The Human Flies

I

As the more observant, older reader will perhaps recall, there was never a big court case following the murders in 25 Krebs’ Street. I was woken early on 14 April 1968 by the telephone – despite the fact that it was a Sunday, and Easter Sunday at that. It was barely eight o’clock. The call was from Oslo Remand Prison, where Andreas Gullestad had just been found dead in his cell.

I drove straight to the prison, where the governor informed me with deep regret of what had happened. The prisoner had been extremely cooperative on arrival and not given reason for any special measures to be put in place. He had asked for some paper and a pen in order to write a more detailed confession, which he hoped might help the investigation. He had obviously sat up late writing, as three tightly spaced pages and a two-page map had been left on the table. But he himself was lying dead on his bed with a smile on his lips when his breakfast was brought in to him in the morning.

On the table lay a letter that said the following:

Oslo, 13 April 1968

To Detective Inspector Kolbjerrn Kristiansen – and anyone else he may wish to share this with,

In order to save the legal system unnecessary costs, I hereby confirm that it was the undersigned who shot and killed Harald Olesen in 25 Krebs’ Street on Thursday, 4 April this year. My motive was revenge and a strong desire to prevent him from revealing details of a criminal incident in 1944 that is detailed below. In order to disguise the murder of Olesen, I then killed Konrad Jensen at the same address on Tuesday, 9 April this year.

I also confess to the killing of the refugee Anna Maria Rozenthal by the Swedish border near Trysil on 21 February 1944. I am, however, not responsible for the murder of her husband, Felix Rozenthal, who had been shot and killed by Harald Olesen in my presence only a few seconds earlier. For further details of these four murders, I refer to the oral statement I gave to you in the presence of witnesses earlier today.

I would like to congratulate you on your perfectly executed investigation into the murders of Harald Olesen and Konrad Jensen. In the course of the past ten days, you have not only solved these two murders, but also two further murders that you had never heard of until the investigation was opened. It was my great misfortunate that you were appointed to lead this investigation. It was an unpleasant surprise to see how quickly you were on my trail, as a result of some very astute conclusions in the days immediately after the death of Harald Olesen. However, your manoeuvre following the death of Konrad Jensen was even more elegant, when you officially stopped the investigation, but in reality stepped it up. I recognized how dangerous you were when you asked me once again about my deceased father’s connection with Harald Olesen before the war, the following day. But it was really only on Friday, when I received the order to remain available for questioning over the weekend, that I realized that the danger was not over and that the investigation was in fact on my tail again and making progress. And finally, you fooled me again during my arrest today by placing a lady sharpshooter disguised as a handicapped secretary in a position where I could not see both of you at once.

In hindsight, I would also like to thank you for saving me from myself – to the extent that your arrest prevented me from adding any more deaths to my already heavy burden. I would like to apologize sincerely to you and to the young Miss Sara Sundqvist for the deeply upsetting events that I hope you will understand were only set in motion through sheer desperation. I also, to the extent that this now is of any interest, declare myself guilty of the attempted murder of a policeman.

I must also apologize deeply to Miss Sundqvist for my role in the death of her mother. I still see this as my greatest crime. I hope that my subsequent effort to save Sara Sundqvist’s life in some way makes up for it. As I now understand that she has a strong wish to see her parents’ grave, I leave with this letter a hand-drawn map that may possibly help her to find the cave in question.

I know only too well that the loss of a parent can never be compensated fully with money, but hope it will be of some comfort that I hereby leave Sara Sundqvist half of my estate. The other half is left to my sister, again with profound apologies for the distress that the revelation of my crimes will cause her and her family. Following the example of Harald Olesen, I leave my flat in 25 Krebs’ Street to the ever-helpful Mrs Randi Hansen.

It is my hope that this will help you to understand my imminent death, which will now prevent me from attending a court case. I admit that my suicide is primarily driven by egoism. The prospect of a long court case in which the details of the murders that I have committed are unfolded is for me more painful than the long sentence I would no doubt have to serve. However, I hope and believe that my death prior to any such court case will be a relief not only for me and my family, but also for Sara Sundqvist and the surviving residents, as well as the friends and family of Harald Olesen and Konrad Jensen.

As I have previously told you, I lost my faith on that day in January 1941 when I received the message that my father had been shot by the Germans. I have never been able to rekindle my belief in a good and almighty God. I therefore die happy in the belief, given the circumstances, that there is no heaven or hell on the other side, just a vast emptiness, in which I can finally find peace from the memories and overwhelming feelings of guilt that have hounded me every day and as good as every night of my adult life.

And finally, in order to solve the mystery of my own death, I have committed suicide by swallowing a capsule of poison that I took with me into the cell. You will no doubt know that many members of the Resistance had suicide pills hidden on their bodies throughout the war. On my trips across the border with refugees during the war, I carried my suicide pill in a silver necklace, disguised as part of the chain. I started to wear this necklace again following your instructions on Friday. It is my hope that I am the last person in Norway to carry one of these suicide pills from the war, and that on finishing this letter, I will be the last to swallow one.

With my deepest respect, Andreas Gullestad (christened Ivar Storskog and better known by the code name Deerfoot during the war)

The prison governor’s relief was tangible when I voiced my understanding for the fact that the necklace had not been taken from the prisoner. I had to admit that I myself would not have imagined that it was hiding a deadly secret.

As the news of the investigation’s successful conclusion spread, telegrams and flowers flowed into the office. The murderer’s suicide in prison did not detract from the fact that the case, in terms of the investigation, had been perfectly handled – and certainly did not seem to put a dampener on the praise. I also realized very quickly that various potentially uncomfortable questions relating to details were no longer relevant.

II

I got a slight shock when I was shown into Patricia’s living room at five to twelve on Sunday. This was the first time that Patricia and I were not left alone after the maid’s hasty retreat. Sara Sundqvist sent me a friendly smile from her seat next to Patricia.

Patricia winked merrily at me and held out her hand towards her guest.

‘I took the liberty of inviting another guest to my home today. I understood that the young Miss Sundqvist would naturally also be interested in hearing an explanation of certain points.’

It struck me as somewhat comical that ‘the young Miss Sundqvist’ was patently at least six years older than the young Miss Borchmann herself. However, Sara nodded in agreement and looked at me with pleading eyes. I tried to give a friendly nod in return and sat down with forced calm in my usual place on the opposite side of the table. It must be said that my spontaneous feeling on seeing Sara was one of excited joy. However, this was soon replaced by one of growing unease. For all manner of reasons, I did not want Sara to discover just how much of the investigation’s success was thanks to Patricia. However, the damage was already done, as she had been present during yesterday’s drama.

And there was more drama in store, as I had to start by telling them about Andreas Gullestad’s suicide. I then put the letter and map that he had left down on the table. Patricia seemed to be neither particularly surprised nor disappointed by this news. Sara, on the other hand, reacted with great emotion when she read the letter and burst into tears. Despite all the crimes he had committed, she would always be grateful to Deerfoot, who had competed with death when he skied over the mountains to save her life. I suddenly felt a great sympathy for Sara and reluctantly also had to admit that I felt a slight ambivalence towards the now deceased Andreas Gullestad.

Patricia appeared to be in far better and lighter humour than the evening before. ‘So, what else is there that we still have to discuss regarding the successful conclusion of this case?’ she asked playfully, when lunch was on the table. We raised our glasses to each other and to the fact that the dramatic murder investigation of the past ten days was finally over.

Once Sara had dried her tears, she had a number of easier and more complex questions. I was delighted that in her answers, Patricia always highlighted my efforts as far as possible. Inspired by this, I myself sought to answer more and more of her questions. I was slightly annoyed by the fact that I had several questions I dearly wanted to ask Patricia but could not ask when Sara was present as they would reveal my own inadequacies. However, I did get indirect answers to some of them.

In reply to Sara’s question as to when we had started to suspect Andreas Gullestad, Patricia said that he had quickly become of interest when Konrad Jensen was murdered. When my discovery in Konrad Jensen’s flat showed that he could not have written the suicide note, the number of suspects was narrowed down following a critical comparison of the two murders. All the residents in 25 Krebs’ Street could in theory have murdered Harald Olesen, but only four of the neighbours would have had the opportunity to throw away the blue raincoat after the murder: the caretaker’s wife, Andreas Gullestad, Karen Lund and Sara Sundqvist. And of them, Sara was the least likely murderer, largely because it was not probable that she would have got into Konrad Jensen’s flat. It was hard to imagine a situation in which the terrified Konrad Jensen, with his deep suspicion of the Jews, would let her in.

Of the three remaining, Andreas Gullestad was clearly the most likely murderer, as soon as the initial ‘D’ in the diary had been linked to the story of Deerfoot. The picture became clear when my trip to Sweden revealed that Deerfoot had been very young during the war – and when it became obvious that this Deerfoot had an intense hatred for Harald Olesen as a result of something he experienced during the war. Gullestad’s weekend in Gjøvik fitted in well with the theory that he was then able to write the suicide note and get a new gun with which to kill Konrad Jensen. The last pieces fell into place when Sara’s statement confirmed that the man in the blue raincoat had visited Harald Olesen on the evening of the murder and walked with Deerfoot’s characteristically light step. Up until that point, there were other possible explanations that had to be tested, even though they appeared to be less and less probable.

In retrospect, Andreas Gullestad had always been a realistic option with both a motive and the opportunity. It did, however, require that you were far-sighted enough not to be misled into believing that simply because someone is in a wheelchair, they cannot move around without it. The fact that none of the other parties involved in the case were particularly light on their feet made it natural to focus on the one person who had never been seen walking. It was also interesting that Andreas Gullestad could remember the day on which he had seen the man in the blue raincoat, especially when the caretaker’s wife also claimed to have seen such a man in the building. But this in no way disproved that Andreas Gullestad could himself have been the man in the blue raincoat.

I nodded in agreement with her reasoning, and to my relief saw that Sara was impressed, but did not ask any more specific questions. She swiftly moved from asking about the investigation to apologizing for her own offences. Sara was almost in tears when she leaned over the table towards me and asked me to forgive her for holding back important information in the case. Even though everything was over between her and Kristian Lund after the murder of Harald Olesen, she had felt obliged to keep their agreement until he broke it himself. She was also terribly afraid that she would herself be suspected of the murder, as she had been up to see Harald Olesen shortly before he was murdered, but could not prove that he was alive when she left. She realized now that giving in to Kristian Lund’s emotional blackmail and agreeing to cover for him was a hysterical response to female anxiety. She could only put her hand on her heart and apologize for this unforgivable blunder. I noticed a twitch in the corner of Patricia’s mouth and saw that she was swallowing hard, which indicated that she was trying to control a fit of laughter, so I sent her such a threatening look that she managed to pull herself together.

At twenty to two, lunch was suddenly over. Patricia was quiet and reflective and answered only with single-syllable words, which became increasingly evident to Sara and me. Patricia then asked Sara abruptly if she had any more questions. As the answer was no, she told Sara that they were finished with lunch, then. Patricia said that she was starting to feel very tired and that there were a couple of strictly confidential things that she had to discuss with the detective inspector. This all seemed very impolite to me, given that she was the one who had invited Sara there herself. However, Sara took it well. She thanked Patricia effusively for the lunch, said that she had to get ready for an important meeting later in the afternoon, then followed Benedikte out without protest. I felt a stab of jealousy and wondered who it was she was going to meet later on.

III

‘She is a beautiful and charming young lady who undoubtedly has not had an easy life,’ I said, slightly exercised, when the door had been closed behind Sara.

Patricia looked at me with a crooked smile and chuckled.

‘What you say is absolutely true. But what I say is also true: she is a good actress and a crafty player. What she said about Kristian Lund blackmailing her was such an out-and-out lie that her nose almost started to grow. From what I have understood, she initiated the agreement with Kristian Lund herself and covered for him to very end, even though she thought he was the murderer. It is clear that she has changed her allegiances drastically since then, but three days into the investigation, she told you openly that she hoped to keep him. And by the way, she has just drawn out the lunch for forty minutes longer than I suggested to her yesterday. You never know where you are with ladies like her, until you find yourself lying on top of them!’

I hurriedly asked Patricia if she had at any stage suspected Harald Olesen’s nephew, Joachim. I intimated vaguely that I ‘at a much earlier point’ in the investigation had thought that perhaps the nephew might have been Deerfoot, as he had a possible motive and age-wise it could fit. Patricia pulled a face and shook her head firmly.

‘The thought did cross my mind a couple of times, but was quickly forgotten. After the murder of Konrad Jensen, it was totally unfeasible that the nephew was the murderer. One problem was how he had managed to get out of the building without being seen after having murdered Harald Olesen. But it was a complete mystery as to why he would murder Konrad Jensen, and even more incomprehensible how he had done it. If the nephew had shot Harald Olesen, he would not have had reason to think it was necessary to kill someone else. After all, you had only told the neighbours about the investigation’s progress, which proved to be the trigger. He did not know the habits and routines in the building, and the likelihood of Konrad Jensen letting in a stranger would have been around zero.’

Patricia suddenly looked at me with scepticism.

‘When did you say you considered this utterly illogical possibility? The fact that his age fitted well with Deerfoot was something we only discovered after your trip to Sweden, which was three days after the murder of Konrad Jensen.’

I mumbled that I had of course never really considered it to be feasible, but that one had to check all possible options in a murder investigation. Then I hurriedly moved the conversation on by saying that I now suspected that a certain person had foreseen that the necklace was in fact a possible means of suicide. Patricia became very serious and cocked her head before she answered.

‘Well, I have to say that I am partially guilty. I did not know that the necklace concealed a suicide pill, but definitely had my suspicions. It was difficult to see why he would suddenly start to wear it again in the final stages of the investigation, unless he felt an imminent danger and needed an escape route.’

My face and body language may possibly have shown that I was not entirely happy that she had not told me this before. Patricia squirmed a bit and glanced down at the suicide letter.

‘I have to be honest and say more or less the same as he did. Egoism is probably the reason that I did not mention my suspicions to you. I was dreading being wheeled into the court as a witness if there was a case. But I also thought that it would actually be better for all parties if there were not a long trial. As for reporting to the public and honouring those who deserve it…’

I nodded and looked at her expectantly. And once again she did not disappoint.

‘Surely the best solution must be that you publish his letter. It is a gripping document that will be of great interest to both the press and the public. And it gives an excellent summary of the case that we both agree is correct.’

Her smile when she said the latter was somewhat bitter.

Following this clarification, I no longer had any pressing questions that I needed Patricia to answer. She, for her part, sat and mulled over the murderer’s letter for a few minutes, without wanting to say what it was she wanted to talk to me about.

‘Bloody hell,’ she said suddenly, very loudly, as she threw the letter down on the table.

My surprise at this outburst was promptly followed by another that was no less shocking. Patricia took out a packet of cigarettes and, with a shaking hand, lit one of them from the candle. A few minutes of tense silence followed while she blew smoke rings up towards the ceiling in deep contemplation.

‘I did not know that you smoked. When did you start?’ I asked quietly. This development was far less to my taste.

‘Yesterday evening. But I do not intend to take it up and will stop again soon,’ Patricia replied, with an even more twisted smile. She demonstratively stubbed out the half-smoked cigarette in her dessert bowl, but then only seconds later lit another one.

‘What I wanted to talk to you about was this. The story of Harald Olesen’s last year, when he himself had become a human fly, and was surrounded by other human flies, is tragic enough in itself. And it was not remedied in any way by the arrest. It struck me even before I had met Andreas Gullestad that he was one of the most intelligent men I had ever come across. What he later told us and what this letter confirms is that not only was he an unusually intelligent man, but also a person with many other great talents. Just look at the map he drew.’

I looked at it and realized what she meant. The map was both informative and elegant, even though it must have been drawn in a rush. It was clearly the work of a person with an excellent geometric memory and considerable artistic skills.

‘The very idea of leaving a map also shows that Andreas Gullestad was not a completely evil person without feelings. But despite all his talents and good intentions, as a sixteen-year-old he still killed the mother of a small child, partly because of the war and partly because of Harald Olesen’s betrayal. And for the next twenty years, after the war, he lived as a human fly. Despite his many talents, all he ever really did was hide his dark secret from the war, tussle with his memories of the event and fight against his urge to seek revenge on the man who had made him a murderer. In the end, in his loneliness, he could not take the pressure and ended up killing first two more people and then himself.’

Patricia paused and with resignation blew some more smoke out into the air between us.

‘Do not misunderstand me. Not only was it right but it was also absolutely necessary that he was caught and arrested. Murder must never be left unsolved and go unpunished in any civilized society. But the fact that it ended as it did for this extremely gifted youth who volunteered his services to the Resistance during the war after his father’s death is in reality a greater tragedy than the end of Harald Olesen’s life.’

I sat in silence and did not contradict her. I did not have much to say – and suddenly longed to get out into the fresh, smoke-free spring air.

Patricia, however, was far from finished.

‘But all this is probably said out of frustration and disappointment in my own inadequacy.’

This time I had to protest.

‘That is enough. It was actually your incredible efforts that helped us to establish who the murderer was and then arrest him.’

Patricia smiled quickly, but then held her hand up to stop me.

‘Thank you for that – and for letting me be part of a very exciting and interesting case. But this welcome confirmation of my own intellectual capacity does not make the bitter truth that I have become a human fly myself any easier.’

I was dumbfounded. She took two drags of the cigarette and then carried on.

‘It did not happen yesterday, so it is in no way your fault. I was already a human fly, but only really realized it fully yesterday. Sitting here, I like to think that my mind is just as sharp, and that everything is as it was before the accident. But it is not – and never will be. I felt like a tortoise yesterday: clear in my thoughts, but physically handicapped and ridiculously unable to save myself if something did not go according to plan. Despite all the interesting experiences and people that I met, it was a nightmare from the time that I left this room until I got back here. I relived the confrontation in Deerfoot’s flat three times last night, and each time the ending was not a happy one. The first two times, I was shot. In the third, I was roasted in my wheelchair when the building went up in flames and everyone else ran out.’

Patricia stubbed out the second cigarette in her dessert bowl, but twice reached out to take a new one, before she hesitantly continued without.

‘I asked my father to call you that morning eight days ago because I still thought and hoped that I could make an important difference to someone out there. And I now know that I can. But I also had my fears confirmed: that I no longer belong out there in the real world. So I will just have to sit here in my unreal world – and hope that every now and then an opportunity will crop up for me to take part in your life and influence what goes on out there.’

I looked at her bewildered. She lit yet another cigarette and made some more smoke rings before explaining.

‘I will never come out with you again, but if you should get involved in a new case in which you think that my advice might be of help, you are always welcome to phone me or knock on the door. The only condition is that I do not want any kind of official recognition, and you must say as little as possible about me and my advice to anyone out there.’

I shook her hand on this. It was worse than I had hoped, and far better than I had feared. It had for a moment dawned on me that I might have considerable problems defending my newly won reputation as an ingenious investigator if I could not seek Patricia’s advice at a later point. Having seen the miracles that Patricia had performed in this case, I found it difficult to imagine a case that she could not solve. But the fact that her role should not be discussed in public, I have to say, suited me rather well.

We sat in silence again for a few minutes following this little explosion. Then Patricia rang for Benedikte – or was it perhaps Beate who was working that Sunday? I had lost count of which of them was working when. On the other hand, I had come to understand that having two taciturn twins as maids was a means of ensuring that Patricia’s environment was controlled and stable.

I got up as soon as the maid came in, but Patricia immediately put up a hand to stop me. Once again, her face went through a rapid change of mood. She stubbed out her cigarette in disgust, thrust the rest of the packet deep into a pocket and suddenly flashed me one of her more mischievous smiles. She whispered something to Benedikte, who gave a quick nod and immediately left the room.

‘Please be seated for a moment or two more. I still have an amusing little theory that I want to test out with some help from Benedikte, before I can say that I am finished with the case.’

We waited in anticipation for a couple of minutes. Though I wracked my brains, I could find no explanation as to what this might be. Benedikte returned, as solitary as when she left, and whispered a short message in Patricia’s ear. The reaction was both explosive and unexpected. Patricia’s fit of laughter lasted for almost a minute.

‘What is it that is so funny?’ I eventually asked – no doubt with some irritation in my voice.

Patricia had to dry her eyes on a napkin before she could answer.

‘Just that I have had my theory confirmed that people, when you get to know them a little, are in fact a very predictable race,’ she replied, with a cheerful smile.

I suddenly got that uncomfortable feeling you always get when you realize that someone is laughing at you without yourself knowing why. I stood up again to leave. This time Patricia did not try to stop me. She just gave an apologetic shrug – and carried on laughing. As Benedikte opened the door to show me out, there was a final piece of advice from the wheelchair.

‘By the way, my last piece of advice to you for now as you go back out into the real world… Remember, if you want to play in the kitchen, you have to put up with the heat!’

It sounded like a pubescent or childish twist on the well-known saying, the sort of thing that one has to be either five or fifteen to come up with. I was slightly worried that the drama of yesterday really had knocked Patricia’s mental balance off-kilter. Unless she was even more complex than I had understood so far. Whatever the case, I thought it better simply to grin and bear it, and gave her a friendly wave and smile as I disappeared out through the door. Patricia’s laughter was fortunately cut short when the door closed behind me.

IV

I managed to follow Benedikte quietly and obediently down one and a half flights of stairs on my way out. But then I could not stop myself from asking what her mysterious message had been that had made Patricia laugh so much. It was the first time that I saw the otherwise serious Benedikte smile – and the first time I heard her voice. And it was just as I had imagined it: simple and easy to understand.

‘Miss said that you would ask me on the way out and I was to tell you the truth, that I had looked out of the window to check and that you would understand soon enough. Miss has a sharp tongue now and then, but it is her mind that is sharpest, you see. She can even predict the future sometimes.’

I nodded pensively, but still had no idea what this was all about and so asked cheerfully how soon I would know what it was that I would know. The loyal Benedikte replied, with a very gentle smile, that it would be no bother.

I did not understand until I was standing outside the White House and looked down Erling Skjalgsson’s Street. But then I understood very quickly – and could agree that it did not bother me in the slightest. I could very happily live with the situation out in the real world.

The sun was shining, and the sky was blue, and it was an unusually delightful spring day. And by my car, an unusually beautiful young woman was waiting impatiently for me to come. Two long, slim legs, dressed in tight jeans that emphasized her lovely curves, stamping impatiently on the pavement to keep warm.

She nodded and gave me the most irresistible smile when I came up to the car. I smiled back, got in behind the wheel and indicated that she should get in beside me. Then we drove off together – as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

Fortunately, it was only several decades later, when the great Miss Patricia Louise I. E. Borchmann was no longer with us, that I heard about a comment she made later that day, on Sunday, 14 April 1968. She chuckled and commented to the twin sisters, Benedikte and Beate: ‘Detective Inspector Kristiansen undoubtedly has many good qualities, but I am still not certain that intelligence is one of them.’