It certainly did not sound implausible, but I was not going to let this new character in Harald Olesen’s life go that easily.
‘Did you by any chance see this Deerfoot when Olesen came to collect them?’
He shook his head as firmly as his strength allowed.
‘No, no. Harald was alone when he came, and only had the couple and the baby with him when he left. I have never seen or spoken to Deerfoot. That much I do know.’
Then quite suddenly his strength left him. Anton Hansen lay listless on his bed for several minutes, gasping for air. I patted him gently on the shoulder, thanked him so much for his help and told him to rest. He nodded with the ghost of a smile on his lips. But just as I was leaving, he mustered his strength and waved for me to come back.
‘If you see my wife, then tell her that it is perhaps just as well if she doesn’t come here again, but do say…’
His voice faded out, but carried on in a whisper after a pause.
‘Say that I still love her very much and am very sorry for everything that has happened after the war. Please can you tell her that?’
I nodded, despite a niggling doubt that I would ever have the heart to fulfil my promise. Then I mumbled a farewell and said thank you again. I was at a loss as to what more to say and suddenly had a strong desire to leave the hospital before I was accused of causing the death of Anton Hansen the caretaker.
I caught a final glimpse of the caretaker from the doorway as I left. He had already fallen asleep. I dutifully stopped a passing nurse and asked her to see to him. Then I walked through the long corridors to the exit with the feeling that I had just seen a dying human fly and it was an incredibly sad sight. It also occurred to me that in the end human flies are human beings as well.
The caretaker’s good memory, which had plagued him so, had given me plenty to think about. In addition to the familiar faces of the other residents, I now also had to look for a refugee family that had disappeared and a faceless ghost from the war. There were – as Patricia had already intimated yesterday – an increasing number of threads that needed to be tied up that all led back to the dark days of the war.
V
The clock in reception showed half past four by the time I left the hospital. There were still two and half hours to go before my dinner appointment with Patricia. I was unsure for a few minutes as to what I should do: should I go back to the station or go and talk to the deceased Harald Olesen’s neighbours? I decided on the latter in the end. I wanted to know whether the caretaker’s wife had anything to add to her husband’s story from the war. What is more, a rather alluring idea was staring to form in my mind. The fact that I should not mention the discovery of the diary to any of the residents was absolutely clear. But in the course of my journey, I changed my mind at least eight times as to whether or not I should confront the neighbours with the name Deerfoot and the initials D, J, N and O.
The caretaker’s wife was at her post when I arrived. She could confirm her husband’s story from the war, but had nothing of importance to add. She remembered well the young refugee from the war who had returned ten years later with gifts and thanks. It was also one of the highlights of her post-war years. She had never seen the other refugees again, and her memory of them was more hazy. Nevertheless, she could confirm that a young couple with a baby had been hidden there for a few days, and that Harald Olesen had collected them the night before the Gestapo showed up at the door. She thought she had heard her husband mention the name Deerfoot, but could not remember Olesen talking about him.
The caretaker’s wife hesitated when I thanked her. Then from her pocket she produced a folded sheet with something akin to awe.
‘A telegram boy came here today. It has happened before – it’s not that. Harald Olesen received a great number of telegrams when he was in the government. But this one was for me!’
She held it out to me with a trembling hand. The text was short:
TO MRS RANDI HANSEN 25 KREBS STREET OSLO IN ACCORDANCE WITH THE WISHES OF THE DECEASED HARALD OLESEN YOU ARE ADVISED TO BE PRESENT AT OUR MEETING ROOM IN 28B IDUN STREET ON WEDNESDAY 10 APRIL AT 12 NOON STOP THIS IN CONNECTION WITH THE READING OF MR OLESENS WILL STOP RØNNINNG, RØNNING & RØNNING LAW FIRM
I nodded with interest and asked if the other residents had also received such a telegram today. To which she nodded, slowly.
‘Yes, yes – they all received one. The American was out, so the telegram boy went on to the embassy. Konrad Jensen did not want to open the door until he heard my voice, so I had to go up with the boy. I am sure it means nothing special, except that it’s the first time anyone has sent me a telegram. But still, I thought…’
The caretaker’s wife suddenly blushed like a schoolgirl and averted her gaze. A minute passed before she smiled apologetically and continued.
‘Well, we all have our little dreams… Harald Olesen was such a kind man, you see, who always remembered to give us Christmas presents and the like. And my husband did help him during the war, after all, and I have done his cleaning for him for many years. So I thought that maybe there was a slight chance that he had left us a small amount in his will.’
I said nothing. This obviously made her nervous, so she hurried on.
‘Yes, I know – it’s terrible to think like that, but it’s so easy to drift off into daydreams when you’ve had as little as I have for so long. If it was three hundred or five hundred kroner, that would be a small fortune to me… Two thousand would be enough to keep me in coffee and Christmas and birthday presents for my children and grandchildren until I turn seventy and get a pension. I would be eternally grateful to Harald Olesen. It would never be that much, of course. But he was kind and rich, so maybe I can hope for a couple of hundred. I have started to pack my belongings, as I will have to move out as soon as Anton dies, and then I will stay with one of my daughters; they will have to keep me out of charity for a few months each. It’s always nice to see the children and grandchildren, but it will be awful to sit there and not have the money to buy anything for them.’
She looked down and then up again.
‘Forgive me, but I just had to tell someone,’ she said very quietly.
I was more than happy to forgive; then I thanked her and left. I could not bring myself to say anything that might give her false hope. However, I had to admit that the telegrams in no way diminished my confusion regarding the case – or my curiosity regarding the will.
The telegrams were decisive with regard to my decision to test out the name Deerfoot on all the neighbours. Everyone was at home at this time in the afternoon, but the findings were meagre pickings all the same.
Darrell Williams was once again in a benevolent and diplomatic mood. He roared with laughter and commented that it was a very creative code name, but that he had no idea as to who or what was behind it. He associated the name Deerfoot with some Red Indian books (were they not written by James Fenimore Cooper?) that he had read at some point in the 1930s. He had, to his surprise, also received a telegram advising him to be present for the reading of the will. He could not understand why, but it was less mysterious now that he knew that everyone in the building had received one. He would of course go, out of curiosity and politeness.
Kristian and Karen Lund were eating supper when I knocked on the door, and their son was sitting in a highchair at the end of the table. The perfect family. They confirmed that they had received a telegram and were also terribly curious as to why. She was just as phlegmatic as she had been the last time, and he was far calmer. I hoped that it meant he was not hiding any more from me, but did not presume to take that for granted. They were taken aback by the name, but did not recognize it.