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.