The Human Flies - [19]

‘This is the direct number to my telephone. I would appreciate it if you could call me once you have confirmed my theory about the record player. Then we can see if there is any more I can help you with.’

I vaguely registered that we were already on more informal terms, and that it felt completely natural, despite the somewhat grand-old-days feel of the Borchmann home. I nodded, tucked the slip of paper carefully into my wallet and silently and obediently followed the maid out. I still felt as though I had been hypnotized by the time I reached the car, but understood keenly enough that my apparently unsolvable murder mystery had taken a great leap forward towards a possible conclusion.

V

When I arrived at 25 Krebs’ Street around two, everything appeared to be as calm as before. The caretaker’s wife was sitting in her place by the door and immediately let me into Harald Olesen’s flat. There was no sign of any of the other residents. I had some new questions for a few of them, but for the moment there was no room in my head for anything other than Harald Olesen’s record player.

The record player was still there, with the recording by the Vienna Philharmonic Orchestra on the turntable. With a pounding heart and shaking hand, I carefully lowered the needle. I expected the label to be fake and the record to be soundless at the start, but I had another shock in store when an irresistible waltz immediately filled the room. The volume was nearly on full, and the record was obviously real enough. So now I expected that the music would fall silent and the gunshot would ring out at the end of the record. Having turned down the volume, I waited with growing anticipation for a gunshot that never came. The needle lifted and returned to its place without further drama once the final bar had been played.

To begin with, I was disappointed. Then I laughed, despite the setback it meant for me, as the cocksure Miss Patricia’s creative theory had not held. I put the record on again and increased the volume before going over to Harald Olesen’s telephone and dialling the number on the slip of paper in my wallet.

Patricia picked up the phone before the second ring. I could actually hear her surprise, prompted by the music, and so talked louder than necessary to drown it out.

‘I am in Harald Olesen’s flat and have turned on the record player and listened to the whole record. And as you can hear, it seems to be a red herring.’

There was silence for a moment on the other end of the line. It is possible that Patricia doubted herself and her theory for a matter of seconds, but it certainly did not last long.

‘But that has to be it. There is no other credible solution. Is the record player free-standing, or is it part of one of these newfangled stereo systems with a cassette player?’

I glanced quickly over at the record player and was immediately gripped by uncertainty. The record player was indeed part of a big new stereo system with a cassette player – and there was a cassette in the player. Patricia’s response was as quick as a flash when she heard this.

‘Then the cassette player has to be the answer. Play the cassette that is there, but turn down the volume in order not to terrify the whole building if – I mean when there is a gunshot. Call me again when you have played the cassette. But of course, if there is no gunshot on the cassette either, there is no need for you to waste any more time in calling me again.’

Thus spoke Patricia Louise I. E. Borchmann – without drawing breath. Then she put down the phone without saying goodbye.

I looked at the stereo, full of doubt, but then turned off the record player and rewound the cassette to the start. The cassette looked genuine enough, and the German writing promised Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony. It seemed to take an eternity to rewind. When it had finally rewound to the start, I reduced the volume by a couple of notches and sat down to wait for the cassette to crank into action. It started, as expected, with Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony. I immediately wondered if this was the most valuable use of my time. However, the music stopped with a loud click after only a couple of minutes. The cassette then crept forwards as slowly as could be for the next twenty-five minutes. At first, I paced around the room, but as the tape got ever closer to the end, I moved ever closer to the large loudspeakers of the stereo player.

I expected the tape to stop at any moment when suddenly there was another muffled click, followed by a loud gunshot.

Despite having turned down the volume, it exploded like an atomic bomb in my ears. I jumped and then watched paralysed as the cassette stopped. I stood there for five minutes, puzzling over whose hand might have started this tape recording the last time it played.

When I eventually managed to pull myself together and phone back, she answered the phone on the first ring. ‘Was the gunshot at the very end?’ she asked.

I mumbled a subdued ‘yes’, an even more muffled ‘congratulations’ and a somewhat louder explanation that the gunshot was right at the end of a cassette of Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony. I could almost feel the receiver quiver as she breathed out.