We each took a couple of steps back in our shared fear that her mother would open the door. Within five seconds, Maria Irene had reached the record player and lifted off the needle. And she had already fastened the top three buttons of her dress, so that her bosom was hidden again. Then, in one lightning movement, she pulled off the gold chain and hid it behind her back.
I heard my own voice say very loudly that I was happy to have the music on, but I still had to ask about the missing ring and key ring. Maria Irene answered – also in an unusually loud voice – that she had helped to look for both those things, to no avail.
The danger passed quickly. Her mother left without even trying to open the door. But the magic had gone and the floor was firm beneath my feet. I was back in my body and had, to some extent, regained control of my mind. So I thanked Maria Irene and said rather loudly that I had now got the answers to all my questions, certainly for the time being.
Maria Irene smiled again and assured me – again in a voice that was perhaps louder than necessary – that I was welcome back whenever there was a need, if anything cropped up where she might be of help. She then added in a very quiet voice that she hoped she would be able to invite me back at some point later, once the case had been solved and the investigation closed.
I gave her a sheepish hug as we parted. It was then that I noticed that she had opened the top two buttons of her dress again. I mumbled that she should take care in the meantime and retreated swiftly.
Sandra Schelderup was waiting by the front door. I got a fright when I saw her, but then calmed down again when she said that she hoped that I had not found the music bothersome. She added that her daughter had a strong personality and her rebellious streak had become more apparent in the days since her father’s death. I assured her that it was fine and that she had a super daughter and said they should take good care of each other until the case was solved.
Safely back in the car, I sped through the gate as I contemplated what had happened in those minutes in Maria Irene’s room and wondered if it was real or a dream. My conclusion was that I had in reality been uncomfortably close to what could have been my life’s worst nightmare. At the same time, it could also be the opening for a dream situation once the investigation was closed, if only we arrested someone soon. I promptly agreed with myself that this episode must under no circumstances be mentioned to Patricia. And that I would simply write in the daily report to my boss that ‘both mother and daughter maintained once again that they had no knowledge of the missing key ring or the missing ring’.
VI
By the time I swung in to park outside the Wendelboes’ house in Ski, I was more or less in full control again. The investigation was now my biggest and only passion. Contrary to the situation only half an hour ago, I was now deeply grateful to Sandra Schelderup because she had so inadvertently prevented what might otherwise have turned into a scandal. I could not bear even to think about what my boss and jealous colleagues would have said, or what the media might have written about the case. So I thanked my lucky stars that I had been stopped in time, and promised myself to be more careful in my personal dealings with the people involved. Certainly until the case was closed. And I hoped that the Wendelboes might help me to do this.
Petter Johannes Wendelboe once again opened the door himself. I asked him how he and his good wife were keeping and was told that, unfortunately, things were still much better for him than for his wife. This was the closest to humour that I had known Petter Johannes Wendelboe to come and I felt that it was a promising start. So I suggested that perhaps we two should talk on our own again, without his wife. He nodded and showed me into the living room.
I got straight to the point and told him what I had discovered about Herlofsen’s visit to Arild Bratberg. Then I waited in anticipation for some kind of reaction, which never came. This reinforced my suspicion that I was onto something now. I reminded him that he had given a clear no to my question as to whether he had been in contact with Arild Bratberg or not. He immediately confirmed this. But to my question as to whether his wife had been in contact with him he replied, to my surprise, yes.
I looked at him askance, without eliciting any further reaction. I finally fathomed what the situation was, and asked the right question: in other words, whether Herlofsen had contacted them after his visit.
‘Herlofsen came here one day in the middle of February and was unusually agitated. He had been to see Bratberg and heard the story as you told it just now. As a result, he was now inclined to believe that it was Magdalon Schelderup himself who had shot Ole Kristian Wiig and that he might even be the Dark Prince. He asked me to consider whether we should confront Schelderup or take some sort of action. But that never happened, of course.’
He fell silent. I was starting to get to know Wendelboe now, and had understood what was needed to prod him, which was a concise question.
‘But you considered it enough for your wife to go and visit Arild Bratberg?’
Wendelboe nodded.
‘She went on her own initiative, in fact, without asking me. Yes, it is true that she went to see him and that she returned with the same impression as Herlofsen. The possibility of confronting Magdalon Schelderup was discussed again later. But never realized. Certainly not by us.’
‘Certainly not by us… So you think it is possible that Herlofsen may have acted alone?’
He shook his head.
‘There is nothing to indicate that he did, but that is of course not to say that he didn’t. He came here to discuss the possibility. And we dismissed it.’
Wendelboe’s stony face closed again as soon as he finished speaking. It felt as if I was banging my head against a brick wall.
‘When you say confrontation or action, could that possibly include an attempt on his life?’
‘Herlofsen did mention that as an option. But he never acted on it, certainly not as far as my wife and I know.’
It frustrated me to admit that I was not going to get any further here and now. So I said to Wendelboe that I would unfortunately also have to confirm this with his wife. He got up without a word and went out into the hallway. I stood beside him as he called up to her that she had to come down.
She appeared from one of the rooms almost immediately, visibly frail, but dressed and on her feet. We sat at the table and I asked her the same questions as I had asked her husband, and was given the same answers.
Yes, Herlofsen had come to see them and talked about the possibility of either confronting Magdalon Schelderup or taking some form of action. Yes, she had gone to see Arild Bratberg on her own initiative and she also believed his version of the story. Yes, the three of them had discussed the possibility of how to tackle Schelderup afterwards. But no, nothing had actually been done. At least, not as far as she knew.
The atmosphere in the room during this conversation was sombre, but not unfriendly. I regretted that I had not asked Mrs Wendelboe to be there from the start, but had little reason to believe that it would have made any difference. The extent to which the Wendelboes’ version was true or not was not easy to say. But it struck me that whatever the case, it was watertight before I came to see them. So I asked them to stay at home for the rest of the day and not to contact Herlofsen. Then I drove across town to see him.
VII
I found Hans Herlofsen where one might expect to find him at half past three on a working day: in the office in the centre of town, hidden behind a pile of papers full of figures and columns. He remarked in a quiet voice that work was the only thing keeping him going.