Satellite People - [51]

At the time of his death, Jens Rune Meier was unmarried. He was a thirty-two-year-old lawyer who lived in Kolsås; a Norwegian citizen from a good middle-class family, but his grandfather had been from Germany, so he had a German surname. It would appear that the occupying forces and the NS had had high hopes for him and, if rumour was to be believed, he was being touted as a possible cabinet minister in Quisling’s government.

Jens Rune Meier glared at me from a black-and-white passport photograph dated autumn 1941, and from a report about the attack in the NS newspaper, Fritt Folk. I sat there for a couple of minutes looking him in the eye without finding the answer as to whether he had been the Dark Prince or not. Following liberation in 1945, no guns were found that in any way resembled the missing 9×19mm calibre Walther pistol. I sat there a little longer musing on where it might be today, as I wrote the short daily report for my boss. The report was not the best I had written, in terms either of language or content. My thoughts were preoccupied with what Patricia might be able to deduce from the new information about the case. In the end, I put the report to one side and drove over to see her a quarter of an hour earlier than agreed.

XII

Patricia listened while we ate the starter and I told her in detail about how Leonard Schelderup was found and the circumstances surrounding his death. She uttered a disapproving ‘hmmh’ several times. And this was clearly not with reference to the delicious vegetable soup.

But she really only got into her stride shortly after the main course had been put on the table and I finally told her about my visit to Petter Johannes Wendelboe. She then became so intensely interested that it took several minutes before she even touched the tenderloin on her plate. I had both expected and hoped that she would show greater interest in Magdalena Schelderup and her wartime fiancé. What instead fascinated Patricia was the chronology of her fiancé’s death and other events that took place within the group.

‘Hans Petter Nilsen was killed on 12 May and Bjørn Varden on 5 September 1941. Magdalon Schelderup joined the Resistance group in the summer of 1941, and the NS member, Jens Rune Meier, was executed at Easter 1942, following Schelderup’s suggestion just before Christmas 1941… The pattern is so striking that I do not for a moment believe that it is coincidence.’

I nodded and racked my brains to discover what this striking pattern might be.

‘Did you ask Wendelboe if he could remember what date Magdalon Schelderup joined the group? Because that is one of the two key questions that I need to have answered before I can move on.’

I shook my head apologetically. Patricia’s reaction was as instantaneous as it was surprising. She lifted her telephone from the table and held the receiver out to me.

‘Then ring him and ask now!’

I looked at Patricia, astonished, and saw that she was deadly earnest and impatient.

‘Please call Petter Johannes Wendelboe at once! This is extremely important, and will possibly determine whether my theory is correct or not. And if my theory is right, we will have taken a great leap forward.’

I was not entirely sure about calling the Wendelboes at this time in the evening, so tried to bide my time.

‘And what date would Schelderup have to have joined for your theory to be confirmed?’

Patricia did not bat an eyelid and replied immediately.

‘If I was going to give a date for when he joined the Resistance movement, I would say 23, 24 or 25 June 1941. But any time within a fortnight after would also fit. If, on the other hand, Wendelboe says that Magdalon Schelderup joined earlier, then my otherwise alluring theory falls apart.’

I understood nothing. Not a jot. Either about what kind of theory one might build around the chronology of these events, or where the dates 23, 24 or 25 June had sprung from. I sent Patricia a pleading look, but she continued to stare at me without touching her food. As I then continued to prevaricate, Patricia did the most extraordinary thing. She dialled the number from memory and quickly handed me the receiver. I had barely had time to put it to my ear when I heard an authoritative male voice say: ‘You have called the Wendelboes, can I help you?’ Patricia leant forward across the table to hear what he was saying.

I stammered an apology for disturbing him again, but assured him that I only had one short, straightforward question about the Second World War, which was of some importance, and that was if he could remember around what date Magdalon Schelderup had contacted him in 1941 to offer his services.

‘The twenty-fourth of June.’

The date rang out in my ear. I had to put my other hand up to the receiver in order not to drop it in surprise. And above the telephone I saw Patricia sitting waving her hands triumphantly above her head in silence, like a footballer who has just scored a goal.

‘And you are absolutely certain of that?’

I could hear the sceptical edge in my own voice, but there was no doubt whatsoever in his.