Satellite People (30 page)

I nodded and then shook his hand. I felt sorry for Mrs Wendelboe. And I definitely felt that Petter Johannes Wendelboe was more reliable than Hans Herlofsen. But after the day’s
revelations I did not trust either of them, particularly when it came to the death of the much-maligned Magdalon Schelderup.

XI

After my second visit to the Wendelboes that day, I felt empty, both physically and mentally. On my way home, I had to face up to the fact that I had no more leads to follow,
either this evening or tomorrow. Following the day’s revelations, I now believed that the murderer was either Hans Herlofsen or Magdalena Schelderup. But I had no idea whatsoever how I would
manage to get any evidence or discover a crack in the defence.

And, on top of all the other problems, I felt a physical exhaustion creep over me, which made it even harder to think clearly. I got home around seven, set my alarm for nine and lay down for an
hour or two. I fell asleep almost immediately, but did not sleep well. The surviving guests disturbed my sleep. And then I finally slipped into a very pleasant dream where I was dancing with Maria
Irene in her room at Schelderup Hall. Just as I bent down to kiss her, we were interrupted – this time by my alarm clock.

As I lay there for a few extra minutes, half awake, I had to admit to myself that I was more than fascinated with Maria Irene, I was in fact in love with her.

I felt sure that this had nothing to do with her money and property. The diamond on the gold chain, which symbolized her wealth, was no more than an insignificant detail in my memory from
Schelderup Hall. The image that had burnt itself into my mind was her red lips, only a breath away from mine, and the glimpse I had seen of the tops of her beautiful young breasts. As I lay there
in bed, I made a pact with myself that I would make a serious attempt to see the rest of them as soon as the case was over. In my dozing daydream, I lay with her for a few moments more in her
four-poster bed at Schelderup Hall, with her mouth gasping for mine, her naked, moaning body under mine. She was no longer relaxed and in control, but quite the opposite; unexpectedly wild and
passionate.

This dream was definitely the highlight of the day so far. But one absolute requirement was that the murder case had to be solved before I could even begin to follow up on the dream. At half
past nine, I got out of bed alone and moved into the living room. I spent the next hour in an extremely frustrating state where I could not think of anything other than the case, but at the same
time was unable to make any headway.

XII

For a change, my phone rang at half past ten in the evening on Thursday, 15 May. This time it was Synnøve Jensen’s distraught voice that I heard at the other
end.

‘Maybe this is silly . . . But Magdalon said something to me not long before he died, something that I don’t understand. And I also have something I think I should show you. I should
probably have done so before. It is all very peculiar and I may have done something wrong without knowing it. Would you be able to come here first thing tomorrow morning?’

I hesitated a moment and then asked if she had received some kind of threat. She immediately replied no, and then added that it was probably not so urgent I needed to go there now, straight
away. But I felt more and more uncertain. There was something about the intensity of the case and the memory of Leonard Schelderup phoning me in the evening and then being found shot before I could
meet him the next day. So I pushed my tiredness to one side and said in a determined voice that I would come immediately.

It took no more than two minutes from the time that I put down the receiver until I had my coat on and was out through the door. But all the same, I felt reasonably calm as I left my house.

It was while I drove through the night alone in my car, heading towards Sørum, with no means of communication with Synnøve Jensen, Patricia or anyone else, that I was overwhelmed
by a sudden unease.

This was probably due to a combination of the anxiety I thought I detected in Synnøve Jensen’s voice, the fact that Leonard Schlelderup had been shot only hours after he called me
and yesterday’s letter warning of another death. Whatever the case, I felt a rising anxiety and put my foot to the floor. Visibility was good and there was very little in the way of traffic.
In a strange way, the great silence and loneliness of the road only served to heighten my fears. My thoughts were preoccupied with what it was that Synnøve Jensen thought was so important to
show me, but I could find no sensible answer.

I had been driving well over the speed limit, and at five past eleven I parked the car and made my way up to Synnøve Jensen’s little house in Sørum. The rain was pelting down
so I dashed through the dark towards the front door.

XIII

There was no doorbell. I knocked hard on the door three times, without any response from inside. And yet I could see through the small windows that the light was on in the
living room.

I called out to Synnøve Jensen, but still heard not a sound from inside. I hammered on the door for a fourth time. Then it occurred to me that it might not be locked. In the same moment,
an icy-cold feeling told me that something was wrong, very wrong, and what is more, dangerous.

I knocked on the door for a fifth time. Then I opened it and went into the living room.

The sight that met my eyes was at first an enormous relief. Synnøve Jensen was sitting on the sofa facing me, wearing a simple blue dress, and there was no sign of anyone else in the
small room. Her eyes were wide and they met mine.

Another even stronger feeling of danger flashed through me in those few seconds. Synnøve Jensen sat looking straight at me, but did not move. It was a relief when she opened her mouth.
But this immediately turned to horror when the blood spilled out. I then noticed that blood was pouring from a bullet wound in her chest. The bullet had clearly been fired too high and missed the
heart. There was a pistol lying on the floor by her hand. I vaguely registered that it looked rather old-fashioned, but I was more concerned about the woman on the sofa.

Her staring eyes were wide and frightened. The will to live still burnt bright in them. They told me one thing loud and clear, and it was important: Synnøve Jensen had not shot
herself.

I grasped her hand. It was burning. The pulse in her wrist was still there, but barely.

Thoughts tumbled through my mind – that the murderer must have left by the door only shortly before I arrived. But I could not leave the fatally wounded Synnøve Jensen. Her hand
held desperately onto mine, as though she was trying to cling to her life through me. Again she tried to say something, but was prevented from doing so by the blood. Her right hand clung to mine.
She waved her left hand towards the back of the room, without much force. I instinctively looked up but could see no sign of anyone there.

‘Was it Hans Herlofsen who shot you?’ I asked.

Her eyes met mine, but I could not see any affirmative or negative response. The same happened when I asked: ‘Was it Magdalena Schelderup?’ I could not work out whether
Synnøve Jensen did not want to confirm or simply could not.

Synnøve Jensen waved her left hand towards the back of the room again, with even less force. Her eyes looked into mine with a deep desire to tell me something, but she was unable to
express what. Her free hand crept slowly up and stopped on her belly. Then her eyes closed.

For some reason, as soon as her eyes closed, I started to count the pulse in her wrist. I felt four slow beats. Then Synnøve Jensen’s pulse stopped.

I sat for a few seconds with her hand in mine before slowly releasing my hand from her dead body, which sank down onto the sofa with no resistance. I was gripped by a violent rage, in part with
myself, but mostly with the faceless person I was pursuing. Synnøve Jensen was dead, and her unborn child was now dying in her womb. I had come a few minutes too late to prevent the murder
and perhaps only seconds too late to hear Synnøve Jensen say who it was who had shot her. I had no idea what to do now. I had seen no sign of another living soul out there in the dark. It
was most likely that the murderer was over the hills and far away by now.

I went over to her telephone and called for an ambulance. Then I rang Romerike police station to let them know that there had been a murder, and that I was already at the scene of the crime.

Then I dialled Patricia’s number.

I was worried that she might already have gone to bed. It was a great relief when I heard her voice after only five rings. I explained very quickly where I was calling from and what I had
seen.

There was silence on the other end for a few seconds. Complete silence. It felt as though neither of us dared to breathe.

After a few breathless seconds, Patricia let out a deep sigh before starting to speak.

‘You said that you had just come in through the door, which was unlocked, and found Synnøve Jensen who had been shot and was dying, but still visibly alive with her eyes open. A
pistol lay on the floor beside her. She could not speak but waved her hand twice towards the back of the room before she died?’

‘Yes,’ I confirmed.

‘But . . .’ she started.

There was silence again for a moment, before she mustered the courage and continued.

‘But then the shot cannot have been fired more than minutes before and it is unlikely that the murderer would dare to leave while she was visibly still alive. So then the most feasible
explanation is without a doubt that the murderer was standing there waiting for her to die and when you knocked on the door, dropped the gun onto the floor and ran upstairs to hide in one of the
rooms. In which case, he or she will still be there.’

Neither of us said anything. I turned around quickly and looked up the stairs. There was no sign of movement up there. However, the logic in what Patricia had just said was undeniable.
Synnøve Jensen had tried to say something when she waved her hand around and she had indicated the stairs, not the door. There was a considerable chance that the murderer was still
upstairs.

‘As the murder weapon is still there and as it is unlikely that the murderer would want to be caught with the weapon after the murder, it is likely that he or she is unarmed now. But one
cannot of course be certain of that. As you have not heard any noises, you may assume that there is only one person. But of course, one cannot be certain of that either,’ Patricia’s
voice said, with a sudden worried undertone.

I thanked her and promised to call back as soon as I had a chance. Then I put down the phone.

I sat still for a brief moment, my eyes moving between the dead Synnøve Jensen and the empty stairs. I did think about calling the police station again to ask for reinforcements. But I
was not sure that there was anyone upstairs and the risk that the intruder might escape through a window or over a balcony would only increase in the time that it would take to get any backup here.
And what is more, I had no idea how long it would take to get more men here so late in the evening.

So I sat there, staring at the gun. With a pounding heart, I realized that it was an old Walther pistol, the same type that the Dark Prince had used to shoot his two victims during the war. The
thought that the Dark Prince might be hiding upstairs made the possibility of an arrest even more tempting. So I made a hasty decision that there were not likely to be any fingerprints on the gun
in any case, and picked it up with my handkerchief. Then, armed with the murderer’s own weapon, I mounted the stairs to the first floor. I vaguely registered that my watch showed that it was
a quarter past eleven precisely when I started my ascent.

XIV

The stairs swayed and creaked alarmingly under my weight. But all was quiet on the first floor. There were three doors and I had no reason to choose one rather than the
other.

So the most obvious thing was to start with the door closest to the stairs. It was unlocked and there was no light to be seen through the keyhole. I rapped on it twice. Then I opened the door
with the gun raised.

There was no sign of life in the room. But I did see something that made my stomach lurch – I was in the deceased Synnøve Jensen’s bedroom. Her bed was made up for the night
and by the head was a small cradle, standing ready for the baby.

I turned away from the cradle and could quickly ascertain that there were no hiding places in the room. Nor were there any possible escape routes. The room did not have a window, only a small
air vent in the wall.

So I went back out onto the landing again and over to the middle door. When I looked through the keyhole, this also appeared to be dark and unlocked. Again I knocked on the door twice, without
any response. With all my senses alert and the pistol at the ready, I opened the door.

This time I stepped into a tiny bathroom. There was evidence here too of how happy Synnøve Jensen was about her baby. She had made a small nappy-changing area ready by the very ordinary
sink. There was not a trace of the person who had killed both the mother and her unborn child only minutes ago. And again, the bathroom did not have a window, just an air vent in the wall that you
could scarcely get a hand through.

Only one door remained. If the murderer had run up the stairs, then he or she must have disappeared through that door. I could feel the tension bubbling in my body when I noted that the third
door was locked, and that the key was on the inside.

I knocked hard on the door and shouted that I was armed and willing to kick the door down. There was not a sound from inside.

I squatted down in front of the keyhole and managed to push out the key that was in there with the help of my car key. There was no light on in this room, either, but I caught a movement in the
dark all the same. My heart was hammering violently. All that separated me from solving the case and finding the murderer was the door and a few steps.

I knocked hard on the door again twice and called out that I was armed and could not be held responsible for the consequences unless the murderer now unlocked the door and came out with their
hands above their head.