Satellite People - [56]

‘Thank goodness that I have managed to get hold of you. I have nothing whatsoever to do with the murder of Leonard Schelderup, but I am the person who visited him last night between ten o’clock and midnight. I would be more than happy to tell you what little I know, if that can help solve the murder. I would rather not come to the police station if at all possible. Could I meet you somewhere else later on today?’

It was my turn to be silent for a while. As he spoke, I finally understood the circumstances.

Just to make sure, I asked if he had by any chance visited the flat on other occasions through the spring, and if so, what he had been wearing. He replied immediately that he had been there several times and that he had been wearing a hat and a coat with the collar turned up. It occurred to me that I had heard his voice somewhere before, but I was not able to place it without seeing him.

I heard myself saying that I was a liberal young man under forty too, and did not wish to cause any problems for him. So I suggested that we meet in a cafe on one of the side streets off Karl Johan, the main shopping street, at midday, and added that there was a reasonable chance that his name could be kept out of the public eye if he answered all my questions. He assured me that he would do as much as he could to help solve the murder and promised to be waiting at a table at the back of the cafe at midday. Then he put down the phone.

Left alone with the dialling tone, I decided that I had managed to clear up some of the mystery surrounding Leonard Schelderup, but that I was still far from solving his murder. I sat there and speculated idly about where on earth I had heard his guest’s voice before. But that was a mystery that would hopefully be solved soon enough. So in the meantime I let it go, having first gone through a quick elimination round to make sure that it did not belong to anyone I had met in the course of the investigation.

II

As there were no better clues to follow up in the Leonard Schelderup case, I turned to the overgrown paths from the Second World War for the rest of the morning.

The first thing I encountered was a setback. The census records for Arild Bratberg stopped with the note that he was registered dead on 14 March 1969. He was recorded as living at an address in Rodeløkka, but according to his file had also spent substantial periods in Gaustad Mental Hospital. He was last registered as leaving there in December 1968, following a sojourn of one year.

I finally managed to get hold of the head doctor who had been responsible for the ward where Arild Bratberg had stayed during his last periods there.

The doctor’s voice on the other end of the phone was deep-frozen to begin with. Fortunately it then thawed somewhat when he realized that I was ‘that well-known detective inspector from the newspapers’, and that the case might also be connected to the ‘much-talked-about and very interesting Schelderup murders’. By this stage he was almost friendly.

The doctor was willing, ‘between you and me’, not to make too much fuss about confidentiality, given that the person in question was dead and had no family. He could therefore tell me that Arild Bratberg’s death had been long anticipated. He had for many years been a ‘committed chain-smoker and heavy drinker’, and had developed lung cancer. At his own wish, he had been discharged so that he could celebrate Christmas at home and then die. The doctor added that there might well have been a celebration at Bratberg’s home in Rodeløkka, but it was not likely that there had been many guests. Both his parents were dead and his siblings had not been in touch for years. The doctor said, by way of explanation, that seeing Bratberg was often not a pleasant experience.

The only person who had visited Arild Bratberg in recent years was a ‘very caring’ elderly neighbour from Rodeløkka, a widow by the name of Maja Karstensen. She had no doubt looked after him when he got home. His answer to my question whether Arild Bratberg had been seriously and chronically mentally ill was a definitive yes. His answer to my question whether the war had contributed to this was also yes, though it was very likely that there was something there from birth or childhood. The staff all knew about the judgement after the war and he had ‘maintained repeatedly on many occasions and often with great intensity’ that he had never killed anyone. However, all he could do was regurgitate his ridiculous explanation over and over again. In recent years it seemed that he had become less violent, though he could still be threatening if anyone mentioned the case or challenged him in this connection.

I thanked the doctor and then picked up the telephone directory. And sure enough, there was a Maja Karstensen listed who lived on the same street in Rodeløkka as Arild Bratberg. She was at home and would be happy to talk to me if it was of any help. It might perhaps be best if I could come to her, she said, with a small sigh. Her legs were not what they used to be and she had sold her bicycle. I suggested that I could be there at half past one, and she promised to have the coffee ready when I got there.