I told him the truth, that nothing decisive was imminent in the form of an arrest or the like, but that the investigation had made a number of important breakthroughs and that there was every reason to hope that both the cases would be solved soon. Yesterday’s written report was hastily supplemented with some of Patricia’s conclusions, without mentioning her name or the fact that I had been to see her, of course.
I finished by asking whether my boss, with his formidable experience and skills, could glean anything more than I had thus far from the available information. He smiled and shook his head pensively. The outcome was that I would work overtime on 15 and 16 May, and if no arrests were imminent then we would discuss the case again at some point on the 17 May holiday.
Once out of my boss’s office, I heaved a sigh of relief. Now, if not before, it struck me that there were obviously plenty of colleagues who would only be too happy to challenge my position. And I stopped at none of the other offices on the way back to mine.
II
If the start of the day had been a bit troubled, the rest of the day was all the better for it. The first telephone call was from Schelderup Hall. It was Sandra Schelderup who rang. Her voice was still friendly and respectful. She wanted to thank me once again for leading the investigation so well, and added that both she and her daughter would be very grateful for an update on the situation if I was able to drop by in the course of the day.
I had no real plans for the day, other than talking to Herlofsen and Wendelboe again. So I replied that I also had a couple of questions that I would like to ask them, and hoped that I could be there around lunch. She said that they looked forward to seeing me.
I had just put the phone down when there was a knock on the door. An out-of-breath fingerprint technician was standing outside, as he wanted to tell me in person about the sensational find from Leonard Schelderup’s flat. On a bureau by the door in the living room, they had unexpectedly found a single but clear and relatively new fingerprint that corresponded to that of one of the women who had been fingerprinted at Schelderup Hall following the murder of Magdalon Schelderup.
The faces of the women who could have been there flashed past me before he said the name. And it was the name that I hoped it would be. Two minutes later I was in the car on my way to Gulleråsen. I turned off before Schelderup Hall. This time I was very interested to hear what Magdalena Schelderup might have to say in her defence.
III
I arrived at Magdalena Schelderup’s flat with every expectation of solving the case. The result was nothing more than yet another depressing conversation. Either Magdalena Schelderup was a better actress than I thought, or she was genuinely distraught. Again and again she repeated that she had never learnt to tell the whole truth in time and that she should of course have told me this before. With tears in her eyes and desperation in her voice, she also repeated over and over again that Leonard Schelderup had been alive when she left his flat. And that she had no idea who might have killed him or her brother.
Her story was simple enough and, I had to admit, not entirely incredible. Following Magdalon Schelderup’s death and her interview with me, she had guessed that the finger of suspicion was pointing at her and Leonard, in the first instance. For want of children of her own, she had always got on well with her nephew. So the day after, she had called him and asked if they could meet to discuss matters. He had said she was welcome to come over. She had gone there early in the evening and they had had a pleasant enough conversation, given the situation. She had urged him to confess if he had murdered his father, and said that both she and the others in the family would understand if that was the case. Leonard had been categoricaclass="underline" he had nothing to confess. His aunt had, at the time, not been sure whether she believed him or not. Which she did of course now, she added, with a pained expression on her face.
Leonard Schelderup had, if one was to believe Magdalena, been relaxed for much of the conversation, but had suddenly become very agitated after a telephone call from an unknown caller around nine o’clock. She had been standing beside him and had been able to hear the voice on the other end well enough to make out the words. The person was accusing Leonard of murdering his father, and threatened that he might soon be murdered himself if he did not lay his cards on the table. The caller then hung up as Leonard replied in desperation that he had nothing to confess. He had been extremely agitated and wanted to call me straight away after the phone call. So she had beaten a hasty retreat. He had locked the door behind her. And that was the last time she had seen her nephew alive, she said, with tears in her eyes.
‘He liked you and hoped that you could solve the murder of his father,’ she added swiftly.
It was without a doubt well intended. However, we were both struck by it. I had, three days later, still not solved the murders of either Magdalon or Leonard Schelderup. And in the light of today’s conversation, she was now the prime suspect for both.
I asked why there was only one fingerprint in the flat, and why it was on the bureau by the door. The answer was that due to the gravity of the situation, she had not wanted to leave any traces in the flat of another suspect, so she had not smoked. She had been wearing gloves when she came in and had tried not to touch anything. Leonard had put out some coffee and biscuits, but she had on purpose not taken anything. She thought the fingerprint on the bureau was probably because she tripped on her way out and put a hand out to steady herself.
Magdalena Schelderup realized just how tenuous her situation was and asked me straight out if I intended to arrest her. The thought was tempting, especially given the conversation with my boss earlier in the morning. But I knew only too well how harsh the backlash could be in the event of hasty arrests, and had to admit that there was really still no evidence against her. And her explanation tallied with Leonard’s telephone call to me and the statements from the neighbour and Leonard Schelderup’s lover. It was of course possible that Magdalena Schelderup had returned sometime between midnight and three in the morning and then murdered her nephew. But there was no indication whatsoever that she had done this. So I concluded that any arrest would have to wait, but asked her to tell me immediately if she knew anything else of importance.
Magdalena sat and thought as she smoked her cigarette. Then she stubbed it out with determination.
‘In that case, under duress and against my will, I will confide in you something I promised many years ago never to tell another living soul, which is a promise I have kept to this day. And it is the name of the person who got me to join the NS in 1940…’
‘And that is…’
She hesitated for a beat, and then launched into the story.
‘My dear older brother, Magdalon Schelderup. He came to my house one evening, put an already completed form down on the table and asked me to sign it. He had done the same with my brother. It would secure the family fortune in the event of a German victory and would be of no consequence should the Allies win. Fortunately we will never know if the first conclusion was right, but the latter certainly was not. I know that from bitter experience in the years after the war.’
Then she added: ‘You don’t believe me, do you?’
I thought about what Patricia had said about the chronology of events in 1940 and heard myself saying that I was not sure if it was of any importance to any of the murders, but that based on other discoveries I had made in the course of the investigation, I could in fact believe what she said about the NS membership.
Our parting was almost friendly. But my suspicion of Magdalena had only been strengthened by this latest failure to tell the whole truth. I had come there in the hope of a confession and left with the growing doubt that she actually had anything to confess.