The Human Flies - [9]

‘Not much to tell there either. We pass in the hallway, say a few words about practical things. The caretaker and his wife of course know about my background from the war. They never mention it, but don’t say very much else either. Olesen must have known about it. He was already living here when I moved in, and had no doubt heard from one of his war cronies. There was never a confrontation, but there wasn’t any contact either. He never said a word to me, and I didn’t dare speak to him. He always seemed so scornful whenever we met in the hall. I have to admit I didn’t like Harald Olesen, but I had no reason to kill him. His death will just make things worse for me, especially if the murderer’s not caught quickly.’

He was silent for a few seconds, then ran quickly through the other flats. ‘The American on the second floor moved in quite recently, but he speaks good Norwegian and seems to be nice. I chat with him about sport and the like whenever I get the chance. The cripple is a polite man and always smiles and says hello, but seldom anything else. He’s been rich and smart all his life and so naturally is not interested in me. The couple on the first floor got married relatively recently and so still live in their own bubble. They’ve occasionally asked me to drive them somewhere when they need a taxi, to and from parties and things like that, but we haven’t really talked much then either. They’re young, with so much to look forward to and so many opportunities, and I’m an old man going round in worn circles to an untended grave.’

When I mentioned Sara Sundqvist, Konrad Jensen suddenly started to laugh, albeit a short and bitter laugh.

‘It’s ironic, really, isn’t it… given my background, that I should end up here two floors under a famous Resistance fighter and one floor below a Jewess. In a way, she’s even above me now. I don’t like it. But she’s very quiet and doesn’t cause much fuss or conflict.’

I had not heard or seen anything to indicate that Sara Sundqvist was Jewish and immediately asked if he was sure. I was treated to another burst of Konrad Jensen’s bitter laughter.

‘If there’s something I know more about in this world than driving cars, it’s how to recognize a Jew when I see one. You can see it in the nose and hair and eyes. I am absolutely certain that she is a Jew.’

Konrad Jensen was obviously not used to having an audience and was now on a roll. He tried to be quiet for a few moments, but then carried on.

‘I know it’s not wise to talk openly about this, but those of us who were in the NS were proved right when it came to Stalin and his Bolshevik friends. Even leading politicians in the Norwegian Labour Party admit that today. And one day we’ll be proved right about the Jews as well. I didn’t want the Jews to be killed; I just wanted them gone. It’s a good thing that they’ve got their own state on the other side of the world, and I hope that most of them will go there. It’s best for them, best for us all.’

He nodded at the ceiling and lowered his voice. ‘But to be fair, she doesn’t make much noise or cause any trouble for anyone. I don’t know if she has any Nordic blood in her veins as well – you’ll have to ask her about that yourself.’

This was followed by silence. He no doubt realized that I was not listening out of sympathy and the bitterness returned.

‘There’s not much more to be had for you here, unless you’re looking for a scapegoat rather than the murderer.’

Which was not the case, and I had the answers to all my questions for now, so I bid Konrad Jensen farewell as politely as I could. Once out the door, I immediately noted him down as the primary suspect.

However, I did then go back up to the first floor and knock on Sara Sundqvist’s door. She opened it just as cautiously and slowly as before, but her smile was broader when she saw me this time. I apologized and explained that I had forgotten to ask her about her family background. After pausing for a few seconds, she replied that her parents were Jews who lost their lives during the war. As far as she was aware, they had no other children, and she knew very little about the rest of her Jewish family. She had been fortunate enough to be adopted by a couple in Gothenburg who were teachers, and they brought her up together with their own two daughters.

It did not seem necessary to ask her for any more details at the moment. But I did somewhat reluctantly have to admit that Konrad Jensen was not entirely unreliable, and that Sara Sundqvist was of some interest to the murder investigation. And that the mystery of when Kristian Lund had in fact come home on the evening of the murder was becoming ever more intriguing.

VI

It took over a minute before Andreas Gullestad opened the door to Flat 1A. When it was finally opened, the man who looked up at me from his wheelchair was friendly and all smiles, and I was immediately shown into the sitting room with an open hand. Andreas Gullestad was a fair-haired man who gave his age as thirty-nine years old. His sedentary life had left him slightly overweight, which reinforced his natural jovial character. I guessed that he would be fairly tall if he could stand up. His voice was bright, and his vocabulary bore the hallmark of a cultured background. He did not appear to be overly shaken by the murder, just rather pleased to have a visitor.