The Human Flies (K2 and Patricia series) (18 page)

‘That is not so strange – I can scarcely see it myself. We still lack some key information, which means that we cannot have a clear picture of the murderer. But both the diary and the caretaker’s story have contributed some new details to this picture.’

Patricia paused for thought before she continued.

‘The letters in the diary must have a meaning and could be of crucial importance. Harald Olesen is not likely to have chosen letters from a known letter system, as he would in that case have started with A or X. He has used letters that have an immediate association for him, with either a name or title that he might associate with the person in question. That way, they would be instantly recognizable for him, but are an extremely difficult crossword puzzle for the rest of us. He seems to have made it deliberately difficult for his biographer, relatives or anyone else who might get hold of his diary later. I am fairly certain that he has not used names for the key people, D, J, N or O, but rather titles or words that he associates with those people. O seems to operate alone and is seen to be less of a problem, even though he and Harald Olesen have obviously had secrets and conflicts in the past. D, J, and N, on the other hand, seem to be connected in some way.’

‘J could be Konrad Jensen,’ I suggested, in the hope of contributing something that was not too idiotic.

Patricia shook her head lightly.

‘I have of course considered that possibility, but then the text makes little sense. It would appear that J is someone who instils sympathy and a sense of guilt in Harald Olesen. And even though one can never know what lies hidden in the past, it does seem rather unlikely that an ageing Nazi would fulfil that role.’

Patricia suddenly put down her dessert spoon and thought very hard. I could almost hear the creaking in her brain. Then equally suddenly she fired a completely unexpected question at me.

‘I am sure that you have already checked this; however, I am not so sure that you have told me . . . What was the name of Kristian Lund’s dead mother?’

I had never been told, and nor had I asked. On the other hand, I had remembered to take with me the papers from the census records that she had requested, and quickly found the sheets that related to Kristian Lund. A thought struck me as I leafed through the papers and I looked up at Patricia in surprise.

‘But Kristian Lund’s mother was already dead when Harald Olesen started to write about D, J, N and O.’

There was a hint of irony in Patricia’s voice when she replied: ‘Precisely!’

I had a swift look through the papers in the hope that I would not appear to be as slow as I felt.

‘Kristian of course has her surname, as his father was unknown. Her first name was Nathalie.’

Patricia frowned and shook her head and gave a deep sigh.

‘I am afraid that the name Nathalie Lund is not of much help to us . . . Did she perhaps have a middle name or a nickname that she used or was known by?’

I looked at the sheet from the census records, and then the two pages about her trial for treason.

‘No known middle name, but in a subclause here in her case papers it mentions that she was often called Sonja during the war, as she apparently looked like the film star Sonja Henie.’

It was silent for a beat. When I looked up, I discovered that Patricia had fixed me with an accusing telescopic gaze.

‘You could have spared us the delay by telling me that immediately! That fits perfectly with the obvious scenario. We still do not have the murderer, but we have at least identified the mysterious N as the shop manager Kristian Lund, whose address is 25 Krebs’ Street.’

I looked at Patricia as if she were a green Martian on roller skates, not a white woman in a wheelchair. She rolled her eyes.

‘Given the information that “S” could stand for “Sonja” and that this plays on her resemblance to the beautiful and famous actress, the rest is rather elementary, my dear Kristiansen. The whole sequence is then almost too perfect for it to be a coincidence. Konrad Jensen was right when he claimed to have seen Harald Olesen picking up a young woman from an NS meeting in Asker in 1939. She came from Drammen and had a relationship with Harald Olesen. Which he absolutely did not want to be reminded of later, for various reasons I hope I do not need to explain. So “S”, who is mentioned briefly in Harald Olesen’s diary, stands for “Sonja”. He would naturally still use a pet name for an old love, which means that the N Harald Olesen met unexpectedly with S, and who later tried to extort money from him, is of course her son. In which case, it is not so surprising that Kristian Lund did not want to let you see his bank statements.’

I had remembered the story with the car when I visited the caretaker, but then quickly forgotten about it again. Which annoyed me, so I moved swiftly on.

‘What does “N” stand for, then?’

Patricia furrowed her brow with impatience.

‘That is a relatively minor question that I cannot answer with any certainty yet, and that we may perhaps never have a definite answer to, but my guess would be that “N” stands for something a la “Nazi child”. More importantly, it would seem that he is in fact Harald Olesen’s own son.’

This was too much all at once. The room began to spin around me, but Patricia’s voice was just as clear and convincing when she continued.

‘It is of course possible that Kristian Lund was blackmailing Harald Olesen purely on the basis of his knowledge that Harald Olesen had had a relationship with a woman who supported the NS. But the reasons would of course be greater, and emotions far stronger, if Harald Olesen really was his father. It also fits well with the chronology, if we assume that Harald Olesen was in a relationship with his mother as late as 1939, and Kristian Lund was born in winter 1941. If the child was conceived in May or June 1940, it would be no less disastrous for Harald Olesen. What is more, it might explain certain similarities between the potential father and son. Both are obviously intelligent and energetic. And both have a talent for the immoral, particularly with regard to getting into the knickers of beautiful young women without their naive wives noticing!’

The latter was accompanied by a particularly unsympathetic teenage giggle. Patricia’s views on love struck me as being rather cynical. However, I saw no reason to waste time discussing this, as the main thrust of her reasoning was both highly convincing and important.

‘Which leaves Kristian Lund in a bit of a fix.’

Patricia immediately stopped laughing and was promptly very serious and earnest again.

‘Yes and no. Yes, in the sense that he quite obviously is not only unfaithful to his wife, but has also blackmailed his father. Yes, in that he is not only a liar, but a rather conniving pathological liar. He has possibly already gone well beyond the penal boundary with regard to false evidence. But no, in the sense that it is still an open question as to whether it was he who shot Harald Olesen. In terms of the diary, N is of course a potential murderer, but so are J and O, and certainly D, in every sense. And what is more, there may also be a fifth person, who is or is not associated with one of the four, whom Harald Olesen knew nothing about. You should absolutely interview Kristian Lund again, but in the meantime, we must try to identify D, J and O. And as yet, I only have enough information to form some very insubstantial theories.’

I waited half a minute in the hope that she would share her hypotheses on the identity of D, J and O with me – insubstantial or not – but instead, she asked another unexpected question.

‘The limitation period for murder in Norway is still twenty-five years, is it not?’

I confirmed this, but added swiftly that I sincerely hoped we could close the investigation into the case before then. Patricia laughed politely, but was soon serious again.

‘I am thinking of the past and not the future. This may perhaps be influenced by the fact that I recently read a novel by the great Belgian-French crime writer Simenon in which the limitation period for an old murder suddenly spawned several new murders. And it may be of great importance to us too. The events that the caretaker talked of took place in winter 1944. If we now say hypothetically that one or more murders that Harald Olesen knew about, to which this Deerfoot and other living people may be linked, took place around this time . . . then they are still a criminal offence, but in one year from now they will be time-barred.’

I nodded gravely and asked whether she thought this might be decisive to the case.

‘Again, yes and no. I have an increasingly strong feeling that something major and serious happened during the war that is crucial to our case now. I think that it is to a large extent a matter of emotions and the like, but the legal implications may still be important. Particularly when we consider that someone has a very strong wish that Harald Olesen should remain silent about something that happened during the war – preferably forever, but certainly until the limitation period has expired. Which also happens to fit in rather neatly with the notes in the diary.’

Patricia sat deep in thought for a moment. Then she managed once again to ambush me with a totally unexpected question.

‘As you are so tall and, what is more, able to stand, could you take down my almanac for 1967? It may actually prove to be very important to the case, and should be easy to find. It should be number eight from the right on the top left-hand shelf of the bookcase behind me.’

I got up mechanically and, as instructed, counted my way to her almanac from 1967. I was unable to resist the childish temptation of mentioning that the book was in fact number ten, not eight, from the right. I immediately regretted having said anything. Patricia’s face darkened, and as she reached for the almanac, she muttered something about Benedikte and Beate and reprimanding them for creating the confusion when spring-cleaning. She looked determined and a touch triumphant when she raised her eyes to meet mine, having quickly glanced in the book.

‘Well, the position of the book is strictly irrelevant. I was right, however, about what is now the only important thing in this almanac and that is that Whitsun fell on the weekend of 13 to 15 May last year.’

After a minute of intense thought, I had to swallow the bitter pill and admit that I had no idea why Whitsun last year was of any significance to the murder this year. Patricia replied in a saccharine voice and with a glorious smile.

‘That is perfectly understandable. There are so many unusual facts involved in this case that it requires an exceptionally good memory to see the significance of this. But it may be of great importance all the same.’

In that moment it struck me that people who appear to be very understanding may sometimes in fact instead be extremely sarcastic. Fortunately, my irritation quickly gave way to curiosity and she immediately proceeded to provide me with the explanation.

‘The first time that D is mentioned in Harald Olesen’s diary is when he wrote that D had visited him in his flat on 15 May 1967. Andreas Gullestad, who incidentally seems to have a memory that is worth noting, claims it was Whitsun last year when he saw the mysterious person in the blue raincoat in the building. In other words, we cannot know whether D was in 25 Krebs’ Street on the evening the murder took place, and thus even less whether it was D who murdered Harald Olesen. The same is true of the person in the blue raincoat. However, it is highly likely that the person in the blue raincoat is the very same D and he did visit Harald Olesen on 15 May 1967. Which then becomes of even greater interest when we consider that a blue raincoat was discovered in the rubbish bin on the evening that Harald Olesen was murdered. Or is there something elementary that I have overlooked?’

There certainly was nothing elementary she had overlooked. I, on the other hand, had overlooked much that was not entirely elementary. However, there was one simple thing that I had understood, and which I had held back.

‘In which case, what happened to D? Could D perhaps be the same as Deerfoot?’

We were definitely on to something again. Patricia gave a couple of quick nods and then continued eagerly: ‘I have given considerable thought to two obvious but important questions. D could of course stand for many more conventional names or words: Dag, Danielsen, Danger – or Deerfoot. If it stands for Deerfoot, it could fit nicely with a person who entered the building on 15 May to meet Harald Olesen and who did not want to risk being recognized. But as yet we know nothing about this Deerfoot whom Harald Olesen knew during the war. We have no suggestion of a name or face, and have no idea where he came from or what he did – in fact, we cannot even rule out that “he” might in fact be a “she”. The identity of Deerfoot and whether or not he or she is still alive may be of little relevance, but could also be the key to unlocking the mystery. Do ask Bjørn Erik Svendsen, Jesper Christopher Haraldsen and anyone else who may have heard about Deerfoot, next time you meet them. But if “D” does stand for “Deerfoot”, and the same D reappeared from the past on the night in question to murder Harald Olesen, we not only have to explain how he or she managed to escape afterwards, we also have to find out how he or she got in without being noticed in the first place. Unless . . .’

Patricia sat staring straight ahead, deep in thought.

‘Unless . . .’ I said eventually, in the hope that I might prompt her. I had come to understand that Patricia did not like to say things that might later prove to be wrong. She hesitated for half a minute, but then launched in.

‘Unless D did not need to get either in or out, because he or she lives in the building and was there all the time. In which case, D is someone you have already met. The Lunds and Sara Sundqvist were all born during the war, Ivar Storskog, aka Andreas Gullestad, was still just a boy when his father was shot during the war, and Konrad Jensen we can safely say was not active in the Resistance. But Darrell Williams was a young man, who was in Norway and did take an active part in the fight against the Germans. It does seem unlikely that an American would be used as a guide in Norway, but the circumstances surrounding all this are still unclear. Some loose circumstantial evidence might be that Darrell Williams was probably lighter on his feet back then, and Deerfoot is after all a well-known name from American children’s literature. To be more specific, from Edward S. Ellis’s books.’