I agreed with this and promised to contact Schelderup’s doctor the following day.
‘As for the motive, it is perfectly understandable that Sandra Schelderup would want to cast doubt on his stepson and mistress. Equally, it is not unthinkable that her conspiracy theory about the two being a couple might be true. However, I think it is a dead end that is leading us in entirely the wrong direction. Quite literally, I would say.’
Patricia laughed her withering teenage laugh without explaining why. Then she was serious again and started to summarize the situation and, fortunately, her preliminary conclusions were very similar to my own.
‘In short, the last will gives both sons, the secretary, the manager and the ex-wife all a clear motive. But the previous will, which may have been the last one that anyone knew about, gives the daughter and her mother an even stronger motive. Of those sitting around the table, that leaves the Wendelboes and the deceased’s sister, who all could have reasons for wanting him dead that have nothing to do with money. So, for the moment, we certainly do not need to worry about any lack of suspects or motives.’
I had to agree with her, but quickly asked what she thought about the letter. The colour seemed to drain from her face instantly.
‘I do not like it one bit. I find the implied danger of further deaths in the letter very troubling indeed, especially as it was posted before Magdalon Schelderup’s death. The letter is one of the most alarming elements in this case so far, and it may well be a crucial clue. But for the moment, it is impossible to say where it might lead. It is highly likely that the letter was written by the murderer. And if that is the case, the only things we can deduce are that he or she for some mysterious reason wants to give the police some hints, and that he or she has only average talents when it comes to poetry. And given what we know so far, that basically would not exclude any of the guests.’
After the maid had collected the dessert bowls, Patricia asked suddenly whether I was still in touch with any of the people involved in our last case. I shook my head and looked at her, puzzled.
‘No contact with any of them?’ she repeated, with a careful smile. I replied ‘no’, and asked why she wondered about that. Patricia was obviously taken aback by my question, and answered abruptly that it was a good thing that I had nothing else to think about and could give my full attention to this new case. To which she swiftly added: ‘And I would strongly advise you in this case, too, to be wary of all those who were in the building at the time of the murder and to keep them at arm’s length until the case has been solved. It is possible that fewer of them have lied in their first statement than was the case last time. But that being so, there are more who have not told you details that might be of crucial importance to the investigation. In fact, I suspect that all ten are guilty of withholding crucial secrets.’
I nodded eagerly. ‘So you have no doubt that we will be able to solve the case?’
Patricia smiled. ‘But of course. There is always only one truth in a murder case. And it always comes to light when you have the skills to gather the right information and interpret it correctly. And we both have just that. Continue to delve for the information we do not yet have and give me some time to think over what we already know, and very soon we will have some breakthroughs. We already have far more interesting information now than we did at the same point in the last investigation. If it continues in this way, well then, my hope is that we may achieve our goal within about a week.’
I let myself be reassured by this, but already had an unexpected amount to think about. So I hastily thanked Patricia for the food and left, having made a preliminary arrangement to meet her again for supper the following day.
XI
When I got home I immediately phoned the main police station to say that I needed to speak to Jonas Lykke as soon as possible in connection with the ongoing murder investigation. My boss agreed that this sounded wise and, without hesitation, promised to call the Ministry of Foreign Affairs regarding my request.
At a quarter to nine I attempted to unwind by watching the Monday film, which was the German classic, The Blue Angel. And even with Marlene Dietrich on the television, my thoughts continued to whirl around unfolding events and the Gulleråsen murder mystery in Oslo. And then the phone rang for the first time that evening. It was by then five to ten. The voice on the other end was female and friendly, but with a tone of underlying anxiety. It was Sandra Schelderup. She was calling to tell me that a revolver had disappeared from her husband’s gun collection. The one he had kept with him in the bedroom and office in recent weeks was still where he had last left it, in the locked drawer of his desk. But another, older, revolver had now disappeared from the gun cabinet in the hallway. She did not know if it was loaded, or whether any ammunition had been stolen. It was impossible to say whether the revolver had disappeared in the course of the day, yesterday or some days before. But it was clearly not there. For many years the cabinet had contained two rifles, two pistols and two revolvers. And now the older revolver was missing. According to the contents list, it was a Swedish-produced 7.5mm calibre Nagant revolver.
I asked her who might know about the gun. She paused, said quite clearly that she and her daughter knew nothing about where it might be, and then added in a hushed voice that those who knew the house as well as they did were her stepsons and the secretary. She managed to curb herself in time and added that any one of their visitors might of course have known about the revolver and taken it with them. The cabinet had been locked as it should be, but the lock was not very advanced and a key from the neighbouring cupboard could be used to open it.
Sandra Schelderup sounded tired and frightened, which I could well understand. So I thanked her for calling and asked her to contact me immediately should she discover anything else of importance. She promised to do that and again stated how glad she was that I was the one leading the investigation.
XII
I was about to sign my first report to the commanding officer at around a quarter past ten, when the telephone rang again. This time it was Leonard Schelderup’s voice on the other end, sounding even more upset than I had heard it the day before.
‘I do apologize for calling you so late. But I have just had a telephone call from someone who did not identify themself advising me to confess to the murder of my father. I of course replied that I was innocent, but the caller hung up immediately. It was a deeply unpleasant experience!’
I agreed that it must have been and asked straight away if he had recognized the voice. The tension in his own voice was even more audible when he replied.
‘No. The voice was distorted and in any case only said a few words. But it did sound familiar all the same, as if I had heard it before, but I would not dare to say where and when that might have been. And that only makes things worse.’
My attempt to pacify Leonard Schelderup by saying that it might just be some prankster who had read about the case in the newspaper was of little avail. He thought this highly unlikely, as his telephone number was not listed in the telephone directory and was only known to his close family and friends.
I had to concede that this was a fair point, and immediately offered to send a constable round to stand guard outside his front door. At first he accepted this offer, but then abruptly changed his mind and asked that no one stand guard before tomorrow morning at the earliest. He repeated this twice. He promised to think some more about the voice on the phone and to call me immediately if he had any idea of who it might be.