Hans Lahlum - Satellite People

I looked at her with some scepticism.

‘So are you saying that the first letter was written by someone different from the others?’

Patricia shook her head.

‘I did consider that possibility. But gradually I came to favour the alternative possibility, based on the obvious technical similarities between the letters, and the fact that no one had seen the first one. This was that the letters were written by the same person, but that he or she for some reason knew more about the first death than the subsequent ones. Now that we know that Leonard Schelderup committed suicide, it seems reasonable enough that no one else could know the details before or after.’

‘But if the letters were written by the same person then, judging by the circumstances, they must have been written by Synnøve Jensen? How else would you explain the fact that the last letters were found at her house with only her fingerprints on them? Were the letters planted there by the person who murdered her?’

Patricia shook her head again, but only briefly.

‘The murderer could in theory have planted the letter in her pocket, but not the others in her books. She is the one who posted the letter after Leonard Schelderup’s death.’

I felt increasingly baffled.

‘I am sure that when we discussed my theory earlier on today, you were quite clear that Synnøve Jensen had nothing to do with the letters?’

‘I did not say that Synnøve Jensen had not posted one of the letters, or that she would not post any more. However, she did not write them. In fact, circumstances would indicate that she had not even read them.’

‘So it was not she who posted the first letter?’

Another shake of the head, but this time more definite.

‘No. If she had known anything about the first letter, she would no doubt have informed you straight away. Magdalon Schelderup’s death was a shock for his lover, and she probably knew nothing about how much she stood to gain from the will. The first letter, and that one alone, was posted by another person. By the very same person who, the day after, according to his fiendish and cunning plan, sprinkled nuts onto Magdalon Schelderup’s food.’

Patricia paused for effect and drank another full cup of coffee. The expression on her face was the grimmest I had seen. I had to prod her to continue.

‘So you are saying that the murderer is a man and that he wrote all the letters, but posted only the first one. The second one was posted by Synnøve Jensen, who had no idea what it said.’

Patricia nodded and released a deep sigh.

She pulled the Russian book about chess from the pile and put it down on the table.

‘When analysing a complex chess position, one first has to try to figure out several possible moves ahead. One then has to consider how the pieces will respond to the various moves. This can be extremely difficult, particularly when the moves are complicated and not obvious. The man who posted the first letter and who gave the remaining letters to Synnøve Jensen was in just such a position. He could to a certain extent predict possible future moves, but could not know for certain what would happen after the first death. People are by nature more unpredictable than chess pieces, so the possible future moves in this game would be even more uncertain. Which is why the letters are more vague. And why Synnøve Jensen was given several letters, which she was to send according to who had died. There were several possibilities, so Synnøve Jensen, simple and loyal woman that she was, made small pen marks on the back of the envelopes so she could remember which letter to send under which circumstances.’

‘So the man who gave her the letters was the same man who put the nuts on Magdalon Schelderup’s food?’

Patricia nodded.

‘He is the only one who could have got her to post the letters and she is the only one he could have trusted with such a task.’

‘This man was then perhaps also the real father of her unborn child?’

Patricia gave a bitter smile.

‘Without a doubt.’

I racked my brains. The only remaining male candidates were Fredrik Schelderup, Petter Johannes Wendelboe and Hans Herlofsen – and of course the now deceased Leonard Schelderup. One of them must have had a relationship with Synnøve Jensen. But I could not understand who.

‘The man with the powdered nuts knew about Magdalon Schelderup’s heart condition?’

Patricia sent me a puzzled look.

‘Of course, it is perfectly obvious that he did.’

‘But why did this man need to write the letters beforehand and then give them to Synnøve Jensen? Why could he not wait and see what happened and then send them himself?’

I definitely made myself vulnerable with that question. Patricia now looked at me with mildly patronizing eyes, as if I was a small child who could not understand anything.

‘For the very good reason that he himself would be dead!’

The truth punched home as she said this. And the impact was brutal. This was indeed a terrible truth.

‘So the man who planned it all, posted the letter, slashed the car tyres, put on the recording of the fire alarm and then with devastating precision sprinkled the nuts on Magdalon Schelderup’s plate was in fact…’

Patricia nodded.

‘Magdalon Schelderup himself.’

We sat in silence for some seconds. It felt as if the air itself was trembling with fear. Patricia’s thin arms were certainly shaking. She pulled out a handkerchief and dabbed her eyes before she continued.

‘As Sherlock Holmes so aptly said: “When you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth.” But this is perhaps not so improbable when you consider Magdalon Schelderup’s distinctive and egotistical character. His whole life was about self-assertion and attention. He loved only himself and did not give a hoot about his family and friends once he was dead. Quite the contrary: he would have liked to kill some of them, if he could avoid being caught and having to face punishment. The man had a perverse need for control and power over other people. His secrets and the things that he had done in the past were starting to catch up with him. Herlofsen posed a threat, and behind his mask Magdalon Schelderup was still more frightened of Petter Johannes Wendelboe than of anything else. The danger that he would be found out was growing. The thought of suicide must have been tempting once he found out that he did not have long to live. His collapse in the doctor’s waiting room had given him a shock and he did not want to risk a more serious attack on the open street or at a dinner party. Magdalon Schelderup became a hunted man and was terrified of saying something that might give him away.’

I had nothing to say. So I just nodded to Patricia for her to continue.

‘But Magdalon Schelderup did not want to die with the disgrace that suicide so often entails. It would be far better to die as the victim of murder, whether it was left unsolved or someone was accused of doing it. He planned a suicide that was camouflaged as a murder, and that would at the same time cause the murder of some of the people he hated and scorned most in his closest circle. Magdalon Schelderup wanted to go down with his colours flying; he wanted to continue to exert influence on the lives and deaths of those closest to him even after he was gone. But most of all, he wanted to fool everyone, including the police, as he had done during the war. This was his final game and charade. Last Saturday, he was finally ready to set the wheels in motion. Having first punctured the tyres on his own car, he started the ball rolling by calling you. Then the following day he continued as planned, first by putting on the cassette recording and then, in the ensuing chaos, by sprinkling the powdered nuts on his food.’