Hans Lahlum - Satellite People

Magdalena Schelderup claimed to have been at home but there was no one to confirm this. She was extremely upset about being without an alibi for yet another murder.

As for Fredrik Schelderup, he had had a visit from his girlfriend, but had asked her to leave around half past ten, as he did not feel up to it. And from then on, until the morning, he had been seen by no one other than ‘the drinks cabinet and his bed’.

Everyone was clearly affected by the ongoing case and they were further shaken by the news of Synnøve Jensen’s death. They all categorically denied knowing anything about it.

Once I had called everyone, I sat and thought about what I was actually going to say to them. One thing that I was not going to mention at the moment was the existence of the letters. These could be an important lead, but where they might lead I still did not know. Either the murderer had left the letter in her pocket, or Synnøve Jensen was responsible for the letters herself, and in that case might also be behind the first two murders.

I could not quite bring myself to believe in the idea that the murderer had left the letter in Synnøve Jensen’s pocket. It seemed highly unlikely that the murderer would do that while she was still alive. This possibility was also thwarted when the fingerprint report came back: the only prints on the envelope were those of Synnøve Jensen herself.

It did seem to fit rather well that Synnøve Jensen had killed Magdalon and Leonard Schelderup. If she had known about the will, she had a possible motive for both murders. And a copy of the will had been kept at her house in the metal box to which she had a key, in an envelope with her name on it. But who had killed Synnøve Jensen was then an even more burning question.

Understandably enough, the seven guests sitting in their usual places around the table at Schelderup Hall at three o’clock were very sombre indeed. They listened to my account of the situation following Synnøve Jensen’s death. I ended with the conclusion that there had been some important breakthroughs in the investigation, but no one had been arrested and no one had been named as an official suspect.

Following my update, there was silence. I had been prepared for loud diatribes against me and my investigation. It was six days now since they had sat at this very table and witnessed the death of Magdalon Schelderup, and his murderer had still not been caught. Instead, two further guests had been shot.

Fortunately, it seemed that none of those present wanted a confrontation of any sort with me. Maria Irene smiled almost imperceptibly when my eyes met hers. The others showed no reaction when I looked at them, but did show increasing animosity towards each other. Herlofsen scowled at the Wendelboes, and Mrs Wendelboe glared back at him. Every now and then, all three of them sent spiteful sideways glances at Magdalena Schelderup, who was smoking even more than usual and had a dark expression on her face. Sandra Schelderup looked alternately from her sister-in-law, Magdalena, to her stepson, Fredrik, but never with a pleasant face. Fredrik Schelderup sipped his glass of white wine and, for the moment, seemed rather unaffected by it all.

I was interested to see who would be the first to speak. Slightly unexpectedly, Magdalena’s rusty voice was the first to be heard. Her defence was offensive.

‘We all fully understand that this is an extremely difficult case. But when those who have been killed are my brother and two of his four heirs, then there is every reason to consider who stands to gain most from this.’

And so all hell was let loose. Only two people sat quietly with inscrutable faces. And it was the two whom I now liked best: old Petter Johannes Wendelboe and young Maria Irene Schelderup. All the others were suddenly making a noise. Sandra Schelderup snarled that she was not standing for any such insinuations, when all the time she and her daughter were the only two who could prove that they did not commit the two most recent murders.

Magdalena retorted that she had not mentioned any names, but reminded everyone that alliances were a possibility and that no one had an alibi for Magdalon’s death. Then, for good measure, she added that there were those who still harboured grudges from the war. Herlofsen’s face flushed red and he pointed out that there were three candidates in the room and demanded to know who Magdalena meant. The otherwise careful Mrs Wendelboe waded in too, with tears in her eyes, and said that Magdalena must of course mean Herlofsen, but that she, if anyone, should be wary of raking up old sins from the war. Sandra Schelderup snarled again and snapped that it was easy enough to see who would gain from the will, but a good place to start might be someone who had inherited an unmerited amount without having an alibi for anything.

At which point, things boiled over for the until now calm Fredrik Schelderup. He shouted that he did not think it was any more respectable to screw your way to a fortune than to kill for it.

The electric atmosphere in the room meant that everyone rather bizarrely turned against Fredrik Schelderup following his angry outburst, despite the fact that he quickly regained control and only seconds later tried to apologize. Herlofsen and Mrs Weldelboe turned away from each other and now glared at him. Even Petter Johannes Wendelboe had turned discreetly towards Fredrik Schelderup. I noticed with a small shard of jealousy that Maria Irene had finally turned her eyes away from me and was now looking at her half-brother. Magdalena Schelderup was puffing furiously on her third cigarette and through the smoke blew out a question as to whether a statement like that might not constitute a confession.

With this, the pressured and slightly intoxicated Fredrik Schelderup let his mask slip completely. He roared his innocence, slammed his glass back down onto the table with such force that the stem broke, and added that he was the only one around the table that he could guarantee had not killed his father.

There was complete silence in the room for a moment. Six pairs of venomous eyes watched Fredrik Schelderup as he poured himself another drink and drained the stemless glass. Then he crashed the remainder of the glass demonstratively down on the table, stood up and asked if he could now consider himself arrested.

I replied that his outburst and behaviour had been noted. I would not arrest him, but that from now on he would only be allowed to move between Bygdøy and Gulleråsen with my permission. This was obviously seen as further provocation. He came and stood right in front of me and howled: ‘You can see for yourself the situation I am in. My father and brother have been killed, I am being accused of killing them, and all the people in this room can be trusted to try to kill me too. So tomorrow you can either arrest me or let me go to South America. Prison or Brazil are the only places I can now feel safe from these monsters!’

Before I could answer, he stormed out of the room and the building. Six pairs of eyes watched me in silence as I let him go. I wrote in my notepad with exaggerated movements to demonstrate that his behaviour would not be forgotten.

Sandra Schelderup had regained much of her composure, but her voice was still sharp as a knife when she demanded a continued police presence to safeguard her and her daughter until an arrest was made. Magdalena echoed this demand. I agreed to both on the spot. Magdalena Schelderup’s face called to mind an old owl when she gave a curt nod. She shook my hand briefly in passing and left the building without gracing the others with so much as a look.

Mrs Wendelboe leant forward and whispered something in Hans Herlofsen’s ear, who responded with a brief nod. I sent them a questioning look, and asked if there was anyone else who would like police protection overnight. Mrs Wendelboe looked at Mr Wendelboe, who shook his head. And, like a strange echo, Herlofsen did the same. All three of them got up to leave.