Patricia nodded almost imperceptibly. Despite her massive intake of caffeine, she sat as though otherwise dead in her wheelchair. Only her eyes showed that she was alive.
‘And that despite your enormous efforts, the like of which I have never seen,’ I added.
But Patricia was definitely not in the mood for more flattery today. She sat passively in her wheelchair for a few seconds more. Then she suddenly slammed her fist down on the table with unexpected strength.
‘So close yet so far. A thoroughly cynical, egocentric and evil person who shot a young, pregnant woman in her own home and then stood there and watched her and her unborn child die a painful death. And she may get off scot-free, with an astronomical inheritance into the bargain.’
I thought quietly to myself that the problem was even greater than that. Patricia was about to lose the battle with a young woman of the same age, who not only could walk, but also had the world as her oyster. This feeling was reinforced by her next comment.
‘Now I feel as you did when you were chasing after the murderer. I can see her in front of me, I can see her face and even call her name, but I still cannot catch her.’
There was not much more to say. So we sat there in silence for a while longer.
Patricia had tears in her eyes when she eventually threw up her hands.
‘But there really is no more that I can squeeze from this lemon now, so no one else will be able to either. She has been both ingenuous and lucky. The known facts give no evidence against her. So perhaps you should just leave me alone to weep bitter tears over this tragedy. I am sure that you do not need Beate to show you out any more.’
I was reluctant to leave Patricia alone in such a despairing mood. But her voice was forceful and clear, and there was nothing I could say to cheer her up.
It was only after I had closed the door behind me that a new thought occurred to me.
I stopped for a moment, then turned around and went hesitantly back into the room with cautious steps.
I had not anticipated the sight that met me. Patricia was lying over the table with her face down. There was no movement or sound whatsoever, and with a cold blast of fear, I worried briefly that she too had lost her life in some mysterious way. But then, fortunately, I heard her sobbing.
I tiptoed out again as silently as I could, and knocked on the door. It took a few seconds before Patricia whispered that I should come in. When I entered again she was sitting up in her wheelchair, but looked broken and very gloomy. I thought I could see a redness to her eyes, and stood waiting by the door.
‘There was a small episode involving Maria Irene at Schelderup Hall that I have not wanted to mention before . . . but perhaps I should now, even though I am not sure how much it might help.’
I looked away as I said this and prayed that I was not blushing like a schoolboy. When I turned back, Patricia’s body language had changed entirely. She was now sitting up straight and as near to on her toes as she could be in a wheelchair, as though ready to jump over the table.
‘Well, sit yourself back down and tell me, then,’ she urged me.
So I sat down and told her.
It felt a little odd to start with the sentence: ‘I have danced with Maria Irene . . .’
Patricia rolled her eyes, but fortunately all she said was: ‘In principle, dubious but of very little practical use. Tell me as precisely and in as much detail as possible what she said, how she looked and what happened otherwise.’
Patricia listened in deep silence and concentration while I told her the story. Then a slow smile slid over her face.
‘It only remains to be seen whether that is sufficient evidence for a judgement. However, there is one very interesting detail in what you just told me, which certainly justifies another round of questions,’ she said.
‘Now I have her within reach again,’ she added, rubbing her hands with glee. ‘If she falls now, she truly is a victim of her own excessive ambition,’ Patricia remarked, with a cackling and wholly unsympathetic laugh.
V
‘Thus far it is all very understandable, if tragic and deplorable. My mother has murdered one person and attempted to murder another out of a misconstrued love for me and a desire to increase my share of the inheritance. I am obviously extremely upset about it. But why on earth should I be called in here; what more do you expect me to say?’
Maria Irene looked at me across the table of the interview room with pleading, nonplussed eyes. As did her lawyer, Edvard Rønning Junior, who was sitting beside her. The prosecutor, who was sitting beside me, also sent me a questioning look.
‘The problem is, first of all, that your mother cannot have committed the murder alone, as she describes. We have an eyewitness who confirms that the car door was shut. And it would not have been possible for the person ahead of me to open the door, get in, start the engine and drive off before I got there.’
All three slowly seemed to understand this. Maria Irene nodded thoughtfully.
‘You really have thought of everything in this investigation. But I am afraid that again I cannot help you. Now that you say it, I do not doubt that my mother had an accomplice who drove the car, but I have not the faintest idea of who that could be. As far as I know, my mother has no secret lover, nor any friends who would be willing to help her with something like this.’
‘Precisely,’ I said.
The silence in the interview room was becoming ever more oppressive. Maria Irene had understood the significance, but was holding out for as long as possible before admitting it.
‘So what you are now implying is that I was with her and drove the car? But that is absurd, as I do not even have a driving licence.’
‘That is correct, my client does not have a driving licence,’ Rønning Junior repeated emphatically.
I ignored the lawyer and looked straight at Maria Irene.
‘I am not saying that you drove the car. I am in fact saying that your mother drove the car and that you committed the murder.’
This time the reaction from both the defence and the prosecution lawyers was instantaneous. Maria Irene, on the other hand, sat there just as calmly for a few seconds before pulling a somewhat exaggerated face.
‘This is becoming more and more absurd. I have never committed a crime of any sort in my life.’
She was convincing and I saw the look of disbelief on both lawyer’s faces, so hurried on.
‘It is perhaps true that you had never committed a crime before the evening in question. But that evening you committed a murder. I was close enough to recognize your tread, which is remarkably similar to that of your late brother. And what is more, you are the only person Synnøve Jensen would have let in. You knocked on the door and were admitted, you pulled out the pistol and shot her, you stood there waiting for the poor woman to die, and you cunningly dropped the pistol, then ran and hid when I knocked on the door.’
Six eyes were staring at Maria Irene with increasing interest. Her gaze was steadily fixed on me, as calm and irritatingly self-assured as ever.
‘With all due respect, this is all nonsense, unfounded speculation. I was at home in my bed at Gulleråsen when this terrible tragedy took place at Sørum. I was obviously on my own, so the lack of witnesses is hardly surprising.’
Rønning Junior rushed to his client’s aid, in a long-winded way.
‘May I be permitted to say, Detective Inspector, that you are now making very serious accusations indeed on rather flimsy evidence. We seem to be caught in a classic situation of one person’s word against another’s – in this case yours against my client’s – as to whether she was at the scene of the crime or not. And according to the fundamental principles of law, her word carries as much weight as yours. I would therefore like to ask why my client has not been confronted with this charge before, when you claim to have identified her already on the night of the murder?’
I nodded.
‘A very timely question, sir. The answer is that there was still a
good deal of uncertainty regarding the involvement of your client’s mother, and that we were waiting for stronger evidence, which we now have.’
All three stared at me in silence, Maria Irene with an apparently genuine look of surprise and slightly raised eyebrows.
I produced the pistol and showed that there were six bullets left in the magazine before putting it down on the table.
‘This is the murder weapon. The two bullets that are missing are the one that killed Synnøve Jensen and the warning shot that I fired over the murderer’s head. You and your mother found the weapon hidden in the secret passage in Schelderup Hall. You used it without knowing that this was the gun your father had used to liquidate two other members of the Resistance group he was in during the war.’
Maria Irene shook her head resolutely.
‘I did not know that my father had shot anyone from the Resistance during the war and have never seen that pistol before now. And I knew nothing about the secret passage until this morning.’
I hurried on as soon as she had closed her mouth.
‘It is quite probably the case that you did not know about your father’s crimes during the war. But it is not true that you have never seen this pistol, or that you have never been in the secret passage.’
I took a short, dramatic pause.
‘You will perhaps remember that at an earlier stage of the investigation I danced with you briefly in your room?’
Both lawyers were once again taken aback. Maria Irene nodded, with a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.
‘This breach of normal investigation standards was made solely in the hope of securing evidence in the case. Which I did.’
I opened my briefcase and took out another object which I then placed on the table. The red diamond and gold chain sparkled in the light.
‘You can, I presume, confirm that you were wearing this diamond?’
Maria Irene suddenly understood the connection. She looked first at the diamond, then at me, then back at the diamond, her eyes darkening as she thought. Her voice was still impressively controlled when she answered.
‘No. You must have remembered wrong. I have never seen that necklace before and have certainly never worn it!’
The silence in the room when she finished speaking was breathless. I stared at her with a thrilled awe. The eighteen-year-old Maria Irene Schelderup lied without so much as a flutter. Just as I hoped she would.
So I continued to follow Patricia’s plan and swiftly carried on.
‘Neither you nor your mother perhaps knew that this is an extremely valuable diamond that has been missing since 1915, when your grandparents were paid a considerable sum in insurance because they claimed that the necklace had been stolen. But you do know, all too well, that you were wearing this diamond when you danced with me. It was hidden in the secret passage, along with the pistol that was used in the murder. You had taken the diamond from there without your mother knowing.’
Maria Irene shook her head again. Her voice was still controlled and her cheeks were still dry.
‘I can only repeat, absolutely no. I had never seen the pistol before you put it down on the table, I have never been in the secret passage, and I have never seen that necklace before.’
Her lawyer’s voice was slightly more uncertain, but still firm when he again offered his services.
‘We are, without a doubt, still in a situation where it is one person’s word against the other’s: that is, that of the detective inspector against that of my client, as was the case before. My young client’s word is still no less credible than your own.’
I nodded blithely.
‘Of course not. Providing that your young client can give a credible explanation as to why her fingerprints are then on the necklace.’
The expression ‘deadly silent’ suddenly seemed appropriate. Three pairs of eyes were trained on Maria Irene. She was completely still, almost as if dead, on her chair. I tried to keep an eye on the second hand of the clock on the wall behind her. Every second felt like a minute. After forty insufferably long seconds, Maria Irene turned to her lawyer and asked: ‘Do I have to answer that now?’
‘No. You are in no way legally obliged to answer the detective inspector’s question here and now.’
It was Rønning Junior who broke the electric silence between her and me.
‘I am, however, obliged to inform you that with regard to any future trial, it would clearly be considered a major issue in terms of evidence if you are not able to give a credible answer now to the detective inspector’s highly relevant question.’
The clock on the wall ticked on for another fifty seconds. Maria Irene moved her mouth twice as if she was about to speak, but then stopped both times without making a sound.
I should have had ample time to prepare myself for an explosion. I had previously discovered that incredibly calm people often erupt violently under extreme pressure. And I already knew that Maria Irene had a mother with an explosive temperament. But she sat there, apparently still calm and composed, and with such a relaxed face that it took us all off guard when in a furious rage she swept the necklace off the table and grabbed the gun. I only vaguely registered that both lawyers dived under the table, from either side.
Maria Irene leapt up and took three feather-light steps back, keeping her eyes trained on me. Her eyes were glittering so fiercely that for a second I was seriously afraid that they would fire splinters out into the room.
For a brief moment I felt once again the same strong desire for physical contact with Maria Irene that I had experienced a couple of days earlier in her room. But everything had changed in the intervening forty-eight hours. She had not only killed another young woman, she had also lied to me in cold blood. When I was now confronted with her true egotistical and heartless self, all I wanted to do was to strike the pistol from her hand and twist her arms hard up behind her back.
I relived for a second the moment in my last case when I suddenly found myself staring down the barrel of a loaded gun. Despite the instinctive feeling of unease, I also felt a deep sense of satisfaction and triumph. Maria Irene’s soft iron mask had finally shattered. Her eyes were burning and her slim hand trembled dangerously with the weight of the pistol. When she broke the silence, her voice was also trembling dangerously.
‘I did not think you were that intelligent!’ she said, with a delightful undertone of desperation.
I relished the apparently menacing situation, and mentally thanked Patricia for her meticulous preparation before I answered.
‘In which case you have underestimated me again. Because I was certainly smart enough to replace the bullets in the murder weapon with blanks before putting it down within your reach,’ I told her, with hard-won composure.
And in the most incredible fashion, all the tension in the room dissolved into what could almost be described as a relaxed peace in the course of a few seconds. I remained seated and observed the threatening spark die in Maria Irene’s eyes. Then I got up and reached for the pistol. She stood and hesitated for a moment before she slowly gave it to me. Her hand was no longer shaking, and for a moment I thought I caught the hint of a smile.
Then I sat back down, impressed by my own self control. I did have a burning desire to throw myself over Maria Irene and twist her arms up behind her back, but instead I kept my calm and enjoyed my triumph in silence as I watched Maria Irene sink back down onto her chair.
It was only then that I discovered that the prosecutor was also back in his chair. Rønning Junior peeped over the edge of the table and said in a remarkably level voice: ‘Based on this latest development in the case, it might perhaps be beneficial to all parties if I had a brief consultation with my client in private.’
I gave him a friendly nod, picked up the gun and waved to the prosecutor to follow me. The gold chain and diamond were still on the floor by the door. I bent down discreetly and picked them up as I passed.
The prosecutor and I stopped outside
the door. He congratulated me on my successful investigation. To begin with, I said simply that it had been a complicated and tragic affair, with many pieces that had gradually fallen into place. When he then congratulated me for a fourth time, I allowed myself to say that I was extremely pleased with my own performance. At that moment, the door opened and Rønning Junior waved us in again.
‘In order to avoid any further misunderstandings in this case, I would just like to confirm that the outcome of the current murder investigation is naturally of no importance to the question of Magdalon Schelderup’s will. It is clear that my client had nothing to do with the deaths of her father and half-brother. Synnøve Jensen was not an heir, and the foetus had no legal status prior to birth.’
I looked at the defence lawyer with horrified fascination. Then I looked at the prosecutor, who gave me a short nod. Which I then returned, though reluctantly.
‘Now that the framework is clear, my client is willing to confess to the murder of Synnøve Jensen and to cooperate with the police with regard to resolving the final details of the case. She will plead guilty to the murder. We will, however, cite several mitigating circumstances. In addition to the confession, these include my client’s age, family wealth and her rather unusual upbringing, as well as the emotional shock and grief triggered by the sudden deaths of her father and brother. Her version is that it was her mother who planned the murder and persuaded her to carry it out, and we have every hope that a revised statement from her mother will support this interpretation.’
My initial sense of triumph was now giving way to far more complex feelings. There was something about the combination of the lawyer’s voice and Maria Irene’s expressionless face that made me want to scream out my frustration at her shocking lack of grief and other human emotions, and her inhuman treatment of Synnøve Jensen.
The lawyer’s voice droned on without cease, as if he were already in court.
‘The defence will accordingly request seven years’ imprisonment, with the hope of parole after four for good behaviour.’
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