Satellite People (37 page)

‘So what you are now saying, in plain language, is that you think Maria Irene Schelderup was driving the car when Sandra Schelderup went to murder Synnøve Jensen?’

Patricia looked even more dejected and shook her head.

‘No. Unfortunately it is far worse than that. What I am saying, in plain language, is that Sandra Schelderup was driving the car when Maria Irene went to murder Synnøve Jensen. And
it is not just something I think, but that I know.’

I had not expected this, and it was definitely worse than anticipated. I sat as if paralysed and stared at Patricia.

The steaming cups of coffee remained so far untouched on both sides of the table. Patricia now emptied her cup in one go.

‘It is the only possible solution, sadly. I have in fact had my suspicions all along. Remember that there was no key to Synnøve Jensen’s house. Synnøve Jensen would
never in her life have let Sandra Schelderup in, because she both hated and feared her. But she might well have let Maria Irene in as, naive and trusting as she was, she liked her and thought of
her as an innocent child.’

The bottom of my world, my triumph and my future dreams fell out and came crashing down. I made a feeble attempt at protest.

‘But surely there are other possible explanations . . . for example, that she opened the door for Sandra Schelderup in the belief that it was me.’

Patricia poured herself another cup of coffee and drank it, then shook her head mercilessly when she was done.

‘Possibly, but highly unlikely. Synnøve Jensen did not even have a doorbell. She no doubt looked out of the window when someone knocked on the door, as she did on your first visit.
But there are several more grave issues here. What Synnøve Jensen in her desperation was trying to tell you when she waved her hand towards the stairs and then patted her tummy was, first,
that the murderer had gone upstairs, and second, that the murderer was the child. The reason that you suddenly thought of Leonard Schelderup as you ran up the slope was because the footfall of the
person in front subconsciously reminded you of his, because, as you noticed earlier in the investigations, his sister has the same light step.’

We both sat there in sombre thought. Patricia lifted the coffee pot again to see if there was anything left, but then threw up a hand in exasperation when she found it empty.

I tried to ask Patricia how she had worked out the existence of the tunnel. She answered in a distracted and distant voice that she had developed that theory from quite early on. It did not seem
likely that a former Resistance fighter of Magdalon Schelderup’s character would live in a house without a secret escape. This was confirmed by the times at which the dogs barked on the night
that Synnøve Jensen was killed, as it chimed well with when the tunnel would have been used if the murderer came from Schelderup Hall. The dogs had registered sounds and movement even if the
policemen on duty had not seen anyone.

‘I have to say you are right again, and that really does make this an incredibly depressing story,’ I eventually conceded.

Patricia gave an even sadder sigh.

‘But the most bitter pill is yet to be swallowed . . . namely, that we can sit here and know who the murderer is, but have no evidence to prove it in court. And legally that is not
sufficient to pass a judgement; in fact, it will barely suffice to keep someone on remand. Sandra Schelderup’s confession is plausible, and, as far as I have understood, you have submitted a
written report in which you state that you could not recognize the person you were chasing. The issue of the time it takes to open a car door thus becomes our word against hers. I can already hear
the lawyer objecting to the hand on the stomach. Could that really be called evidence, that a dying pregnant woman instinctively puts her hand to her stomach . . . ?’

Patricia took my cup of coffee and drank it straight down. Then she sat there as if all the energy had drained from her body. I heard my own voice quivering with emotion when I tried to sum it
all up.

‘You are right about everything. We know who the real murderer is, but unless we find some technical evidence, we simply have to let her go – with an enormous inheritance.’

Patricia nodded almost imperceptibly. Despite her massive intake of caffeine, she sat as though otherwise dead in her wheelchair. Only her eyes showed that she was alive.

‘And that despite your enormous efforts, the like of which I have never seen,’ I added.

But Patricia was definitely not in the mood for more flattery today. She sat passively in her wheelchair for a few seconds more. Then she suddenly slammed her fist down on the table with
unexpected strength.

‘So close yet so far. A thoroughly cynical, egocentric and evil person who shot a young, pregnant woman in her own home and then stood there and watched her and her unborn child die a
painful death. And she may get off scot-free, with an astronomical inheritance into the bargain.’

I thought quietly to myself that the problem was even greater than that. Patricia was about to lose the battle with a young woman of the same age, who not only could walk, but also had the world
as her oyster. This feeling was reinforced by her next comment.

‘Now I feel as you did when you were chasing after the murderer. I can see her in front of me, I can see her face and even call her name, but I still cannot catch her.’

There was not much more to say. So we sat there in silence for a while longer.

Patricia had tears in her eyes when she eventually threw up her hands.

‘But there really is no more that I can squeeze from this lemon now, so no one else will be able to either. She has been both ingenuous and lucky. The known facts give no evidence against
her. So perhaps you should just leave me alone to weep bitter tears over this tragedy. I am sure that you do not need Beate to show you out any more.’

I was reluctant to leave Patricia alone in such a despairing mood. But her voice was forceful and clear, and there was nothing I could say to cheer her up.

It was only after I had closed the door behind me that a new thought occurred to me.

I stopped for a moment, then turned around and went hesitantly back into the room with cautious steps.

I had not anticipated the sight that met me. Patricia was lying over the table with her face down. There was no movement or sound whatsoever, and with a cold blast of fear, I worried briefly
that she too had lost her life in some mysterious way. But then, fortunately, I heard her sobbing.

I tiptoed out again as silently as I could, and knocked on the door. It took a few seconds before Patricia whispered that I should come in. When I entered again she was sitting up in her
wheelchair, but looked broken and very gloomy. I thought I could see a redness to her eyes, and stood waiting by the door.

‘There was a small episode involving Maria Irene at Schelderup Hall that I have not wanted to mention before . . . but perhaps I should now, even though I am not sure how much it might
help.’

I looked away as I said this and prayed that I was not blushing like a schoolboy. When I turned back, Patricia’s body language had changed entirely. She was now sitting up straight and as
near to on her toes as she could be in a wheelchair, as though ready to jump over the table.

‘Well, sit yourself back down and tell me, then,’ she urged me.

So I sat down and told her.

It felt a little odd to start with the sentence: ‘I have danced with Maria Irene . . .’

Patricia rolled her eyes, but fortunately all she said was: ‘In principle, dubious but of very little practical use. Tell me as precisely and in as much detail as possible what she said,
how she looked and what happened otherwise.’

Patricia listened in deep silence and concentration while I told her the story. Then a slow smile slid over her face.

‘It only remains to be seen whether that is sufficient evidence for a judgement. However, there is one very interesting detail in what you just told me, which certainly justifies another
round of questions,’ she said.

‘Now I have her within reach again,’ she added, rubbing her hands with glee. ‘If she falls now, she truly is a victim of her own excessive ambition,’ Patricia remarked,
with a cackling and wholly unsympathetic laugh.

V

‘Thus far it is all very understandable, if tragic and deplorable. My mother has murdered one person and attempted to murder another out of a misconstrued love for me and
a desire to increase my share of the inheritance. I am obviously extremely upset about it. But why on earth should I be called in here; what more do you expect me to say?’

Maria Irene looked at me across the table of the interview room with pleading, nonplussed eyes. As did her lawyer, Edvard Rønning Junior, who was sitting beside her. The prosecutor, who
was sitting beside me, also sent me a questioning look.

‘The problem is, first of all, that your mother cannot have committed the murder alone, as she describes. We have an eyewitness who confirms that the car door was shut. And it would not
have been possible for the person ahead of me to open the door, get in, start the engine and drive off before I got there.’

All three slowly seemed to understand this. Maria Irene nodded thoughtfully.

‘You really have thought of everything in this investigation. But I am afraid that again I cannot help you. Now that you say it, I do not doubt that my mother had an accomplice who drove
the car, but I have not the faintest idea of who that could be. As far as I know, my mother has no secret lover, nor any friends who would be willing to help her with something like
this.’

‘Precisely,’ I said.

The silence in the interview room was becoming ever more oppressive. Maria Irene had understood the significance, but was holding out for as long as possible before admitting it.

‘So what you are now implying is that I was with her and drove the car? But that is absurd, as I do not even have a driving licence.’

‘That is correct, my client does not have a driving licence,’ Rønning Junior repeated emphatically.

I ignored the lawyer and looked straight at Maria Irene.

‘I am not saying that you drove the car. I am in fact saying that your mother drove the car and that you committed the murder.’

This time the reaction from both the defence and the prosecution lawyers was instantaneous. Maria Irene, on the other hand, sat there just as calmly for a few seconds before pulling a somewhat
exaggerated face.

‘This is becoming more and more absurd. I have never committed a crime of any sort in my life.’

She was convincing and I saw the look of disbelief on both lawyer’s faces, so hurried on.

‘It is perhaps true that you had never committed a crime before the evening in question. But that evening you committed a murder. I was close enough to recognize your tread, which is
remarkably similar to that of your late brother. And what is more, you are the only person Synnøve Jensen would have let in. You knocked on the door and were admitted, you pulled out the
pistol and shot her, you stood there waiting for the poor woman to die, and you cunningly dropped the pistol, then ran and hid when I knocked on the door.’

Six eyes were staring at Maria Irene with increasing interest. Her gaze was steadily fixed on me, as calm and irritatingly self-assured as ever.

‘With all due respect, this is all nonsense, unfounded speculation. I was at home in my bed at Gulleråsen when this terrible tragedy took place at Sørum. I was obviously on my
own, so the lack of witnesses is hardly surprising.’

Rønning Junior rushed to his client’s aid, in a long-winded way.

‘May I be permitted to say, Detective Inspector, that you are now making very serious accusations indeed on rather flimsy evidence. We seem to be caught in a classic situation of one
person’s word against another’s – in this case yours against my client’s – as to whether she was at the scene of the crime or not. And according to the fundamental
principles of law, her word carries as much weight as yours. I would therefore like to ask why my client has not been confronted with this charge before, when you claim to have identified her
already on the night of the murder?’

I nodded.

‘A very timely question, sir. The answer is that there was still a good deal of uncertainty regarding the involvement of your client’s mother, and that we were waiting for stronger
evidence, which we now have.’

All three stared at me in silence, Maria Irene with an apparently genuine look of surprise and slightly raised eyebrows.

I produced the pistol and showed that there were six bullets left in the magazine before putting it down on the table.

‘This is the murder weapon. The two bullets that are missing are the one that killed Synnøve Jensen and the warning shot that I fired over the murderer’s head. You and your
mother found the weapon hidden in the secret passage in Schelderup Hall. You used it without knowing that this was the gun your father had used to liquidate two other members of the Resistance
group he was in during the war.’

Maria Irene shook her head resolutely.

‘I did not know that my father had shot anyone from the Resistance during the war and have never seen that pistol before now. And I knew nothing about the secret passage until this
morning.’

I hurried on as soon as she had closed her mouth.

‘It is quite probably the case that you did not know about your father’s crimes during the war. But it is not true that you have never seen this pistol, or that you have never been
in the secret passage.’

I took a short, dramatic pause.

‘You will perhaps remember that at an earlier stage of the investigation I danced with you briefly in your room?’

Both lawyers were once again taken aback. Maria Irene nodded, with a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

‘This breach of normal investigation standards was made solely in the hope of securing evidence in the case. Which I did.’

I opened my briefcase and took out another object which I then placed on the table. The red diamond and gold chain sparkled in the light.