By the time I swung in to park outside the Wendelboes’ house in Ski, I was more or less in full control again. The investigation was now my biggest and only passion. Contrary to the situation only half an hour ago, I was now deeply grateful to Sandra Schelderup because she had so inadvertently prevented what might otherwise have turned into a scandal. I could not bear even to think about what my boss and jealous colleagues would have said, or what the media might have written about the case. So I thanked my lucky stars that I had been stopped in time, and promised myself to be more careful in my personal dealings with the people involved. Certainly until the case was closed. And I hoped that the Wendelboes might help me to do this.
Petter Johannes Wendelboe once again opened the door himself. I asked him how he and his good wife were keeping and was told that, unfortunately, things were still much better for him than for his wife. This was the closest to humour that I had known Petter Johannes Wendelboe to come and I felt that it was a promising start. So I suggested that perhaps we two should talk on our own again, without his wife. He nodded and showed me into the living room.
I got straight to the point and told him what I had discovered about Herlofsen’s visit to Arild Bratberg. Then I waited in anticipation for some kind of reaction, which never came. This reinforced my suspicion that I was onto something now. I reminded him that he had given a clear no to my question as to whether he had been in contact with Arild Bratberg or not. He immediately confirmed this. But to my question as to whether his wife had been in contact with him he replied, to my surprise, yes.
I looked at him askance, without eliciting any further reaction. I finally fathomed what the situation was, and asked the right question: in other words, whether Herlofsen had contacted them after his visit.
‘Herlofsen came here one day in the middle of February and was unusually agitated. He had been to see Bratberg and heard the story as you told it just now. As a result, he was now inclined to believe that it was Magdalon Schelderup himself who had shot Ole Kristian Wiig and that he might even be the Dark Prince. He asked me to consider whether we should confront Schelderup or take some sort of action. But that never happened, of course.’
He fell silent. I was starting to get to know Wendelboe now, and had understood what was needed to prod him, which was a concise question.
