Satellite People (28 page)

I got straight to the point and told him what I had discovered about Herlofsen’s visit to Arild Bratberg. Then I waited in anticipation for some kind of reaction, which never came. This
reinforced my suspicion that I was onto something now. I reminded him that he had given a clear no to my question as to whether he had been in contact with Arild Bratberg or not. He immediately
confirmed this. But to my question as to whether his wife had been in contact with him he replied, to my surprise, yes.

I looked at him askance, without eliciting any further reaction. I finally fathomed what the situation was, and asked the right question: in other words, whether Herlofsen had contacted them
after his visit.

‘Herlofsen came here one day in the middle of February and was unusually agitated. He had been to see Bratberg and heard the story as you told it just now. As a result, he was now inclined
to believe that it was Magdalon Schelderup himself who had shot Ole Kristian Wiig and that he might even be the Dark Prince. He asked me to consider whether we should confront Schelderup or take
some sort of action. But that never happened, of course.’

He fell silent. I was starting to get to know Wendelboe now, and had understood what was needed to prod him, which was a concise question.

‘But you considered it enough for your wife to go and visit Arild Bratberg?’

Wendelboe nodded.

‘She went on her own initiative, in fact, without asking me. Yes, it is true that she went to see him and that she returned with the same impression as Herlofsen. The possibility of
confronting Magdalon Schelderup was discussed again later. But never realized. Certainly not by us.’

‘Certainly not by us . . . So you think it is possible that Herlofsen may have acted alone?’

He shook his head.

‘There is nothing to indicate that he did, but that is of course not to say that he didn’t. He came here to discuss the possibility. And we dismissed it.’

Wendelboe’s stony face closed again as soon as he finished speaking. It felt as if I was banging my head against a brick wall.

‘When you say confrontation or action, could that possibly include an attempt on his life?’

‘Herlofsen did mention that as an option. But he never acted on it, certainly not as far as my wife and I know.’

It frustrated me to admit that I was not going to get any further here and now. So I said to Wendelboe that I would unfortunately also have to confirm this with his wife. He got up without a
word and went out into the hallway. I stood beside him as he called up to her that she had to come down.

She appeared from one of the rooms almost immediately, visibly frail, but dressed and on her feet. We sat at the table and I asked her the same questions as I had asked her husband, and was
given the same answers.

Yes, Herlofsen had come to see them and talked about the possibility of either confronting Magdalon Schelderup or taking some form of action. Yes, she had gone to see Arild Bratberg on her own
initiative and she also believed his version of the story. Yes, the three of them had discussed the possibility of how to tackle Schelderup afterwards. But no, nothing had actually been done. At
least, not as far as she knew.

The atmosphere in the room during this conversation was sombre, but not unfriendly. I regretted that I had not asked Mrs Wendelboe to be there from the start, but had little reason to believe
that it would have made any difference. The extent to which the Wendelboes’ version was true or not was not easy to say. But it struck me that whatever the case, it was watertight before I
came to see them. So I asked them to stay at home for the rest of the day and not to contact Herlofsen. Then I drove across town to see him.

VII

I found Hans Herlofsen where one might expect to find him at half past three on a working day: in the office in the centre of town, hidden behind a pile of papers full of
figures and columns. He remarked in a quiet voice that work was the only thing keeping him going.

I assured him straight away that that side of the case was clear-cut and fine, but that some other important issues had cropped up that we needed to talk about. He nodded and reluctantly pushed
the accounts to one side.

‘You told me that you had not contacted the Wendelboes after you went to see Bratberg,’ I started.

The expression in his eyes hardened.

‘No, and they should not have told you that I did. I would not want in any way to cast a negative light on old friends from the war, and I was 100 per cent sure that they had nothing to do
with Magdalon’s murder. But if they are trying to lay the blame on me, then I am now no more than 50 per cent sure. And, of course, I should have told you yesterday,’ he added swiftly,
in his own defence.

My patience with the people who were only telling me half-truths in this investigation was starting to wear seriously thin. I remarked curtly that he should definitely have told me before. Then
I ordered him, in his own interest, to tell me everything he knew that might be of relevance, regardless of whether or not it involved old war comrades, or anyone else for that matter.

He nodded, and started to talk. Unfortunately, his revised version was now very much in line with what the Wendelboes had told me. He admitted that he had contacted them in the middle of
February, or 16 February to be precise, and mentioned the possibility of taking some sort of action vis-à-vis Magdalon Schelderup. They had resisted, but twelve days later called him back,
after Mrs Wendelboe had also been to see Bratberg. They had then sat round the table and concluded that Magdalon Schelderup was guilty of killing Ole Kristian Wiig, but that the circumstances were
so unclear that they did not feel confident enough to confront him in any way. So nothing was ever done. ‘At least, not as far as I know,’ he added, with some hesitation.

I felt a growing anger with the main players in the case. It was clear that it was the Wendelboes and Herlofsen who had been in contact with Bratberg, and that they had then discussed the
possibility of killing Magdalon Schelderup. The Wendelboes denied any part of it, but did not rule out the possibility that Herlofsen had acted on his own. Herlofsen denied any part of it, but did
not rule out the possibility that the Wendelboes might have acted on their own. And I had no evidence that any of them had anything to do with poisoning him. Once again it felt as though I had come
up against a brick wall just when the solution was within arm’s reach.

I asked Herlofsen if he had any reason to suspect Mr Wendelboe. He waited a beat and then replied that he had once, twenty-eight years ago, heard Petter Johannes Wendelboe threaten to kill
Schelderup, in connection with him joining the Resistance group. Wendelboe had been most sceptical about letting him join, and at Schelderup’s first meeting had said to him directly:
‘Welcome to the fight for the liberation of Norway. But if it ever transpires that you have betrayed any of us, I will kill you. And if you betray me, I will have made sure that someone else
will kill you.’

Herlofsen then commented that it was not entirely unthinkable that he might have carried out this threat many years later. He added that it was the only time in all these years that he had seen
anything resembling fear in Magdalon Schelderup’s eyes.

I noted this down with interest and promised both Herlofsen and myself that I would ask Wendelboe about it. Then I carried on with my offensive and said pointedly to Herlofsen that he still had
things to explain, and that my conversation with Wendelboe might indicate that he himself had confronted Schelderup with his discovery.

‘Impossible, because . . .’ he exploded spontaneously.

His face suddenly flushed red. We sat in silence for a short while. Then I finished his sentence for him.

‘Impossible – because you had not told them. But you did, didn’t you? And that is why he changed his will.’

He nodded sheepishly. He put his hands down on the table in an attempt to calm himself.

‘It rode me like an obsession and I was starting to get desperate. I was more and more sure of my case, but Bratberg was dead and Wendelboe did not want to take it any further. They were
all right financially, so I was the only one who could do it. So, having stopped at the last moment eight times, on the ninth day I went in to talk to him in his office. It was on 4 April, before I
went home.’

There were sparks in Herlofsen’s eyes. I waited with bated breath for him to continue.

‘It was both the greatest and the worst moment of my life. No one could know how Magdalon would react to blackmail. But I felt more and more confident. My hate for him grew ever stronger
and my frustration with my financial situation intensified. So one day I just marched in and said it straight out. That I had talked to Bratberg before he died and that I now believed that Magdalon
was the one who shot Ole Kristian Wiig. Then I said that unless we could finally resolve the issues that continued to hang over me, I would be forced to share my suspicions with
Wendelboe.’

‘How did he react?’

Herlofsen gave a bitter smile.

‘There was no reaction whatsoever. That was when I was convinced I was right. He just sat there in his chair and looked at me with complete calm. I have to admit that I was not telling the
whole truth when I said just now that the only time I had seen Magdalon Schelderup show any fear was in 1941. To begin with, he sat in silence. Then he said it was, of course, all nonsense and
speculation, but that one never knew what Wendelboe might believe, and it was perhaps time to draw a line under the past. So he took the promissory note and confession out from his drawer, handed
them over to me and added that he would specify in his will that my debt to him was cleared.’

It looked as though Herlofsen was reliving the emotions he felt in his meeting with Magdalon Schelderup as he told me about it. His face lit up, but one could also see a shadow of fear in his
eyes and a faint trembling in his hands. It crossed my mind that it only went to show that Magdalon still wielded enormous influence over the lives of those closest to him, even after his
death.

‘I did not dare to take his hand. So I just accepted them and assured him that I would not make any more fuss. I added swiftly that if anything should happen to me, both Wendelboe and the
police would be sent a letter informing them of my conclusion. He nodded and then turned back to his work, while I returned jubilant to my office and burnt both the promissory note and my
confession to cinders over a candle.’

Hans Herlofsen smiled, but he was still trembling.

‘That was the greatest moment of my life since the war – greater even than when I saw my first grandchild. But then afterwards, a deep uncertainty came creeping over me as to what he
might do. Even though I had warned him, I was on guard for the following weeks. I did not feel home and dry until the will was read out. He might not have done what he said he would, and he might
have kept copies hidden somewhere of the documents I had burnt.’

‘But you did not leave any letters ready to be sent to Wendelboe in the event that you were killed, as that was not necessary. Because if you only confronted Magdalon Schelderup once
Bratberg was dead, it was already several weeks after you had informed Wendelboe.’

He nodded.

‘Absolutely. I went to see them sixteen days before I went to see him. I would undoubtedly have been willing to take some form of action against him. But only if I could be sure that my
financial situation was secured in this way and only if they were willing to be part of it. Once I had the papers I wanted, I would not have been opposed if the Wendelboes had murdered him. I have
no idea whether they did or not. I only know that I had nothing whatsoever to do with his death.’

This conclusion was a disappointment that I should have expected. It had felt as though Herlofsen was in free fall. But he still categorically denied any involvement in the murder. There was no
evidence that pointed to him as a more likely murderer than either the Wendelboes or Magdalena Schelderup.

I felt no need to thank Herlofsen, despite the fact that he had provided me with some very interesting information. So instead I reprimanded him for not having told me this before. It was
already dawning on him just how vulnerable his position was and he was now visibly nervous.

Just as Magdalena Schelderup had done a few hours earlier, he now asked if he was under arrest. After a short pause for thought, I replied that he was still free for the moment, but that he was
a suspect and that he had to remain available for further questioning over the next few days. He repeated that he had nothing to hide with regard to the murders. As I left the office, he withdrew
into the world of numbers again with a faint smile on his lips. I felt rather uncertain as to whether the smile was connected to the numbers or to the way in which the meeting had gone.

VIII

Fredrik Schelderup and I definitely had a lower percentage of alcohol in our blood today. He was almost totally sober when I arrived, and had even tidied up the table since I
was last there.

The first thing we talked about was the missing keys. He apologized for his outburst the night before and said that he would be happy to accept the offer of a constable to keep watch. He
remembered his father’s large key ring well: it had always been a symbol of his power and control. His father had had a key to his door for years, but had never used it. Now that he was sober
and had the safety chain on, Fredrik was relatively calm about the missing keys.

I used the opportunity to ask him directly whether he knew that his brother had a lover, but that it was not a woman. He was undecided for a moment or two, but then nodded.

‘I might perhaps be lazy, egotistical and generally of no use to society, but I am not a criminal and I do not lie to the police. Yes, I have known for many years that Leonard was happiest
in the company of men. I asked him about it when he was nineteen. I had had my suspicions for a while by then. Leonard was good at not saying anything, but was hopeless at lying. He admitted it
straight away. He was terrified and asked me never to tell anyone. I promised that I would not. Then I added that I would be happy for him to keep it secret for my part too. It would hardly benefit
my reputation as a party animal if people knew that I had a brother who slept with men. The ladies tend to think it is contagious and, what is more, hereditary. That is to say, a number of the
ladies I socialize with do.’