It seemed pretty pointless after all this to ask if Leonard Schelderup had been her lover and if she had shot him. So I settled for saying that I had to ask them all to account for their movements yesterday evening. Synnøve Jensen dried her tears and mumbled that she had been at home alone all evening and gone to bed early. She had never been invited to Leonard Schelderup’s home and had definitely never gone there. She had once heard his father phone him from the office, but she could not recall ever having spoken to Leonard Schelderup on the telephone. She had no idea where he lived in Skøyen or which bus to get there. None of this sounded improbable but, on the other hand, there was no one who could confirm it.
Synnøve Jensen’s wardrobe was by the door and it did not take much time to look through it, limited as it was. It did in fact contain a pair of shoes that might with some goodwill be called high-heeled, but nothing that resembled a mink coat, even seen through an old lady’s eyes. It struck me that the generosity that Magdalon Schelderup had shown to his mistress in his will did not seem to bear any relation to the generosity he had shown her when he was alive. I did not quite trust the idea that everything he had ever given her was now hanging here.
I drove away from Sørum with the feeling that Synnøve Jensen would definitely end up in hell if her fingerprints were found anywhere in Leonard Schelderup’s flat. And if not, I almost believed her already when she said that she had never been there. And in that case I had no idea who the dark-haired woman from the evening before might be.
Back at the police station, I was told that the results from the fingerprint analysis were not ready yet. So in the meantime I telephoned Hans Herlofsen and Magdalena Schelderup. Both were composed and seemed to be surprised by the news of Leonard Schelderup’s death. Both denied categorically that they had either called him or been to see him the day before. Both denied, even more vehemently, any knowledge as to who might have killed him. Magdalena Schelderup said that she had been at home alone, but had nothing to back this up. Hans Herlofsen had an alibi until ten o’clock: he had been in the office in the centre of town, in a meeting with three other members of staff about the future of the companies. But after that he was, in his own words, also home alone.
I spoke to both Sandra and Maria Irene Schelderup as soon as I could and the answer was much the same. Unlike the others, however, the two ladies at Schelderup Hall had a reliable alibi. Sandra Schelderup had been on the telephone to me about the time that the mysterious woman in the mink coat had visited Leonard Schelderup, and the police outside Schelderup Hall could confirm that both the mother and daughter had stayed at home. They had appeared in the windows at various times during the course of the evening and no one had left the house. The dogs had been quiet all night.
