The Human Flies - страница 20

I had not yet got as far as talking to either of the grand gentlemen mentioned, but he was absolutely right that I should contact them. So it was still a mystery as to why I was sitting here. Borchmann saw the confusion on my face and carried on hastily.

‘I am aware that this is both unorthodox and somewhat irregular, but it is Patricia and not me you should be talking to.’

My confusion was in no way diminished by his next comment – in the form of a totally unexpected question.

‘Have you ever met a person whose thoughts are constantly one step ahead, faster and more profound than your own? It is a fascinating and yet frightening experience to look in the eye of someone who, quite frankly, is more intelligent than you will ever be. You feel you are in good hands and helpless at the same time.’

I nodded vaguely. I did not like to say in so many words, but I knew that feeling only too well. For example, I felt it every time I spoke to Professor Director Borchmann.

‘Of course you have. I have perhaps felt it less often than others, but I too have experienced it. Unless the discussion involves my specialist areas, I experience it practically every time I talk to my eighteen-year-old daughter now. She not only reads twice as quickly as me, be it in Norwegian, English, German or French, she beats me hands down in the speed and quality of her comments on what we are reading. It frightens me a little, but also makes me tremendously proud.’

I felt extremely uncertain and was not sure of what to say, or how, so I kept my mouth shut. The professor continued without pause.

‘Nothing has interested Patricia more in recent years than unsolved crimes. She has read dozens of books on the history of crime, and at least a hundred detective novels. She has on more than one occasion predicted the outcome of big criminal cases on the basis of what she has read in the papers. She is particularly interested in the murder in Krebs’ Street. Partly because Harald Olesen was a friend of the family and partly because of the extraordinary circumstances surrounding the case. She has questions and comments that I cannot answer – including an entirely plausible solution as to how the murderer managed to leave the flat. But for all I know, it is perfectly possible that you and your colleagues have solved the mystery already and will shortly be making an arrest…’

He looked at me in anticipation. I tried to shake my head without appearing to be desperate.

‘In that case, I would be immensely grateful if you could discuss the case with Patricia for a short while, in all confidentiality of course. It need not take more than fifteen minutes of your time, and could be of considerable assistance.’

I thought quietly to myself that perhaps mandatory limits should be introduced for how highly a father could praise his child, but by now my curiosity about young Patricia and her world had been piqued. And I was no less curious as to how she had solved the mystery of the murderer’s disappearance, while I had found no solution. So I gave a friendly smile and replied that I would be more than happy to set aside fifteen minutes or so in all confidentiality to test the theory.

Professor Borchmann smiled, pressed my hand and, without further ado, rang a bell. A young, blonde maid in her twenties appeared a few seconds later. ‘Please show my guest into Miss Patricia Louise in the library straightaway,’ the professor said. Then he turned back to the paperwork on his desk with characteristic efficiency.

Patricia Louise Isabelle Elizabeth Borchmann now lived in a tidy and serene little kingdom one storey above and a garden away from a grey and busy street in Oslo. She was sitting waiting at a table set for two, in the middle of a room that was larger than many of the gymnasiums that I have been in, surrounded by more books than in all the private libraries I have ever seen.

Young Patricia was in no way physically impressive. I guessed she would be a good head shorter than me if she could stand up, and her body was so slight that she could barely weigh more than seven stone. The family likeness with her father was undeniable. It was there in the black hair, but more than anything in her stern face and unwavering gaze. I couldn’t recall having seen a young girl with such a strong face – or any woman, for that matter.