Magdalena Schelderup was, understandably enough, not so pleased to hear my voice, but thawed as soon as she realized that I had phoned to warn her that the keys had been lost. About which she seemed to be remarkably calm. Her door was already reinforced by a security lock and an extra latch and padlock. It would appear that Magdalena Schelderup was the only one who was cheered by the disappearance of the keys.
Hans Herlofsen was curt and bitter in his reply that Magdalon Schelderup had always had a key to his house. It was the symbolic subjugation that pained and frustrated him most, but he was sadly in no position to oppose it. He did not trust what Magdalon Schelderup might do in a crisis, and had also secured his door with an extra padlock. Now that his son’s family were living on the ground floor, he reckoned the risk of any danger to be ‘well under 10 per cent’. Even if you disregarded Leonard Schelderup and the murderer, he was still one of eight possible victims should there be any more attacks. And in any case, he could not fathom who would be interested in killing him, now that Magdalon Schelderup himself was dead. In short, Hans Herlofsen also seemed to take the news with relatively good humour, given the circumstances.
Fredrik Schelderup, however, was in a foul mood, even given the circumstances. He sounded as though he had had a glass or three to steady his nerves already, even before I phoned. Whether it was the number of glasses, a late reaction to his brother’s death, or whether it was because there was a threat to his own safety was hard to say – though I strongly suspected it was the latter. He certainly lost his self-control when I told him that the keys were missing. It was a violent and in part incomprehensible outburst, the gist of which was that the police should have discovered this before and that surely, in 1969, a man should be able to feel safe in his own home, especially in Bygdøy. There was a loud bang when he threw the receiver onto the table.
He was, however, more subdued when he picked it up again a few seconds later. Despite the alcohol in his blood, Fredrik Schelderup was almost his usual self-centred and relaxed self. When he heard my offer of police protection until he got a new lock, he immediately accepted, but then added that the policeman standing guard must not stop two beautiful young ladies who might drop by, as they had nothing whatsoever to do with the case. I mentioned that there were a couple of other things that I would like to ask him about, but that it would perhaps be better to talk tomorrow when he was more sober. He laughed and signed off with a cheerful, ‘Here’s to that.’
