The Human Flies (K2 and Patricia series) (25 page)

The lawyer took the first opportunity for a dramatic pause and solemnly looked around the room. This did not increase his already tepid popularity with the audience. He carried on unperturbed.

‘Only days before his death, Harald Olesen expressed the explicit wish that his will should be read as now, six days after his death. It was somewhat more unusual that he requested that earlier versions of the will should also be made known to those present.’

With this detail, the atmosphere in the room suddenly changed. Harald Olesen’s niece and nephew looked at each other anxiously. I thought I saw a fleeting and triumphant smile play on Kristian Lund’s lips, which was echoed by a more guarded smile from his wife. Rather distastefully, both couples brought me in mind of vultures.

‘The will has undergone several changes, but has nonetheless always remained relatively simple, with a main heir who will essentially inherit all of Olesen’s estate and assets. One not so insignificant exception has been made, in favour of Mrs Randi Hansen, the wife of the caretaker in the building where Harald Olesen had his residence.’

For a moment all eyes turned to the caretaker’s wife, who sat alone and silent on her seat. She was sitting on the edge of the chair with trembling lips. A single tear ran down her cheek as she waited to hear the amount.

‘For many years Harald Olesen had left a sum of thirty thousand kroner to Mrs Hansen in his will.’

There was a quiet gasp from the audience. I thought I could detect disapproval in the faces of the niece and nephew, and Kristian Lund. The caretaker’s wife, on the other hand, looked as if she was about to faint on her chair. She instinctively hid her face in her hands, but still could not stop the tears that now flowed down both cheeks.

‘However . . .’

As if at the stroke of a wand, there was silence in the room again.

‘However, a few days before his death, Harald Olesen requested that the amount left to Mrs Hansen be changed substantially. The final amount that she will inherit from his estate is now . . .’

The man must have been a born sadist and then honed his craft carefully. There was a full ten seconds of breathless silence before he completed his sentence. I seriously feared that the caretaker’s wife, who was still sitting with her face hidden beneath her hands, would die of a heart attack in the meantime.

‘. . . one hundred thousand kroner.’

This time there were several gasps and a couple of loud groans of disappointment. I did not manage to locate where they came from, but then it was doubtful that anyone else did either. Rønning Junior was not affected in the slightest by this and stuck to his planned staging. He took three steps forward across the floor and informed Mrs Hansen that the money would be deposited in her account as soon as she came to the office with her bank book. Mrs Hansen did not answer. She had more or less collapsed in a heap on her chair, her eyes wide open, unable to say a word. Rønning Junior seemed somewhat put out not to receive a reply, but continued nevertheless after another dramatic pause.

‘With regard to the remainder of Harald Olesen’s property and assets, for many years the will was formulated as follows: “The remainder of my estate I leave to my nephew, Joachim Olesen, and my niece, Cecilia Olesen, out of respect to my deceased brother, Bernt Olesen.”’

The way this was formulated and the reason given could hardly be described as affectionate towards the two heirs, but they nodded in agreement, only to freeze when it became obvious that the lawyer had not yet finished.

‘However . . .’

There was little doubt that this was his favourite word and that he knew exactly how to use it.

‘However, some weeks before he died, Harald Olesen requested that this extremely important point of his will be amended. The text as it stood was to be removed in its entirety and be replaced by the following: “The remainder of my estate I leave to my neighbour Mr Kristian Lund, with apologies for the pain that I have caused him and his deceased mother.”’

Kristian Lund was a former athlete, and certainly not a gentleman. He rejoiced, triumphant, with his hands above his head, as soon as the new text was read out. His wife stared at him in astonishment, but then joyfully threw her arms round his neck. They both started, as I and everyone else did, when there was a loud bang in the room just seconds after. This fortunately proved to be no more than the sound of Harald Olesen’s nephew’s briefcase falling to the floor for unknown reasons.

‘However . . .’

All eyes turned back to Rønning Junior. Harald Olesen’s nephew picked up his briefcase with a thunderous expression on his face, whereas an expression of terror was now visible on that of Kristian Lund. His wife looked from him to the lawyer in total bewilderment.

‘However, not long before he died, on 25 March to be specific, Harald Olesen requested a further change in the wording of this crucial point in his will. The earlier text was once again to be removed in its entirety. It was then to be replaced with the following wording, which thus is the final will: “The remainder of my estate I leave to my neighbour Miss Sara Sundqvist, with sincere apologies for the great pain I have caused her and her deceased parents.”’

Time stood still for a short moment. Then everything erupted into noise and movement. Joachim Olesen and his briefcase ran out of the room. His sister remained seated for a short while, then stood up and ran after him. Darrell Williams rolled his eyes and roared with laughter. Andreas Gullestad remained sitting in his wheelchair, naturally enough. However, he was nodding with unusual vigour, and tried without much joy to catch the attention of his assistant, the caretaker’s wife, who meanwhile sat on her chair paralysed by emotion.

Mrs Lund collapsed into a heap, but the look that she sent Sara Sundqvist was one of pure hatred. The most dramatic reaction, however, was that of Kristian Lund. He leaped to his feet and first waved his fist at Sara Sundqvist. Then, from the depths of his despair and powerful lungs, he shouted: ‘May you roast in hell, Father! Not only did you let me down when you were alive, you have also let me down now that you’re dead!’

Rønning Junior snapped out of his trance and looked around with interest – I dare say for new clients. I myself had spontaneously stood up, without having any idea as to whom I should arrest or what I should otherwise do.

The only person in the room who did not stir was, in short, Sara Sundqvist, the new millionairess. She sat there, more beautiful and more like a princess than ever, as unmoving as a pillar of salt in the middle of all the chaos around her. For what seemed like an eternity, her face remained static, as if hypnotized. Then the tears started to run down her cheeks.

‘I had no idea at all about this – it really was not me who killed him,’ she suddenly blurted out.

That was when I managed to pull myself together enough to proclaim in as steady a voice as possible that no one was to leave the room until they had given a new statement.

III

It turned into a long and demanding afternoon in an improvised interview room at the offices of Rønning, Rønning & Rønning. Rønning Junior immediately protested against the ‘highly irregular and unnecessary requisition of legally acquired premises’, but quickly vanished when a far less straight-laced Rønning Senior appeared and was promised extraordinary rental fees for use of the conference room. Rønning Senior was roughly twice as old and twice as heavy as his junior, and certainly seemed to be twice as pragmatic. A small side room was swiftly converted into an interview room, so that those waiting could spread out in the generous conference room and reception area.

Sara Sundqvist nodded, in a state akin to shock, when she was told that she would be the first to be questioned, and followed me meekly into the side office. Her face brightened once we were sitting alone, and she gave me a timorous smile as she left, but otherwise I found it hard to imagine that anyone could show less joy at inheriting a million. With deep despair, she claimed repeatedly that she had never asked Harald Olesen for money and knew nothing about his murder. She did, however, confess that she had been in both contact and conflict with Harald Olesen prior to his murder. I was then promptly given the background to this.

An old uncle in France had told her that the last sign of life from Sara Sundqvist’s parents was a postcard sent from Oslo at Christmas in 1942. It seemed that they were living under a secret identity as Norwegians. Sara herself had then turned up in Sweden as a child cleared for adoption in summer 1944. The story in between these two points was unknown. Her desire to find out what had happened to her parents was one of the driving forces in her choice to study in Oslo. When she discovered that she was living in the same building as an old Resistance leader, she had mustered her courage a few days later to ask if he knew anything about the matter.

She had rung the doorbell and asked him straight out – without much hope of anything other than a polite no. To her surprise, Harald Olesen’s face had blanched. After a long silence, he had mumbled something about there having been so many tragic stories during the war, but he was not familiar with this one. Then he slammed the door in her face and had not opened it again, even though she had rung the bell several times. It had of course been impossible for her to leave it at that, and she had on many occasions stopped him in the hallway or knocked on his door in attempt to find out more. Each time he had denied any knowledge of the story, but had nonetheless looked so guilty that it was impossible to believe him. The inheritance had never been mentioned by either him or her. She had no idea who had shot him, and herself had grieved his death. Though she had to admit that this was largely because the hope that she might find out what had happened to her parents had died with him.

In answer to the next question, as to whether she had been aware of Kristian Lund’s relationship to Harald Olesen, she immediately replied that she had had no idea when she embarked on the affair. However, she had at a later point understood that Kristian Lund believed he was Harald Olesen’s son and had also realized that he was pushing him to acknowledge this and thus to ensure his inheritance. She had agreed with him that it was only reasonable, and had been led to believe that he had finally been promised this. This morning, when she came to the reading of the will, she had fully expected him to be the main heir. That her name was then read out instead came as a total shock. If she really was going to inherit the flat and the money – which still seemed incredible – it would of course open completely new opportunities for her. But at the same time, she had naturally felt anxious that she would be suspected of being involved in his murder in some way. And on top of it all was the powerful emotional response when the reference to her ‘deceased parents’ was read out. The fact that Harald Olesen had seemed to know her parents’ story but had not said outright that they were dead had rekindled the latent hope that they might still be alive somewhere in the world.

We concluded the interview there. I allowed her to go home, but asked her to stay there and under no circumstances to leave Oslo without my permission. She agreed to this, and added that she would be eternally grateful if I could help her to find out what had happened to her parents. If I had any further questions, I was more than welcome to knock on her door at any time. She gingerly placed a hand on my arm when she said this. And without being able to explain why, I remained standing by the window until I had seen her pass on the street, heading in the right direction.

The next person was, of course, Kristian Lund. He was involved in a heated discussion with Rønning Junior when I came out, and only with great reluctance joined me. ‘She is not going to get a single penny!’ was his first comment when we were alone. ‘First, she seduces me and tries to get me to leave my wife because she believes I will shortly inherit a million kroner. Then she goes behind my back and convinces my father that she should inherit the money herself. She is not going to get a single penny! I still have the right to my inheritance if I can prove that I am the son of the deceased Harald Olesen; even Mr Rønning had to admit that. And I will happily go to court to prove it!’

The latter was said with great emotion, but then he suddenly calmed down. Kristian Lund was a man capable of quick turnarounds.

‘I apologize for my outburst, and lying earlier on in the investigation, but it really has not been an easy situation. It was an enormous relief when I finally managed to get the stubborn old goat to give me what was my right. And how could I know that he would change it again?’

Kristian Lund could confirm that Sara Sundqvist had pressed Harald Olesen to tell her what had happened to her parents, but did not appear to know about the relationship between him and Olesen until he told her sometime in March. They had both been of the opinion that the old man looked ill and troubled, and had discussed the likelihood that he was suffering from a terminal illness. His death was therefore not unexpected, but the fact that he had been murdered had naturally come as a shock. When asked if he had shot Harald Olesen himself, Kristian Lund threw open his hands in exasperation and answered no, demonstratively. When I asked if he thought Sara Sundqvist might have committed the murder, he replied somewhat more cautiously that he still did not believe so.

Despite the gravity of the situation, there was somehow nothing more to say. Even in light of his late father’s betrayal, Kristian Lund was showing himself to be increasingly unpleasant and egotistic. But I had to admit that his explanation tallied well with the previous one. And it was good to be reminded that we, thus far, only had Sara’s word that she had not blackmailed Harald Olesen. So I allowed Kristian Lund to leave, with the order that he stay within reach. He assured me with a bitter smile that he would only be going out to get himself a damn good lawyer, but other than that had no plans except to look after his family and work.

It seemed natural to call in Mrs Lund, after her husband. My curiosity as to whether she was more than just the kind, pretty and not-so-bright housewife she appeared to be was definitely satisfied within the course of the conversation. The Karen Lund who answered my questions succinctly and effectively was very solemn indeed. My impression of her shifted from simple and quite naive to simple and very wilful. Yes, she had known about her husband’s relationship to Harald Olesen and the possibility that he would inherit. He had told her about it as soon as he had discovered it. Yes, she was also aware of her husband’s extramarital affair. Her suspicions had been aroused one day when they met Sara Sundqvist in the hallway and she had noted a look of triumph on Miss Sundqvist’s face and simultaneously felt a prick of conscience in her husband’s hand. This suspicion had been confirmed when she later phoned her husband at work one day only to be told that he had just left, yet he did not come through the door until an hour and a half later.