Satellite People - [55]

Beate’s face blanched even more and she made a hasty exit as soon as she had gathered up the plates.

There were times when I wondered whether Patricia was serious, but knew that she could be truly horrible. And this was certainly such an occasion. But at such a critical stage in a murder investigation, it would perhaps not be prudent to raise the issue. So I took the episode as another example of how self-centred Patricia could be, and how vulnerable she became when the order in her domestic universe was threatened. In order to lighten the situation as swiftly as possible, I quickly asked how she knew the Wendelboes’ telephone number off by heart.

‘I have memorized the numbers of all those involved. You have nothing to fear, though, I will most definitely leave all direct contact with them to you. I have always found it easy to remember numbers, and being able to keep telephone numbers in my head has proved – as just demonstrated – to be very practical.’

I had to agree with her, yet again.

XIII

Around nine o’clock I went back to the police station to finish my report. Once I had done this I wrote out Patricia’s suggested wording for a police bulletin. In the absence of any new findings, I could think of no other means of solving the murder of Leonard Schelderup. It was still a mystery to me who of the possible suspects might want to kill Leonard Schelderup and how it had come to pass. Even though I did not place as much weight on the position of the murder weapon as Patricia did, I had to admit that it was yet another puzzling piece within the greater mystery.

The police bulletin that Patricia had written was relayed to the national broadcaster at Marienlyst by phone, and they promised to read it out on the morning news. I was still somewhat sceptical as to whether Leonard Schelderup’s unidentified guest would contact us voluntarily, but saw no reason not to try.

The switchboard informed me that the newspapers had shown far more interest in Leonard Schelderup’s death than they had in his father’s. Both news desks and sports desks were on the story now. I hastily wrote a short press release to confirm that Leonard Schelderup had been found shot in his own home, and that the police were working on the premise that there might be a direct connection with his father’s death two days earlier. I also left a message that I would like to receive the census files for Arild Bratberg and Mona Varden as soon as possible the following day.

I finally drove home at around ten o’clock. Tuesday, 13 May 1969 had been a long and demanding day. After having watched a short report about Leonard Schelderup’s death on the evening news, I went to bed with one more murder investigation than I had had at the start of the day. Despite this, I went to sleep that night with a growing belief that the case would be solved within a few days.

For some reason, I fell asleep with the image of two young ladies playing on my mind. One was not surprisingly Patricia Louise Borchmann, and the other was Maria Irene Schelderup. It bothered me that both the possible motives for the Schelderup murders that Patricia had mentioned could also constitute a danger to Maria Irene’s life.

DAY FIVE: On Overgrown Paths

I

When I sat down to breakfast on Wednesday, 14 May 1969, the only thing I could say with any certainty was that the anonymity with which Leonard Schelderup had lived his life, despite being the heir to millions and an athletics star, contrasted dramatically with the fame he achieved in death. The main story of the day was a major fire in the centre of Tromsø, but all the big newspapers reported on Leonard Schelderup’s death in the sports pages, and most of them ran a headline on the front page. ‘Olympic Flame Snuffed Out’ was the headline across the top of Dagbladet’s front page. The papers all wrote that at the time of his death, Leonard Schelderup had been one of Norway’s greatest hopes for the Summer Olympics in 1972, something I could not recall any of them having written before.

All the newspapers had pulled out photographs from last year’s national championships. I was struck by how unruffled and earnest he looked both before and after he crossed the finishing line, and when he stood on the podium to receive his medal. Petter Johannes Wendelboe was not the only person involved in this case who never smiled. I had never actually seen Leonard Schelderup smile, in a photograph or in real life. With the exception of the carefree, partying older son, any smiles from Magdalon Schelderup’s supper guests were few and far between. I thought to myself that what Patricia had said about how terrible the case was, and how cold and bleak it was out there in the spheres of the surviving satellite people, was entirely appropriate.

I opened the door to my office at nine o’clock on the dot, just as the telephone started to ring.

‘Detective Inspector Kolbjørn Kristiansen,’ I rattled off when I picked up the phone. The first thing I heard was a relieved sigh, followed by an unidentified man’s voice.