conspiracy, but that it was more a case of out-of-orbit satellites crashing into each other. Which I think is just as likely. But it is definitely worth bearing in mind that there are obviously several people who have committed a crime here.’