Hans Lahlum - The Human Flies

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.