Fredrik Schelderup sat contemplating something in between two glasses of wine. He lit a cigar, but it did nothing to lift his mood. Now he spoke finally in a voice that was almost sad.
‘I have never believed that Leonard would ever be happy, and I don’t believe that he did either. Regardless of whether he won gold or a stipend to do a Ph.D. All the same, in recent months it seemed as though his heart was lighter. What a tragic end to a short and no doubt challenging life.’
He looked sombre when he said this. It seemed that the gravity of the situation had finally caught up with him. However, when I asked if the reason for his brother’s lighter mood in recent months was a woman, he shook his head with a disapproving look.
‘One should of course never give a categorical no when it comes to women, as I have learnt from experience. But I have never seen Leonard with a woman outside the family home for years, and have no reason to believe there was a woman in his life now. And in any case, I have enough problems with my own personal life as it is, without having to worry about my brother’s as well.’
His little joke cheered him up and he put his glass down on the table with purpose.
‘And talking of my personal life, I am expecting a guest soon and she may actually be one worth holding on to. We are going to celebrate my inheritance and then discuss the possibility of using some of it on a trip to Brazil’s balmy beaches, as soon as the investigation is over. So unless you have any more questions to ask today…’
I did not, and I longed to get out into the fresh air. I had started to realize that behind Fredrik Schelderup’s playboy image there might lurk a sadder story and a sharper observer than one might at first think. I did not trust him any the more for that, and though I doubted that a murderer would behave in this way, I felt uncomfortable sitting at the table with a man who, within hours of his only brother’s death, would be celebrating his inheritance with wine, women, and song.
Leonard Schelderup’s frightened voice from the evening before persisted in my mind like a bad conscience. As did the picture of his dead body and contorted face. So I quickly asked a final question as to whether Fredrik was aware of any changes in his father’s health in the past couple of years. He replied that he was not, but would not have been told until it was strictly necessary. His father had never liked to share his weaknesses and came from the old school that kept any such worries secret even from their family for as long as possible. Following this answer, I decided that there was nothing more to be gained from talking any further to Fredrik Schelderup today.
