The first part of the story only served to strengthen my suspicions regarding Synnøve Jensen, to the point that I nearly drove straight out to arrest her. But then I hesitated when I heard that the visitor had a mink coat. I could not imagine that Synnøve Jensen would possess such a garment and had certainly seen no sign of anything resembling that in her humble abode. This was followed by another cold shower when I realized that Leonard Schelderup had telephoned me after the woman had left. So it was difficult to imagine anything other than that he was still alive.
When I asked about any later visits, Mrs Abrahamsen was evasive and apologetic. As she was not expecting any further drama that evening, she had gone to bed around ten o’clock; she had slept soundly, as she was suffering from a cold. She had woken up around midnight and thought that she heard some hasty steps outside on the stairs, but had then fallen asleep again without hearing any more. The doorbell had not rung, because then she would have heard it. When I asked whether the footsteps she heard later on that night could have been the same, only this time perhaps without heels, she was ashamed to say she did not know. She had only been half awake, and did not dare say anything other than that the footsteps she had heard around midnight were hasty.
This could undoubtedly still be combined with my theory so far, that it was Synnøve Jensen if not both times, then certainly the second time, and it was she who had shot Leonard Schelderup in the early hours. It could well have been out of desperation because he had got cold feet and wanted to confess that he was the father of her child and that it was they who had killed his father.
The theory was in no way idiot-proof, I had to admit. It grated even on my ear. But still it grated less than all the other theories I could think of, so in the end I got into my car and drove out to Sørum.
Synnøve Jensen sat at the kitchen table and cried.
For a long time. Her tears dripped onto my hand when I eventually reached out to put it on her shoulder. Either she was a particularly good actress with a talent for crying when the situation so required, or she was telling the truth when she maintained that she was very sad to hear about the death of Leonard Schelderup. She had never really had the chance to get to know him properly, but he was, after all, the brother of her unborn child and he had always seemed like such a quiet and good person, so she had not a word to say against him. And he had most certainly not had an easy life, caught between his divorced parents and in relation to his new stepmother. And another murder only two days after the first was an even greater shock. So Synnøve Jensen continued to weep.
