Satellite People (16 page)

I dutifully noted down all the information about this apparent stranger. It was clear that her description did not fit any of the guests from Magdalon Schelderup’s last supper, unless it
was Fredrik who had come wearing a false beard. On the other hand, it seemed unlikely that the murder of Leonard Schelderup had nothing to do with the murder of his father the day before. With the
exception of his family and their fortune, Leonard Schelderup appeared to have lived a quiet life.

I pressed on and asked if there were ever any lady visitors.

Mrs Abrahamsen leant in towards me and lowered her voice even more. It turned out that Leonard Schelderup had lived there for ‘more than four years and seven months’, but she could
not ever remember seeing a woman come here, other than his mother. ‘But then last night,’ she whispered with glittering eyes, ‘last night of all nights, I think he had a visit
from a lady! Now isn’t that a coincidence?’

I had to agree with her and made a quick note.

Halldis Merete Abrahamsen had unfortunately been in the bathroom when the mysterious lady arrived. So she had only heard the clicking of her heels when she arrived at a quarter to eight and then
the door closing behind her. She left again at twenty-five to ten, just as it was starting to get dark. But the widow had managed to catch a glimpse of a mink coat, small red hat and high-heeled
shoes. The visitor had walked quickly down the path without looking back and then disappeared from sight. A woman of ‘good social standing’, that was obvious, but Mrs Abrahamsen was
unfortunately unable to give any more details about her age, hair colour or appearance. But she categorically dismissed my suggestion that it might have been Ingrid Schelderup who had popped by to
see her son. She knew the mother’s footsteps too well. This was a lighter tread that she had not heard before.

The first part of the story only served to strengthen my suspicions regarding Synnøve Jensen, to the point that I nearly drove straight out to arrest her. But then I hesitated when I
heard that the visitor had a mink coat. I could not imagine that Synnøve Jensen would possess such a garment and had certainly seen no sign of anything resembling that in her humble abode.
This was followed by another cold shower when I realized that Leonard Schelderup had telephoned me after the woman had left. So it was difficult to imagine anything other than that he was still
alive.

When I asked about any later visits, Mrs Abrahamsen was evasive and apologetic. As she was not expecting any further drama that evening, she had gone to bed around ten o’clock; she had
slept soundly, as she was suffering from a cold. She had woken up around midnight and thought that she heard some hasty steps outside on the stairs, but had then fallen asleep again without hearing
any more. The doorbell had not rung, because then she would have heard it. When I asked whether the footsteps she heard later on that night could have been the same, only this time perhaps without
heels, she was ashamed to say she did not know. She had only been half awake, and did not dare say anything other than that the footsteps she had heard around midnight were hasty.

This could undoubtedly still be combined with my theory so far, that it was Synnøve Jensen if not both times, then certainly the second time, and it was she who had shot Leonard
Schelderup in the early hours. It could well have been out of desperation because he had got cold feet and wanted to confess that he was the father of her child and that it was they who had killed
his father.

The theory was in no way idiot-proof, I had to admit. It grated even on my ear. But still it grated less than all the other theories I could think of, so in the end I got into my car and drove
out to Sørum.

IV

Synnøve Jensen sat at the kitchen table and cried.

For a long time. Her tears dripped onto my hand when I eventually reached out to put it on her shoulder. Either she was a particularly good actress with a talent for crying when the situation so
required, or she was telling the truth when she maintained that she was very sad to hear about the death of Leonard Schelderup. She had never really had the chance to get to know him properly, but
he was, after all, the brother of her unborn child and he had always seemed like such a quiet and good person, so she had not a word to say against him. And he had most certainly not had an easy
life, caught between his divorced parents and in relation to his new stepmother. And another murder only two days after the first was an even greater shock. So Synnøve Jensen continued to
weep.

It seemed pretty pointless after all this to ask if Leonard Schelderup had been her lover and if she had shot him. So I settled for saying that I had to ask them all to account for their
movements yesterday evening. Synnøve Jensen dried her tears and mumbled that she had been at home alone all evening and gone to bed early. She had never been invited to Leonard
Schelderup’s home and had definitely never gone there. She had once heard his father phone him from the office, but she could not recall ever having spoken to Leonard Schelderup on the
telephone. She had no idea where he lived in Skøyen or which bus to get there. None of this sounded improbable but, on the other hand, there was no one who could confirm it.

Synnøve Jensen’s wardrobe was by the door and it did not take much time to look through it, limited as it was. It did in fact contain a pair of shoes that might with some goodwill
be called high-heeled, but nothing that resembled a mink coat, even seen through an old lady’s eyes. It struck me that the generosity that Magdalon Schelderup had shown to his mistress in his
will did not seem to bear any relation to the generosity he had shown her when he was alive. I did not quite trust the idea that everything he had ever given her was now hanging here.

I drove away from Sørum with the feeling that Synnøve Jensen would definitely end up in hell if her fingerprints were found anywhere in Leonard Schelderup’s flat. And if not,
I almost believed her already when she said that she had never been there. And in that case I had no idea who the dark-haired woman from the evening before might be.

V

Back at the police station, I was told that the results from the fingerprint analysis were not ready yet. So in the meantime I telephoned Hans Herlofsen and Magdalena
Schelderup. Both were composed and seemed to be surprised by the news of Leonard Schelderup’s death. Both denied categorically that they had either called him or been to see him the day
before. Both denied, even more vehemently, any knowledge as to who might have killed him. Magdalena Schelderup said that she had been at home alone, but had nothing to back this up. Hans Herlofsen
had an alibi until ten o’clock: he had been in the office in the centre of town, in a meeting with three other members of staff about the future of the companies. But after that he was, in
his own words, also home alone.

I spoke to both Sandra and Maria Irene Schelderup as soon as I could and the answer was much the same. Unlike the others, however, the two ladies at Schelderup Hall had a reliable alibi. Sandra
Schelderup had been on the telephone to me about the time that the mysterious woman in the mink coat had visited Leonard Schelderup, and the police outside Schelderup Hall could confirm that both
the mother and daughter had stayed at home. They had appeared in the windows at various times during the course of the evening and no one had left the house. The dogs had been quiet all night.

I breathed a sigh of relief at this news and patted myself on the back for having maintained a police presence at Schelderup Hall overnight. The terrifying thought that young Maria Irene might
be involved in the murders in any way receded, even though last night’s alibi did not mean that either she or her mother could be excluded from having taken part in the murder of Magdalon
Schelderup.

Sandra Schelderup also seemed pleased to have an alibi. In light of this, I then let her decide whether she felt it was necessary to keep a police guard at Schelderup Hall or not. She thought
for moment or two and then replied that as they had the dogs and since there was really nowhere to hide in the garden, the officers could perhaps leave the following day, unless of course there
were any signs of danger in the meantime.

I had just lifted the receiver to call the Wendelboes when I suddenly remembered the questions that Patricia said I should ask about the war. I also needed to get hold of Fredrik Schelderup to
tell him about his brother’s death, and to pay him a visit. So in the end I made a brief telephone call to both of them only to arrange a visit within the next couple of hours.

VI

One could not help but admire Fredrik Schelderup’s equilibrium, or be deeply shocked by his indifference. I tended more towards the latter. Whichever it was, he certainly
seemed to be extremely at ease as he lounged opposite me in the comfort of a velvet sofa in his spacious home in Bygdøy. He had graciously accepted my condolences on the loss of his brother,
but showed absolutely no sign of grief.

I thought to myself that Fredrik Schelderup’s home suited his personality: the house and furniture were of high quality, but their owner had done little to look after them. The room was
dusty and untidy. The most striking feature was all the wine glasses and flutes that covered every surface, and the second most striking thing was the drinks cabinet that was larger than a
fridge.

Within the last twenty-four hours, Fredrik Schelderup had lost a half-brother and seen his inheritance increase by millions. Neither of these things appeared to have made much of an impression
on him. But the man was not entirely without social antennae. He quickly registered my surprise at his lack of interest and started to talk without being prompted.

‘You must excuse my lack of visible grief. That is what happens when you grow up in Schelderup Hall and have more money than you deserve. Leonard had a mother I did not care for and paid
no attention to, and I had a mother he did not care for and paid no attention to. The only thing we shared was a father whom neither of us cared for, but both always paid attention to. And not only
were we born to the same father from different mothers, we also inherited different genes from him. We shared many of the same problems, but solved them in very different ways. Leonard chose to
rise to Father’s expectations by succeeding in arenas other than those Father had hoped for. And my choice to have no ambition whatsoever was even more provoking.’

I asked him to elaborate, which he immediately did.

‘I have been extremely fortunate in terms of the money I have inherited, but perhaps not the genes. The only thing my mother ever did to ensure an easy life was to trick my father into
marrying her. I did not have to lift a finger in order to live a comfortable life. And so I never have. You see, I am not stupid, just lazy and lucky. I only hope that my liver holds out longer
than my mother’s did. And here’s to that,’ he said, lifting the wine glass to his mouth. I suspected that it was neither the first nor would it be the last of the day.

The most important question in terms of my murder investigation was simply whether Fredrik Schelderup had visited his brother in his flat at any point over the past few weeks. His answer was a
clear no. The last time he had been there was at least a year ago. Contact between the two brothers had been sparse in recent years. It was generally Leonard who got in touch for practical reasons,
and a short phone call would suffice. I used this opportunity to ask whether they had been in touch by telephone the day before, but once again he shook his head.

Another question was whether Fredrik Schelderup knew of anyone who might have visited his brother. He immediately replied no to this as well. He and his brother moved in completely different
circles, apart from family, and they had no mutual friends.

‘If anyone in the family knows anything about Leonard’s friends, it would be his mother. But I would not be surprised if she did not know much either. She of course worshipped him.
But I was always under the impression that he kept everyone at a distance, even his mother.’

I sent him a questioning look. He continued without hesitation.

‘Growing up as Leonard and I did can generate very different responses. In Leonard’s case, it was obviously important for him to be able to go his own way, even in terms of his
mother. His mother’s greatest dream was always to move back to Schelderup Hall. If Leonard had ever been asked to stay there again, I think he would have set a new national record in his bid
to get away.’

Fredrik Schelderup emptied his glass and poured himself some more wine. He was in a chatty, if somewhat pensive, mood now.

‘There would be more atmosphere on the moon than at Father’s Sunday suppers. It must have been unbearable for Leonard. I was always surprised when he showed up. As long as he lived,
Father had an almost hypnotic effect on us all, and Leonard would never have confronted him as he disliked conflict so much. All the millions we stood to inherit must have been important even to
Leonard, but they were without a doubt more important to his mother.’

Fredrik Schelderup sat contemplating something in between two glasses of wine. He lit a cigar, but it did nothing to lift his mood. Now he spoke finally in a voice that was almost sad.

‘I have never believed that Leonard would ever be happy, and I don’t believe that he did either. Regardless of whether he won gold or a stipend to do a Ph.D. All the same, in recent
months it seemed as though his heart was lighter. What a tragic end to a short and no doubt challenging life.’

He looked sombre when he said this. It seemed that the gravity of the situation had finally caught up with him. However, when I asked if the reason for his brother’s lighter mood in recent
months was a woman, he shook his head with a disapproving look.

‘One should of course never give a categorical no when it comes to women, as I have learnt from experience. But I have never seen Leonard with a woman outside the family home for years,
and have no reason to believe there was a woman in his life now. And in any case, I have enough problems with my own personal life as it is, without having to worry about my brother’s as
well.’