I said that I fully understood his situation, and then tagged on a comment that he and his dead father seemed to be very different. Leonard Schelderup chewed frantically on his gum for a few moments before his answer more or less tumbled out of his mouth: ‘Yes and no. It’s easy to understand that it might seem that way. I am very influenced by what other people think and say about me, and I actually care about other people’s feelings. Neither were ever traits of my father. I am often nervous when meeting people and have never been interested in business. But there were similarities. I have a lot of my father’s willpower and his competitive streak, but use it instead on the track and at university. And that was not what my father wanted. But in recent years it seemed that he did understand and respect me a little more. We have unfortunately never had a good relationship. But I hope that it was not quite so bad in the last year of his life.’
He swiftly added: ‘I was eight when my father came into my room one day and told me that my mother was moving out and that I would be staying here without her. Our relationship never really moved on from there. I have long since accepted that my father is who he is and had absolutely no reason at all to wish him dead now. It still seems very unreal that he has been murdered, and why he chose me to taste his food is a mystery.’
The formulation ‘had absolutely no reason at all to wish him dead now’ immediately caught my attention. I asked, in a sharper tone, whether that meant that he had previously wished his father were dead.
Leonard Schelderup’s jaws worked even harder on the chewing gum before he answered.
‘I may have said something of the sort to him when I was a teenager, when I was rebelling. I thought he treated my mother appallingly both before and after the divorce, and whatever I did was apparently of no interest whatsoever to him. Shouting at my father was like banging your head against the wall. He never lost control and just looked down at me and through me, superior in every way. Even when I was taller than him. It always ended with me coming to apologize. And then he still just looked at me overbearingly. Deep down I hated him for many years, and in my youth I had some violent outbursts. But I have never really wanted to kill him and, what’s more, have never done anything to attempt it.’
He squirmed in his chair and added in a quiet voice: ‘Though God knows who will believe that now.’
