The Human Flies (K2 and Patricia series) (5 page)

The information about Harald Olesen in the census rolls really only confirmed what was already known. He was born in 1895 and was the son of a well-known pharmacist from Hamar. Harald Olesen married in 1923, and remained married until the death of his wife forty years later. She was the educated daughter of a shipowner, but had been a housewife all her life. Olesen had an older brother and a younger sister, who had both died before him. As his parents were long since deceased and he had no children himself, his closest relations and presumed inheritors were a niece and a nephew who lived in the west end of Oslo. Olesen had moved several times in the interwar years, but had stayed at the same address in 25 Krebs’ Street since 1939.

Konrad Jensen was the only resident in the police records. He had indeed served six months for treason from 1945 to 1946, but had no other criminal record.

There was no information in the census rolls about the American Darrell Williams or the Swedish Sara Sundqvist, and on the whole, they simply confirmed what the Norwegian citizens had told about themselves. There was nothing new to discover about Konrad Jensen and Karen Lund. The only interesting additional information about Andreas Gullestad was that he had taken that name four years previously, and before that had been called Ivar A. Storskog. The rest of the information was, however, what he himself had told. His father had been a wealthy farmer from Oppland who owned substantial amounts of land and forest, and had died in 1941, aged only forty-eight. His mother had died in 1953. Andreas Gullestad had never been married or had any children, and his closest relative was indeed an older sister in Gjøvik.

The most interesting revelation in the census rolls was in relation to Kristian Lund. His father was simply recorded as ‘unknown’, and his mother was a secretary from Drammen. Kristian Lund had, however, either not known or not wanted to tell me that the very same mother had been a member of the NS from 1937 to 1945. She had had several secretarial positions with the occupying forces during the final three years of the war. The protocol from her trial for treason was attached and showed that she was sentenced to eight months in prison after the war, but was released after four months due to good behaviour and out of consideration to her young son. According to the census rolls, he came into this world in Drammen on 17 February 1941 and was his mother’s only child.

As a result, I concluded that of all Olesen’s neighbours, Kristian Lund was the first that I should talk to again. But none of the residents had any known links to Harald Olesen that might give them a motive for murder, and the day had given disappointingly few breakthroughs. Darrell Williams’s impression that something had been bothering Harald Olesen seemed plausible in light of the murder, but we still had no idea what it was. And for want of any better clues, I decided to spend the next day trying to establish what it was that had been bothering the murder victim in the last year of his life.

After a couple of attempts, I finally managed to get hold of Harald Olesen’s nephew on the phone. Joachim Olesen was an economist by profession and worked as an adviser in the Ministry of Finance. He had been waiting for a phone call from the police and immediately offered to come down to the main police station with his sister the following morning at nine o’clock to be interviewed. In the meantime, I asked for the name of the deceased’s doctor and bank, which he gave without any hesitation. Two brief telephone conversations later, it transpired that the doctor was himself on sick leave and the bank was closed due to an inspection of accounts.

I had to admit that I felt none the wiser when I drove home alone the evening after the day of the murder. As I had few better leads, I listed the former NS member Konrad Jensen as the main suspect. As with all the other residents, though, he lacked not only a motive and a weapon, but also the opportunity. I still had not the foggiest idea where I might discover any of this.

In short, I was not looking forward to reading the morning papers on Saturday, 6 April 1968 with any sense of joy or optimism. It was dawning on me that the opportunities afforded by having sole responsibility for this murder investigation were great, but that my fall from grace could be equally great. I still had no idea that the case would bring me face to face with the most calculating criminal I have ever met, but also with the most remarkable person I have ever had the pleasure of working with. Meanwhile, I brooded over the case alone, fruitlessly, until I fell asleep.

DAY THREE

The Princess of Erling Skjalgsson’s Street – and Her Sensational Discoveries

I

Saturday, 6 April 1968 started earlier than expected. I had set the alarm clock for eight, but was woken by the telephone a quarter of an hour earlier. The caller was patient and the phone continued to ring until I had struggled out of bed and answered it. I immediately recognized the deep and commanding voice on the other end.

‘I do apologize for disturbing you so early on a Saturday morning, but this may be of considerable interest to you. Am I speaking to Detective Inspector Kolbjørn Kristiansen?’

I confirmed that I was he as I tried desperately in my still sleepy state to recall where on earth I had heard that voice before. Fortunately, I did not have to wonder for long.

‘This is Professor Ragnar Sverre Borchmann. First of all, may I congratulate you on your most recent promotion. I hope, however, that we can still be on first-name terms and that you remember me as a guest in your childhood home?’

I most certainly did. Professor Director Ragnar Borchmann was an industrious and renowned university friend of my father’s. He had not been a frequent visitor to my childhood home, but had always caused quite a stir when he did come.

‘I’m calling about the tragic murder of Harald Olesen. And while I do not wish to raise false hopes, I think I may possibly be able to help in the investigation. It is of course entirely up to you to judge whether you feel it is worth your while, in relation to following up other important leads.’

If the truth be told, I did not have many other important leads and at this point was willing to listen to any reliable person who might be able to move the investigation forward. What is more, I was keen to hear pretty much anything that Professor Director Ragnar Borchmann might have to say. But above all, I was extremely curious as to what he may be able to tell me about the case. So without further ado, I said that I would be more than happy to put aside some time to meet him, for example between eleven and twelve.

‘Excellent. Eleven o’clock precisely it is. For reasons that will become apparent, we will have to meet here at my home, but I would be happy to send a car for you should that be necessary.’

I replied politely that it would not be necessary, double-checked that the address was still 104–8 Erling Skjalgsson’s Street and promised to be there at eleven precisely.

II

As expected, the newspapers had a much bigger spread about the case today. They all carried photographs of 25 Krebs’ Street, and most of them had old wartime pictures of Harald Olesen on the front page. The headlines varied from ‘Resistance Hero Murdered in His Own Home’ to ‘Unsolvable Murder Mystery in Krebs’ Street’. The name of the detective inspector leading the investigation was fortunately mentioned in favourable terms à la ‘apparently very capable young detective’. One of them had even included the fact that I was known as ‘K2’ among my younger colleagues and that I was said to be a man who could deal with major challenges and dizzying heights.

The newspapers made depressing reading for the remaining residents of 25 Krebs’ Street. The deceased’s neighbours remained anonymous, but the address and photographs would make it easy enough for anyone interested to identify them. The papers would be disheartening reading for Konrad Jensen in particular. Several of them carried the news that the residents of 25 Krebs’ Street included a previously convicted Nazi. No one gave his name. One of the main newspapers did, however, mention that the previously convicted Nazi now worked as a taxi driver – and printed a photograph of his parked car.

Harald Olesen’s nephew and niece were in their forties and gave an immediate impression of prosperity and reliability when they came into my office at nine o’clock. The niece, who was tall and blonde, was called Cecilia Olesen and worked as an office manager for the Oslo Cooperative Housing Association. Her brother was the same height, somewhat darker and more serious. With regard to his civil status, Joachim Olesen said that he was married and had two children under school age. His sister had been married and had a daughter, but had taken back her maiden name following a divorce. The niece and nephew both said that they had had good, if sporadic, contact with their uncle. He had withdrawn somewhat following the death of his wife, but still had relatively regular contact with the family. He had spoken very little about the other residents in the building.

The niece and nephew were also both of the opinion that Harald Olesen had been downcast of late, but believed that this had a natural, medical explanation. After a Christmas party the year before, he had told them that he had been diagnosed with cancer and may not live to see next Christmas. So the news of his death was not entirely unexpected, though obviously the circumstances had been a shock, and a blow to the whole family.

The niece and nephew had both understood without anything having been said that they were his closest relatives and could therefore expect a substantial inheritance. They had, however, never wished to ask about it, and he had not said anything explicit. He had inherited a large amount of money from his father and had never been a big spender, despite earning well for many years himself. The family therefore had reason to believe that he was a very wealthy man. They had only received a short and businesslike message from their uncle’s lawyer stating that in accordance with the deceased’s wishes, the will would be read at the law firm’s offices six days after his death, more specifically on Wednesday, 10 April at midday.

I made a note about the cancer, which was the most important new piece of information from the niece and nephew. The other important piece of information was that Harald Olesen had the year before asked for the family’s permission to work on his own biography. This was prompted by a request from a young history student by the name of Bjørn Erik Svendsen. Without prying too much, the niece and nephew had later understood that the book was underway and that Harald Olesen had had several open-hearted conversations with his biographer and also given him access to parts of his archive.

The niece and nephew had nothing more of any relevance to tell. I said goodbye to them around ten and promised to inform them as soon as there was anything new to report in connection with the murder investigation. The history student Bjørn Erik Svendsen was added to the top of my list of people to contact as soon as possible. It struck me as odd that I still had not heard from him two days after the murder. Fortunately, this little mystery was quickly cleared. It transpired that a message from a woman who had called as she absolutely had to talk to me was from a certain Hanne Line Svendsen, and she was Bjørn Erik Svendsen’s mother. She said that her son had gone to an international socialist youth conference in Rome, but had been informed of the murder by telephone and telegram. He was expected home late on Sunday evening and would come to the police station first thing on Monday morning. Bjørn Erik Svendsen had said, on a very bad line from Rome, that it was possible that he had some important information about Harald Olesen’s early life and would of course make this available to the investigation. I reluctantly accepted the news that Mr Bjørn Erik Svendsen could not be contacted before Monday morning. I tried to see it as positive that new information regarding Harald Olesen was on its way to Norway.

In the meantime, I called the law firm Rønning, Rønning & Rønning. The Rønning I needed to speak to, Edvard Rønning Junior, was unfortunately not in the office. According to his secretary, he had flown to West Berlin a couple of days earlier. The secretary apologized and sheepishly explained that there were ‘several indications’ that Rønning Junior was going to meet one or more personal friends in Central Europe, but no one knew where he was going from the airport. When he had called the office about another case on the Friday morning, he had of course been informed of Harald Olesen’s death. Rønning Junior had immediately explained that Olesen’s will had recently been ‘reworded’ and, in accordance with the explicit wishes of the deceased, would be announced six days after his death.

Rønning Junior had promised that he would personally be present to read out the will in the law firm’s offices at midday on Wednesday, 10 April. He would send a telegram ‘as soon as possible’ with a short list of the people the deceased wished to be present at the reading of the will. If the police contacted the firm, he had asked that they be informed that the most recent version of the will was responsibly secured, that all the formalities were in place and that we were welcome to come to the reading of the will on Wednesday. He had then said that he had to ‘rush to an extremely important meeting’ and hung up. Unfortunately, the will was not to be found in his office, and the telegram had not arrived yet. Thus the firm could only apologize that they could not be of any further help in the investigation. Rønning Junior was ‘an exceptionally talented young lawyer, and rigorous with regard to formalities and discretion on behalf of his clients’, the secretary concluded apologetically. I had no problem in believing her, and saw little option other than to ask Rønning Junior to contact me immediately if anyone should speak to him before Wednesday morning.

Harald Olesen’s doctor was still on sick leave, but was willing to answer questions on his private phone. Having tussled briefly with his conscience, he felt that he could make a pragmatic exception to patient confidentiality, vis-à-vis the police, with regard to a patient who was in fact already dead, as was the case. He then confirmed that Olesen had been diagnosed with bowel cancer about a year ago. This had spread more rapidly than expected in recent months and Olesen had been told in December that the end might be only a matter of months away. Olesen had received this news with admirable dignity. He had remained seated, pensive, and then said that he had some important issues to consider and sort out before it was too late. The doctor thought this was quite a natural reaction and had not enquired as to what these might be.