Hans Lahlum - The Human Flies

I swiftly glanced over at Patricia, whose eyebrows were knitted so tight that it was clear she was thinking furiously. Then she gently tapped her pad with her pen twice.

On the way out, I mentioned in passing that an old friend of his was down on the ground floor and that she would no doubt be very happy if he went to see her. This triggered first a smile and then a final defence – said with pure American pathos.

‘Despite the unfortunate circumstances surrounding our first meeting, please do not judge me too harshly. I have lived all my adult life fighting dictatorship – first against the Nazis during the war and then against communism after the war. And in all these years, I have carried a great loneliness after losing my first love. It can make you a bit of a loner, even though you might at heart be a good person.’

He hesitated for a moment, then took out his wallet and from a pocket at the front produced a white folded sheet that he held out towards me.

‘This is the letter that you asked about. You can read it if you like,’ he said abruptly.

I looked over at Patricia, who quickly shook her head and tapped her pen on her notebook. I got the very strong feeling that Darrell Williams had carried the letter wherever he went for the twenty years since he received it – and that it possibly was the first time that he had asked someone else to read it. But I no longer had any reason to doubt his word that there was nothing more in his past that was of any significance to Harald Olesen’s murder. He seemed to both understand and appreciate this. We shook each other by the hand before the door closed behind Patricia and me.

Patricia was in a good mood and giggled as we went into the lift. I looked at her sternly. She shrugged.

‘In the middle of all this tragedy, there is a really sweet love story. I think it is better to have a happy ending twenty years too late than never at all. She is still younger than my mother was when she had me. You must promise to tell me how things work out for those two.’

I promised to do that – on the condition that she would soon tell me who the murderer was. She was immediately serious again.

‘I do not know for certain quite yet. What he told us was not what I had expected, so we are still missing a link. I can, however, tell you where we are going now, and that is the first floor.’

I was not very impressed. That was exactly what I had just thought myself.

‘And this time to Mr and Mrs Lund?’

Patricia smiled.

‘Of course. This should be relatively simple. Confront him with the fact that he was in Harald Olesen’s flat on the night of the murder, and her with the fact that she is lying when she says that he did not go out. Leave me just by the door as usual, and make sure that you can see them both at the same time.’

I agreed that it sounded like a good plan of action and pressed the button for the first floor.

The Lunds came to the door together. They also accepted my brief explanation about the injured secretary. They asked us in without any protests or obvious pleasure. I positioned Patricia just inside the door, sat down on one side of the coffee table and indicated to the Lunds that they should sit together on the sofa opposite. They automatically did as I told them. When they were seated, Mrs Lund reached out for her husband’s hand. He squeezed hers gratefully.

I started by emphasizing how serious the case was.

‘The investigation has reached a critical stage and we now have every reason to believe that Konrad Jensen did not kill Harald Olesen. Much of what has been said earlier can be forgiven, if we now get the full truth.’

They nodded at the same time and moved almost imperceptibly closer together.

‘So, I will start by saying that I have clear indications that you, Kristian Lund, lied when you said that you had not spoken to Harald Olesen on the evening of the murder. I also have reason to believe that you, Karen Lund, lied when you said that your husband did not leave the flat after he had come home on the evening of the murder.’

Their reactions were very different. She blushed deeply and frantically shook her head, whereas his face lost all colour and he nodded. She was the first to speak.

‘I don’t know who it is who has been lying, but you are on the wrong track now, Detective Inspector! My husband was here with me from the time he came home until we heard the gunshot.’

It was said with such passion that I found it hard not to believe her. The ashen-faced Kristian Lund, who was now cornered and almost unrecognizable, resolved the situation.

‘She is telling the truth,’ he said in a low voice. ‘I am the one who lied again,’ he added, even closer to a whisper.

All three of us stared at him. Fortunately, he quickly continued with the explanation.

‘I went up to the second floor and spoke to Harald Olesen on the night of the murder. But it was before he was killed. I went directly from Sara’s flat and was only there for a minute or so. Then I came back down here and was together with my wife until we heard the shot ring out.’

I gave him a stern look.

‘And what happened during your final meeting with Harald Olesen?’

His smile was twisted.

‘There and then it was pleasant enough and I felt pleased when I came back here afterwards. He opened the door as soon as I rang the bell, but looked surprised when he saw it was me. He said he was expecting someone else for an important meeting and did not have time to talk. I said that it would not take long, as all I wanted was confirmation that he had changed his will as I had asked. He thought about it for a moment or two, then smiled and assured me that he had changed his will. I thanked him and said that I was glad, then left. And I took his word for it until I heard the final will being read out. The old swine had neglected to tell me that he had changed the will yet again, thereby denying me my rightful inheritance!’

I thought quickly through what had happened at the reading of the will – Kristian Lund’s reaction and the other facts that I knew – and realized that it all fitted very well with this last explanation. But I could not remember just then if this was his fourth or fifth version.

I looked questioningly over at Patricia. She held my eye but did not tap her pen. There was a short silence before Patricia did exactly what I had hoped she would: spoke.

‘We can almost definitely conclude that you did not commit the murder. But you are still covering for the person you met on the way down from Olesen’s flat on the evening he was murdered.’

No one was taken aback by the fact that Patricia had spoken. Kristian Lund’s reaction was too dramatic for that. He lost what little colour he had left in his face, dropped his wife’s hand and collapsed back on the sofa. I immediately seized the opportunity to take command again.

‘Exactly who was it you saw on the evening of the murder, and why are you covering for them?’

I fixed Mrs Lund with a beady eye, but her attention was taken up by her husband and her husband alone. Kristian Lund swallowed three times before he managed to say anything. The silence was crackling by the time he finally croaked a short, tiny and devastating word.

‘Sara.’

The name exploded like a bomb in the static silence between us. Mrs Lund’s voice a few seconds later resembled a machine gun.

‘I do not believe it! Have you known all this time that it was her who killed your father and not said a word to me? You could have sent that witch to prison over a week ago! And instead, you have lied to me and the police in order to protect her. Is that really the truth?’

Kristian Lund nodded almost imperceptibly and then looked up at me with pleading eyes, not daring to look at his wife.