The Human Flies (K2 and Patricia series) Read Online Free PDF Page A

much, for better or worse.’
    As is only reasonable, I looked at him in a new, more critical light.
    He added hastily: ‘I never met Harald Olesen during or after the war, and I have nothing whatsoever to do with his death. In fact, his death is the worst thing that could happen to me.’
    Then, after a short pause for thought, he carried on in his slow, morose manner: ‘Everyone will automatically suspect me. It won’t take many days before the papers write that I’m a Nazi and then I’ll be a moving target. I’ve struggled with that ever since I got out of prison. I’ve had to change my name twice already, from Konrad Hansen to Konrad Pedersen and then to Konrad Jensen. But there’s always someone who knows someone who knows and I always end up being called “Konrad Quisling”. There’s still people who won’t get in my taxi because they’ve heard I was in the NS, but that’s happened less and less over the years. Now it will all get worse again.’
    Konrad Jensen got up slowly from the sofa. He went over to the window and pointed down a side street. ‘That’s my car over there. Not new, and wasn’t the best in the world when he was new either, but he’s still working, and I know him better than any person. My car has been my most loyal friend. I know it’s childish, but I like to call my car Petter, after a friend I had when I was a lad. Petter Peugeot and Konrad Jensen, a couple of wrecks that have got old together and know the streets of Oslo better than most.’
    His face was bitter when he continued. ‘I turned fifty in February, but celebrated on my own, a modest meal in a restaurant. I don’t want anything to do with the old NS people, and it’s not easy to make other friends. My mother and father died a long time ago, and I don’t have much contact with my brother and sister. I last heard from my brother in 1940, when he’d borrowed money at an exorbitant rate so he could pay back a loan I’d given him. My sister sent a card for my fiftieth birthday that contained all of seven words and came four days late!’
    I did not find these personal and familial frustrations of any particular interest. So when Konrad Jensen stopped for breath, I took the chance to ask about his relationship with his neighbours.
    ‘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,