‘There is much to indicate that the Dark Prince may well have been one of the others who were around at the time. There are no doubt some who might think that revenge on a man who let you down was a possible motive.’
Magdalena Schelderup blew some smoke out into the room and then crushed the cigarette in an already overflowing ashtray.
‘I know more than a few who would dearly love to believe that, yes. But it is pointless all the same. The very idea that it was a crime of passion founders on the fact that I never loved Hans Petter and that he did not leave me for another woman. I did not miss him after he broke off the engagement. But I did cry for several hours when I heard that he was dead. Even though I did not love him, he was a good man. The fact that he had been shot in the dark in his own home by an unknown killer did not make it any easier. After all, I had lain there in that very bed with him only a few months before. So I dressed myself up in black and went to the funeral and have since spent many an hour speculating about who might have killed him. But I have never found a sure answer.’
‘But you had your suspicions about who the Dark Prince was?’
She lit another cigarette. And once again it crossed my mind that there was something odd about her hands.
‘Yes, I have had plenty of time to think about it as I whiled away the hours here on my own. In fact I have had several theories over the years. But there is one that I believe in more than the others. I am going to keep it to myself, though. It is rather tenuous and I do not like spreading rumours.’
Her answer was absolute. So I moved quickly on.
‘And then there was the strange coincidence with Bjørn Varden. As I understand it, you happened to be in the flat only days before he was killed. Is that right?’
Magdalena Schelderup stubbed out her cigarette in a burst of fury and then slammed her bony hand down on the table.
‘My, everyone suddenly seems very keen to blame an old scapegoat. I won’t even ask if it was the Wendelboes or Bjørn Varden’s poor widow who told you that. I have always had nothing but sympathy for her. She lost her one true love in a much more painful way than I did. Though to be fair, she still had a child to live for, which is more than I did.’
The fire in Magdalena Schelderup’s ageing body flared up fast, but then died down again just as quickly. Her eyes were darker and her voice weaker when, after a slight pause, she spoke again.
