Hans Lahlum - Satellite People

I called Patricia as soon as I was back in Synnøve Jensen’s house. She picked up the phone on the second ring and I thought I detected a light sigh of relief when she recognized my voice. I told her quickly what had happened since we last spoke. She exclaimed that I should have shot the murderer in the foot, but added hastily that I of course could not do that, given my orders. I agreed with both statements. She suggested that I should come to see her as soon as I could the following day, and assured me that she would be happy to welcome me any time between seven in the morning and midnight.

Right then I heard sirens and footsteps outside, so I wished Patricia a good night and put down the telephone. It was only later that I realized I had forgotten to ask her who she now thought had sent the mysterious threatening letters.

The case was becoming more and more of an obsession and my adrenaline levels were rising. Even though it was now past midnight, I could not leave the scene of the crime where Synnøve Jensen had been killed until the place had been searched.

The only thing we found of any significance was in the pocket of Synnøve Jensen’s coat – but the discovery was so sensational that my thoughts dwelt on it until I finally fell asleep around two. But the only conclusion I came to was that I had to talk to Patricia as early as possible the next morning.

‘So, what do you think we found in the late Synnøve Jensen’s coat pocket?’

It was five past seven in the morning of Friday, 16 May 1969. I had slept for no more than five hours, and then jumped into the car without eating breakfast. A clearly sleepy Beate had just put down a selection of rolls on the table at 104-8 Erling Skjalgsson’s Street. Patricia was sitting opposite me with a cup of steaming black coffee, wearing only a dressing gown, as far as I could see. However, she was looking at me with eyes that were as bright and alert as ever, and answered in her usual sharp tone.

‘A letter very much like the last one you received in the post. I have to admit that I cannot remember the exact words, but I would be very pleased to know.’

I pulled out the letter and almost threw it across the table in disbelief. The message was short, and that it resembled the last one I had received was undeniable.

Here, now.

So, the dictator’s sister has also gone.

More may follow, if you do not soon find out which one of us is doing wrong…

Patricia had read the text in a flash and then looked up at me again.

‘I only have one question, but it is a very important one. Was the envelope containing this letter sealed?’

‘The envelope was sealed, as it was with the other two letters, with the same typed address.’

I really did not understand the significance of the question. But Patricia obviously did, as she nodded with satisfaction and even uttered a quiet ‘ha!’

‘And-’ we suddenly both said at the same time. I stopped and let her finish.

‘And perhaps there was a small mark on the back of the sealed envelope? Not green this time, but most probably blue.’

‘Red,’ I told her, giving her an impressed nod all the same.

Patricia shook her head, obviously annoyed.

‘Hopefully just arbitrary. Red is less usual than blue, but a common enough pen colour that might be found in any office or home without drawing attention. And I must say it tallies very well with my theory. We are nearly there now, the case will soon be closed.’

I nodded, slightly in awe, but most of all in delight that we were close to anything.

‘In fact, I have every hope that I will have a solution in the course of the day. Certainly to some of these apparently inexplicable deaths and events. But for that to happen, you have to carry on doing all the things that can be done today, while I sleep, think and preferably put on a few more clothes.’

I nodded and helped myself to a roll. Seeing the plate of food had reminded me how hungry I was.

‘I will do. And I suppose I should talk to the surviving guests before we meet again? I had thought of gathering them all at a meeting at Schelderup Hall to fill them in on our progress so far, no matter how unpleasant that might be.’

Patricia nodded and finished her coffee. She suddenly looked as though she had got up too early.

‘A splendid idea. I had thought of suggesting that myself. It could be very interesting to see who says what once they are together again. And let me know immediately if any more letters pop up. Now, is there anything else I can help you with before you go?’

I took the hint, quickly finished the first half of a roll and hastily grabbed another to take with me.

‘There is one thing that I have been wondering about. If the murderer was still there when I knocked on the door and Synnøve Jensen was so clearly still alive, why did the murderer not shoot her again? I initially thought that perhaps the shot was fired seconds before I came in, but then I would have heard the bang.’

Patricia immediately livened up. She leant forwards over the table and looked at me so solemnly that it almost felt like an accusation. Her voice was unusually brisk and passionate when she spoke.

‘I will tell you right away. Because the person who shot Synnøve Jensen is a particularly cold, intelligent and egotistical person. It is a heartbreaking story. The plan was to make the murder look like suicide, by leaving the pistol beside the body. However, something unexpected happened: the shot was not aimed well enough, so Synnøve Jensen was left to die slowly on the sofa. The murderer could have curtailed her suffering, but then the suicide plan would not work. So instead the murderer chose to stand patiently and wait until the victim died from the first bullet wound. It is likely that we may never know how many minutes this took. What we do know, however, is that this heartless plan would have worked perfectly if you had not responded so swiftly to Synnøve Jensen’s telephone call, and therefore arrived while she was still alive.’

Despite the lack of sleep, Patricia’s face was alert and engaged. She hurried on.

‘It is a truly despicable act to watch a person who is suffering die like that. And it becomes inhuman when you then think that it was a young, pregnant woman who was killed in her own home.’

I had to agree with her and put down the half-roll that I had been holding, uneaten.

‘It is, as you said, the epitome of human evil.’

Patricia waved a hand in irritation.

‘I was not talking about this crime when I said that, and it is highly unlikely to be the same perpetrator. But I cannot decide which is worse: what I was thinking about then, or this. It really is a grotesque case.’

Her voice was verging on livid and I suddenly noticed that she had goosebumps on her bare arms. I leant forwards spontaneously and put my hands on them. This touch of human warmth seemed to help. The goosebumps vanished and Patricia’s voice was friendlier than normal when she carried on speaking.

‘The big question with regards to last night’s murder is what happened in the minutes before the shot was fired, when the murderer first came into the house and then aimed the gun at Synnøve Jensen? It is true that Magdalon Schelderup’s key ring is still missing, but the key to Synnøve Jensen’s house was not on it. Right now, I can only think of one logical explanation, but there may of course be several.’

‘So…’ I started.

‘So, even though this is a very pleasant way to start a Friday, we should now both work separately for a few hours. I think the best division of labour is that you continue to gather information while I work with what we already have. But do give me a call if you come up with any questions later on in the day.’