I now noticed that Mrs Wendelboe had started to weep. She was crying silently, but all the more intensely for that. Within seconds the tears were flowing. And, annoyingly, it was her husband who once again had to tell me the reason.
‘Ole Kristian Wiig was my wife’s younger brother. So we knew each other extremely well, even before the war.’
I shifted my gaze to Mrs Wendelboe, who was sitting as still as a statue on the sofa. The only movement in her face was the tears that continued to stream down her cheeks.
I mumbled my condolences and asked whether they had had any more siblings – and immediately regretted doing so. Mrs Wendelboe’s eyes blazed. Her composure in the midst of her grief was impressive. She remained seated with stoic calm for a short while, but when she then spoke, her voice was firm.
‘No. There were only the two of us. He was so kind and bright that I was more than happy always to be in his shadow. Ole Kristian did not have a family himself, but instead was the best uncle in the world to my children. For the full five years of the war I lived without a thought for myself, but in constant fear that something might happen to my husband, my children or my little brother.’
There was another moment of silence. Her husband and I waited patiently until she was ready to continue.
‘I remember the incredible relief that I felt on 8 May 1945 as if it were only yesterday. Ole Kristian lived close to us in Ski and had a key to our house. He was the one who came running across the lawn, overjoyed, to wake us with the news that the Germans had capitulated and that all our suffering was over. I remember thinking to myself that the sun had never shone so brilliantly on Norway as it did that morning. Ole Kristian left us for a few hours, and then the light vanished just as suddenly from my life. And it has never returned. It feels as though I have been living in a twilight ever since, even on the brightest summer day.’
Mrs Wendelboe once again fell silent and sat motionless on the sofa. It was a relief when her husband finally came to her rescue.
‘It was an extremely sad and emotional experience for us all. It happened that very afternoon. We’d set about preparing a celebratory meal. Ole Kristian had gone to sort out a few things, but had promised to be back by three. It was an unusual day, of course, but we started to get a bit anxious when half past three came and went without any sign of him. At a quarter to four, we sighed with relief when Magdalon Schelderup’s big black car swung into view down the road. We assumed that Ole Kristian was with him. But our joy was short-lived. We could soon see that Magdalon was alone in the car and that he was driving towards us at a dangerous speed. My wife took my hand and said that something was wrong, even before Magdalon stopped the car. We could see from his face that something ghastly had happened. Magdalon was not a man who was easily moved, but on that day his emotional turmoil was clear to all. He came over to us and embraced us, told us that there had been a terrible accident and that Ole Kristian was dead.’
Now, almost twenty-five years later, time had once again stopped for Mrs Wendelboe. Even her tears had stopped falling and she sat as if petrified. Her husband gently took her arm before he continued.
‘The accident had involved a gunshot, he told us, and the circumstances were indeed deeply unfortunate. Magdalon and Ole Kristian had driven to the home of a dead Nazi with a younger member of the group, to secure his property and papers. The police arrived at the same time and there were no enemies present. However, Ole Kristian had still fallen victim to a fatal gunshot inside the house, which had been fired by the younger man from our group. Magdalon felt frightfully guilty and apologized profusely for having taken the young man with them. But I was the one who had accepted him into the group, so we were both to blame. The man had seemed so sincere and well-intentioned, but we should of course have realized how weak and mentally unbalanced he was in those final weeks of the war. It is strange to think how different things might have been had I realized that.’
Now it was Wendelboe’s turn to sit in silence and his wife’s to reach out her hand and stroke him. But it was he who took up the story again, his voice sharp and concise.
‘The case was clear enough. The man was standing with the gun in his hand when the police came in. Magdalon himself had been in the room and seen him fire the shot, and the man’s statement was so incredible that no one could believe it. He was declared of unsound mind in the court case and has apparently spent much of the rest of his life in an asylum. So we just had to accept that it was the work of a madman, no matter how odd it all seemed. But whatever the case, it was a great loss to us which has been difficult to live with.’
I nodded with understanding and put down my notebook. I had more detailed questions about Magdalon Schelderup’s war experiences, but first wanted to check the police report about Ole Kristian Wiig’s death for myself.
In conclusion, I asked as a matter of procedure whether the Wendelboes had reason to suspect any of those present of the murder. They both hesitated and then said that Magdalon Schelderup had been a very forceful and complex person who might have been in conflict with many of the people around him, but that the actual circumstances did leave the younger son in a very awkward position.
‘If we were to point out one of those around the table as a suspect, it would, however, be his sister, Magdalena,’ Mr Wendelboe added abruptly, in a very grave voice. My surprise in no way diminished when his wife then immediately nodded in agreement.
He swiftly explained: ‘We realize that it may sound strange and that she appears to be trustworthy these days, but you should ask her to tell you the story of her broken engagement. And then you should ask her what she was doing during the war, while her brother risked his life in the Resistance. We have often wondered why he continued to invite her to his parties for all these years, especially when he also invited Hans Herlofsen and us.’
His wife nodded again, in loyal agreement with her husband until hell froze over. They then left the room together, with my silent consent.
I remained sitting where I was to look through my notes and to think about what I had heard and seen. In light of this new information, I would very much have liked to talk to Hans Herlofsen and Magdalena Schelderup again, but they had both already left Schelderup Hall. I therefore ended up calling in the deceased’s current wife for the final interview of the day.
XIII
My second conversation with Sandra Schelderup also got off to a good start. She asked about the contents of the will almost as soon as she came through the door. I replied that this had still not been confirmed, but assured her that I would contact the law firm as soon as possible, and that as the deceased’s wife she would of course be informed. She thanked me for this and told me that the name of the law firm was Rønning, Rønning & Rønning.
After a moment’s hesitation, Sandra Schelderup added without any shame that she had already called their lawyer there. However, he had said that in light of the ongoing murder investigation, it was not possible for him to give any information over the telephone as to the content of the will.
I answered diplomatically that I had been in contact with the law firm on a previous occasion and would do my best to find out as soon as possible what was in the will.