I relived for a second the moment in my last case when I suddenly found myself staring down the barrel of a loaded gun. Despite the instinctive feeling of unease, I also felt a deep sense of satisfaction and triumph. Maria Irene’s soft iron mask had finally shattered. Her eyes were burning and her slim hand trembled dangerously with the weight of the pistol. When she broke the silence, her voice was also trembling dangerously.
‘I did not think you were that intelligent!’ she said, with a delightful undertone of desperation.
I relished the apparently menacing situation, and mentally thanked Patricia for her meticulous preparation before I answered.
‘In which case you have underestimated me again. Because I was certainly smart enough to replace the bullets in the murder weapon with blanks before putting it down within your reach,’ I told her, with hard-won composure.
And in the most incredible fashion, all the tension in the room dissolved into what could almost be described as a relaxed peace in the course of a few seconds. I remained seated and observed the threatening spark die in Maria Irene’s eyes. Then I got up and reached for the pistol. She stood and hesitated for a moment before she slowly gave it to me. Her hand was no longer shaking, and for a moment I thought I caught the hint of a smile.
Then I sat back down, impressed by my own self control. I did have a burning desire to throw myself over Maria Irene and twist her arms up behind her back, but instead I kept my calm and enjoyed my triumph in silence as I watched Maria Irene sink back down onto her chair.
It was only then that I discovered that the prosecutor was also back in his chair. Rønning Junior peeped over the edge of the table and said in a remarkably level voice: ‘Based on this latest development in the case, it might perhaps be beneficial to all parties if I had a brief consultation with my client in private.’
I gave him a friendly nod, picked up the gun and waved to the prosecutor to follow me. The gold chain and diamond were still on the floor by the door. I bent down discreetly and picked them up as I passed.
The prosecutor and I stopped outside the door. He congratulated me on my successful investigation. To begin with, I said simply that it had been a complicated and tragic affair, with many pieces that had gradually fallen into place. When he then congratulated me for a fourth time, I allowed myself to say that I was extremely pleased with my own performance. At that moment, the door opened and Rønning Junior waved us in again.
‘In order to avoid any further misunderstandings in this case, I would just like to confirm that the outcome of the current murder investigation is naturally of no importance to the question of Magdalon Schelderup’s will. It is clear that my client had nothing to do with the deaths of her father and half-brother. Synnøve Jensen was not an heir, and the foetus had no legal status prior to birth.’
I looked at the defence lawyer with horrified fascination. Then I looked at the prosecutor, who gave me a short nod. Which I then returned, though reluctantly.
‘Now that the framework is clear, my client is willing to confess to the murder of Synnøve Jensen and to cooperate with the police with regard to resolving the final details of the case. She will plead guilty to the murder. We will, however, cite several mitigating circumstances. In addition to the confession, these include my client’s age, family wealth and her rather unusual upbringing, as well as the emotional shock and grief triggered by the sudden deaths of her father and brother. Her version is that it was her mother who planned the murder and persuaded her to carry it out, and we have every hope that a revised statement from her mother will support this interpretation.’
My initial sense of triumph was now giving way to far more complex feelings. There was something about the combination of the lawyer’s voice and Maria Irene’s expressionless face that made me want to scream out my frustration at her shocking lack of grief and other human emotions, and her inhuman treatment of Synnøve Jensen.
The lawyer’s voice droned on without cease, as if he were already in court.
‘The defence will accordingly request seven years’ imprisonment, with the hope of parole after four for good behaviour.’
My feelings of revulsion at Maria Irene’s lack of humanity in no way diminished, but did have to give way to a reluctant admiration in the face of her renewed composure. It was she who held out her hand when we stood up to leave, and congratulated me on carrying out such a thorough investigation. She added quickly that she did not hold a personal grudge against me and that the pleasure would be hers entirely should we meet ‘under more favourable circumstances later in life’.
Her hand felt dry, cold and hard in mine. I withdrew my hand rather sooner than usual and in a strange way found the cigarette smoke outside the interview room rather refreshing.
VI
‘What a turniphead she turned out to be after all!’
Patricia smiled her smuggest smile, and paused demonstratively before helping herself to some cauliflower. The clock on the wall had just struck eleven. It was late evening on 17 May, the day we celebrate Norway’s constitution, but more importantly now, the day we celebrated the conclusion of another successful murder investigation. The adrenaline was still pumping in our veins and we were now well into the main course of a truly celebratory meal.
‘Her critical mistake was to deny any knowledge of the necklace instead of the pistol. Had she instead admitted that she had taken the diamond necklace from the secret passage and worn it during the meeting with you, it would hardly have been possible to link her to the pistol and the murder. But I guessed that she was not that intelligent, and it had been luck so far.’
I nodded. Tonight I would accept practically anything that Patricia said.
‘You should be very happy with what you have achieved, it really is quite remarkable. Not only did you solve three apparently inexplicable murders from the present day, you also solved three murders from the war,’ I told her.
Patricia’s smile was even broader.
‘And, please do not forget an almost fossilized case of insurance fraud,’ she added. ‘The diamond case was so old that it is unlikely that anyone from the insurance company is alive to remember it, but the truth will always out, even if it takes decades.’
I nodded, but said nothing.
‘You do not seem to be overly happy, despite the fact that the investigation is now closed and all the murders are solved,’ she commented, after a pause.
I shook my head.
‘When I do a headcount of the ten guests from Magdalon Schelderup’s last supper, there are now two dead, two in prison and two on the verge of a nervous breakdown… The host’s Machiavellian plan to spread fear and chaos amongst his guests has worked alarmingly well.’
Patricia gave a pensive shrug and waggled her head at the same time.
‘Yes and no. It was a truly Machiavellian plan that took the lives of some of his guests and ruined the lives of other. It remains to be seen how Mrs Wendelboe and Ingrid Schelderup will cope with life after this. But the others from the war who are still alive, including Mona Varden and Maja Karstensen, did finally get an answer as to what actually happened. Herlofsen will certainly have a better life for however long remains, and that may also be the case for Magdalena Schelderup and the Wendelboes. Fredrik Schelderup perhaps does not deserve it, but he will have an even more carefree life than before. The Schelderup mother and daughter have to take full responsibility for their egoism and greed. So tragedy really only applies to the two young people who died. We were in the nick of time to save the useless Fredrik Schelderup’s life and inheritance, but not to save his far nicer brother, Leonard, or the hardworking and honest Synnøve Jensen. Unfortunately, the lot of a murder investigator is that one can do no more than solve frightful crimes and bring those responsible to justice. It is normally very difficult to solve a murder before it has happened.’