Night Rounds

Chapter 7

CHIEF INSPECTOR ANDERSSON hated going to Pathology. Even more, he hated talking to pathology professor Yvonne Stridner. Most of all, he abhorred entering the autopsy room, but this was the only way to get a quick response.

When Andersson asked for the professor, the security guard pointed up the stairs with a burly, body-built arm. The chief inspector was relieved that Stridner was in her office and not in the middle of an autopsy. He tapped on her closed door.

Beeeep! A red light next to the text occupied lit up. A yellow light, indicating please wait, was beside it, as well as a green one stating come in. Even though he’d spent time driving here, Andersson was glad to accept the red light and the yellow. He sat down on the uncomfortable wooden chair against the wall. He could clearly hear the professor’s voice: “… the worst oral examination I’ve ever heard! You must study and be thoroughly prepared, even for an oral examination. It’s incredible stupidity to believe you’d pass just because you gabbled on and on. You have to know what you’re talking about. Obviously you haven’t studied. Or else you haven’t understood what you were studying. The latter would be even worse. The former is fixable: Go home and study properly and I will give you another examination in three weeks with every question you failed. And that exam will be written.”

The door was thrown open, and a girl with short black hair rushed out, crying. The chief inspector stayed frozen to his chair. His emotions contained an element of terror as he heard Stridner’s voice.

“So there you are, Andersson, taking up space.”

Andersson looked like a student who’d just been caught sneaking around to steal the answers to an upcoming test.

“Uhhh.…” he said lamely.

“What do you want?”

“Marianne Svärd … have you finished the autopsy?”

“Of course. Come inside,” she ordered.

Stridner turned around, and he followed her into the office. She sat down in the comfortable chair before her computer. A visitor’s chair with a worn-out red Naugahyde seat stood on the other side of her desk. It was hard and lumpy, surely on purpose. You were not supposed to feel comfortable in the presence of the professor.

He sank into the chair, breathing hard. Stridner gave him a sharp look.

“Isn’t there any kind of workplace health care at the police department that could organize a diet group for you? Exercise for the overweight and so forth? Or at least provide some basic nutritional information? It’d help your blood pressure enormously.”

Andersson would not let himself be goaded. Mustering all his self-restraint, he replied neutrally, “I’m taking medicine for my blood pressure, and it’s under control. But I really came to hear what you’ve found out about Marianne Svärd.” He forced a pleasant smile.

Stridner’s lips curled as if she doubted his statement about his blood pressure, but to Andersson’s relief she kept to the official subject. “Marianne Svärd. Livor mortis, rigor mortis, body temperature, and the temperature of the room all indicate that death occurred right around midnight. Analysis of stomach contents is still in progress, as well as blood and fluid analyses. It will take a few days before those results come in. Nevertheless, I believe they will corroborate a time of death at approximately midnight.”

Stridner paused and looked for a long time at Andersson over the frames of her glasses before she continued.

“Cause of death is strangulation. The noose had sunk deep into her neck and caused strong subcutaneous bleeding and damage to the musculature and circoid cartilage. Around the ligature marks are scratches, probably a result of the victim’s attempt to defend herself from the noose. Based on the appearance of the cut, I determined that the murderer stood behind the victim. It is clear to see where the noose was tied at the back of the neck. In addition, I have determined that the murderer was taller than the victim, unless the victim was seated at the time of the attack.”

“What kind of noose was it?”

“Thin, smooth, and strong. I found a number of fiber strands in the wound, which I have sent for analysis. An educated guess would be that it was a thin cotton rope strengthened by smooth synthetic material. Or perhaps the entire noose was purely synthetic.”

Stridner furrowed her brows as if she were thinking about something, and then her face brightened and she said, “Speaking of fiber. I did find some strands underneath the victim’s fingernails on both the right and left hands. Dark, thin textile fiber.”

“Wool strands.” The chief inspector sighed.

Stridner looked at him with surprise. “Wool? That’s quite possible. Probably the victim grabbed at the murderer’s arms in an attempt to make him loosen the noose, but she only caught the fabric of his jacket sleeves.”

“Dress sleeves,” Andersson said, depressed.

“What do you mean by that?”

He sighed again. “We have a witness. An older nurse who insists she saw the hospital ghost at the time of the murder. The ghost is said to be a nurse who’d committed suicide fifty years ago. They say she wears an old-fashioned nurse uniform.”

“Ridiculous! Ignore that witness completely. I can tell you that this strangulation was done by a living, breathing killer with strong arms.”

The professor drew her eyebrows together sharply; her expression brooked no defiance. Not that the superintendent wanted to contradict her. No, for once the two of them were in complete agreement.

“I know. But the witness was definite about what she’d seen.”

Stridner harrumphed. “Ghosts! A ghost doesn’t drag a victim across the floor. Don’t even give a thought to such a ridiculous notion.”

The superintendent muttered defensively that he didn’t believe that a ghost had done it either, but Stridner was not listening to him. She said brusquely, “I have to give a lecture in an hour, and I need to have lunch before then. Let’s wind this up. She was not pregnant and had never given birth. In her stomach was a rather small meal. She’d eaten approximately four hours before she died. Her food was mixed with a froth that I believe was some kind of antacid. Her stomach lining was reddened toward the pylorus, but I saw no signs of an active ulcer. I found a healed ulcer near the duodenum, but it was old. Otherwise it appears that Marianne Svärd was in perfect health. She has no other wounds besides the strangulation mark and the drag marks on her heels. I found traces of talc underneath her arms.”

Andersson could imagine the scene. The ghost nurse, floating in her old-fashioned black dress, coming up behind the night nurse. The latter, clueless about her fate. Quickly, the ghost throws the noose over the nurse’s head and pulls tight. The panicked young woman clutches in vain at her throat and behind her head in order to stop her killer. All she can do is grab strands of cloth underneath her fingernails.

Andersson was completely engrossed in his vision and did not hear what Stridner had just said. She frowned at him with concern.

“Are you feeling ill? Is your head spinning? Have you ever had an epileptic attack or similar?”

“No, I was just thinking.…”

Stridner tapped at her watch. “Well, in that case I have no more time for you. I’ll send the written report in a few days.” She stood up and opened the door to the depressing hallway. The chief inspector could do nothing more than slink out. He mumbled a good-bye that went unheard, as the door behind him had already been shut.

IRENE HAD PICKED up a copy of the Göteborg Times from the news rack at the same time she bought her food. She settled into her chair and began to read.

NIGHT NURSE KILLED BY GHOST? a headline screamed. The byline attributed the article to Kurt Höök, the permanent reporter on the crime beat for GT.

A photo of Löwander Hospital’s façade covered half the front page, which indicated they didn’t have much of a story yet. The caption beneath the photo read, “What horror hid behind the hospital’s grand façade last night? The chief of medicine refuses to comment.” A photo insert of Sverker Löwander, disheveled hair and all, had been plugged into the right lower corner of the larger image. Some of the article was completely new information to Irene, however.

A nearby resident tells this newspaper that she saw the Löwander Hospital ghost roaming the grounds at the time of the murder. Everyone in the area, as well as in the hospital, knows the story of the nurse who committed suicide there a century ago and now returns to wreak vengeance on those who drove her to it. The witness, who asks for anonymity, describes the ghost as wearing an old-fashioned uniform and walking on the grounds around midnight. Our witness remained awake until past 3:00 A.M. and swears that no one else came or went that night

.

After this came a great deal of filler on the history of Löwander Hospital. Typical archival material. The anonymous witness wasn’t quoted again in the article.

Irene felt shaken. Where had Kurt Höök gotten the story of the ghost nurse? He didn’t get it entirely correct; Tekla had in fact had died in the 1940s. So his information probably didn’t come from anyone inside the hospital.

Irene sat there for a long time thinking without coming up with any new ideas. Finally she gave up and finished her coffee and cheese sandwich.

She glanced at her watch. Quarter past twelve. It was time to pay Kurt Höök a little visit.

TRAFFIC WAS HEAVY on the E6, but apart from a bit of stop-and-go near the Tingstad Tunnel, there were no major obstructions. The newspaper complex’s great grayish white buildings towered above the side of the highway. Their lighted display showed that the outdoor temperature was -8 C, the time was 12:38 P.M., and people were encouraged to buy today’s GT.

Irene parked in a visitor’s space and got out, locking the door of her old Volvo. She entered through the triangular glass doors and was welcomed by the very proper middle-aged woman at the reception desk.

“Good afternoon. May I help you?” She had a friendly voice and was well made up.

“I’m looking for Kurt Höök. I’m Criminal Inspector Irene Huss.”

Irene held out her ID, and the receptionist took her time inspecting it. With a hint of a smile, she said, “Just a minute. Let me check if Kurt Höök is available.”

The receptionist phoned an internal line. It appeared that Irene was in luck. The woman nodded and pointed to the glass doors of an elevator across the entrance. “Go on up. Take the elevator to the third floor. Someone will meet you at the central desk and take you to Kurt.”

Irene headed for the elevators. She passed a splendid boat hull in many-colored glass mounted on a pedestal of black granite. Even the art on the walls indicated that this newspaper was a booming concern.

A harried-looking woman with blue-tinted hair and reading glasses far down her nose met Irene and brought her to Kurt Höök’s desk. None of the other journalists even looked up as Irene passed their desks.

Although Höök’s chair was empty, the woman with blue hair left Irene there. Höök’s computer was turned on, and the screen showed the article that Irene had just read during lunch. He didn’t seem to know that at three in the afternoon Superintendent Andersson was going to have a press conference and reveal the identity of the victim. Irene scanned the notes spread out over Höök’s desk in case there was a clue to the anonymous witness. She also kept one eye on the lookout and so was not surprised when Kurt Höök approached his desk. He gave Irene one of his charming smiles.

“Hi. I remember you. You’re that female officer that the Hells Angels beat up in Billdal a few years back. You look like someone got you again.”

This wasn’t the opening line Irene was expecting, but she kept her potentially poisonous rejoinders to herself and tried to appear friendly. The wounds beneath her bandages hurt when she tried to smile. “That’s right. I’m Criminal Inspector Irene Huss.”

“Of course. I can guess why you’re here. Sorry, the answer is no, unfortunately.” His apologetic words were combined with a twinkle in his eye.

“How can you say no before I’ve even asked the question?”

“I never reveal my sources.” He seemed to be trying to hide a smug expression.

Irene found it extremely irritating that he was fairly good-looking. She felt that the bandages on her face were the size of beach towels. “I understand, but you must realize that an eyewitness at the time of the murder is very important to us.”

“I do realize that, but my answer must remain no.”

Irene cocked her head and smiled slightly. “Maybe we can come to an agreement?” Höök looked uncertain, so she continued. “If I can find out as much as possible about your anonymous witness, I’ll make sure you have an inside scoop on the next stage of our investigation.”

Höök could hardly hide his excitement. “Concerning Löwander Hospital?”

“Yep.”

The journalist bit his lower lip as he considered this. Finally he said, “I assume you know that you are breaking the law when you ask me to identify a source, and I have no idea if what you’re offering would be worth it.”

Irene couldn’t blame him for keeping his cards close to his chest, when he didn’t know if she had any aces. She decided to tempt him further. “I realize that you can’t give me the name of your source, but perhaps you can give me some hints so that I can figure it out myself. On my end … the information has to do with another nurse at Löwander Hospital and what happened to her that same night. Of course I’ll reveal the murdered nurse’s name, too.”

The temptation was too much. Höök’s journalistic instincts took over. “All right. The ghost is yesterday’s news anyway. The headline sold well, but there’s nothing more I can get out of that witness.”

Irene remained silent. She knew that Höök was talking mainly to himself. He ran his fingers through his hair a few times, until it looked like it had been styled with an electric mixer. He gave Irene a distrustful look.

“This particular source is rather … special.”

Irene saw his hand move toward the tape recorder on his desk. He hesitated and looked at Irene. “Perhaps it’d be better if I gave you some background information first. Then you can listen to the tape. It’s actually not all that clear. Come with me.”

He picked up the tape recorder, and they walked over to a nearby closed office. Höök opened the door and looked inside. The room was empty, and he ushered Irene in, carefully shutting the door behind him.

Hesitatingly, he said, “This … source is … how can I put it? Unusual. I don’t know her name, and I don’t know where she lives.” He fell silent for a moment, then went on. “It started like this. A guy who’s given me some small tips before called me on my cell phone yesterday afternoon. He’d obviously overheard a conversation between two police officers. Since I was already in the neighborhood, I decided to hop on over and have a slice of pizza while I was at it. By the way, do you want a cup of coffee?”

“Yes, please,” Irene said without thinking. Afterward she wished she’d bitten her tongue. Why would she need coffee just when Höök was about to identify the witness? Her longstanding caffeine addiction had won out.

Höök left the room and returned with two cups of steaming-hot coffee in plastic mugs. “Where was I? The guy was just about to tell me this tip when the front door opened.…”

Höök stopped in the middle of his story. He swallowed some coffee before continuing. “The smell … the smell made me turn around and look at her. The pizza place had a plastic bag full of old bread ready for her, and she sat down on one of the chairs. We ignored her, and the guy began to tell me about overhearing two officers talking about a ghost nurse who’d supposedly murdered someone at Löwander Hospital. Can you believe it? But my source was certain that’s what they’d said. Then the old hag—I mean, the old lady—butted in and said, ‘I’ve seen her. Nurse Tekla. She haunts the place to get revenge on the people who killed her!.’ At first we didn’t pay attention. She kept nattering on that she’d seen the ghost with her own eyes. And then she said, ‘I watched her come and I watched her go. Blood was dripping from her hands.’ It sent shivers down my spine. And—”

Irene interrupted him. “Did she really say ‘Nurse Tekla’?”

“That’s right. You’ll hear it yourself. I recorded what she said. I’m going to leave the room while you listen to the tape. Here’s paper and a pen if you need to take notes. But don’t tell anyone where you found out about this.”

“I promise I’ll keep it confidential.”

He turned on the tape recorder. What followed was truly strange.

“My name is Kurt Höök. What may I call you?”

“Call me Mama Bird. All my friends call me that. All my lovely ones. All my children. All of Mama Bird’s children.”

“Do you have many friends and children?”

“Millions and millions … my lovely ones, my children mychildrenmychildrenmychildren … all of my childrenmychildrenmychildren.…”

“I see. You said you’d seen a nurse in the gardens by Löwander Hospital?”

“Nurse Tekla! I am so scared of her. So scared, so scared. I have to keep special watch over my lovely ones. She will kill them, all of them, killkillkill … killkillkill.…”

“Who is she?”

Mama Bird said nothing but hummed a nursery rhyme.

“Focus a little and I’ll give you some pizza.”

“Beer and pizza is what I want. And bread for my lovely ones. My children.…”

“I see. Anything else that you know about Nurse Tekla?”

“She died … a hundred years ago. Deaddeaddead.…”

“You saw her in the park?”

“Yes, yes, yes, yes.”

“What was she doing?”

A moment of silence and then Mama Bird’s hoarse voice: “She went into the hospital.”

“How?”

“Howhowhowhowhow.…”

“How did she get inside the hospital?”

“Through the door.”

“Did something happen while she was in the hospital?”

“God took away all the light. She was going to do a deed of darkness. The time had come, and all light was taken away. But I kept watch, I kept watchwatchwatch.…”

“Did you see her come back outside?”

“Yes, yes, yes, yes.”

“What did she do then?”

Another stretch of silence. “She raised her hands to God and thanked Him for revenge! Revenge! Revengerevengerevenge!”

“And then what did she do?”

“She took the bike. God punishes theft!”

“She took the bike? What bike?”

“The other one’s bike. But now she’s dead. Everyone goes to their death! Tremble! Keep watch! Pray! Deathdeathdeathdeath.…”

“So Nurse Tekla took the bike and got out of there!”

As a reply, Mama Bird began to sing in a way that reminded Irene of a Sami joik: “Hoyahoyahoyahoya.…”

That’s when Höök had turned off the tape recorder. Irene rewound the tape and listened to it again without pausing. Then she rewound it yet again and began to take down the unusual conversation.

She had listened to the entire conversation a fourth time before Höök came back.

“You wrote an entire article based on this?” Irene asked, not trying to hide her surprise.

“Along with my other source, who had overheard two police officers discussing the same thing. Normally I would have blown it all off. But it made sense, in a weird way. If you think about what the two officers were saying, there must have been someone else inside the hospital who’d also seen the ghost nurse. Right?”

“Yes, someone did mention the old legend, but I don’t remember who it was or why it came up,” Irene replied before she quickly switched the subject. “What did Mama Bird look like?”

“I’m not going to tell you any more about her. You already know too much as it is.” He was right, but that would not make it any easier to find this woman. “So you got yours. Time for mine.”

Irene told him everything about Linda Svensson’s unusual disappearance on the night of Marianne Svärd’s murder. Höök took down notes as if his hand were on fire. Afterward he appeared satisfied.

“Thanks so much. Now I have to hurry over to your press conference at three. By the way, are they going to make Linda Svensson’s disappearance public?” he asked suspiciously.

Irene did her best to look innocent. She was happy that her bandages hid most of her face—a little silver lining there. “No idea. Superintendent Andersson will hold the press conference. This morning we were all told not to breathe a word about anything, especially to the media. So bye for now, and thanks.”

Irene tore out her pages from the notebook and got up quickly. Before too long the glass doors of the newspaper building closed behind her.

• • •

AT THE STATION everyone was running full speed before the press conference. She rode the elevator up to her office, deciding she’d hide out there to avoid Kurt Höök. He probably wouldn’t be too pleased with her after the press conference.

There were two desks in her office, hers and Tommy Persson’s, both of them bare. She took a tape recorder from one of her desk drawers and recorded the dialogue between Kurt Höök and Mama Bird. Her own voice sounded stilted when she read her notes, trying to re-create the conversation word for word. She made several attempts before she was relatively satisfied.

She sat at her desk for a long time afterward, lost in thought. Mama Bird was crazy, all right, but she’d seen something that night. Who had she really seen? How did she know the story of Nurse Tekla? Where had Mama Bird been standing when she saw this person moving about the hospital grounds? And, most important, who was Mama Bird?

THE PRESS CONFERENCE proceeded in the usual manner—mild tumult. Andersson confirmed that the night-shift nurse Marianne Svärd had been strangled around midnight on the eleventh of February. The murderer was still unknown. When a reporter asked about the ghost, Andersson snorted so loudly the speakers popped.

Then Andersson changed the subject to Linda Svensson’s disappearance. It was an unexpected bone tossed to them, and they threw themselves onto it. They scribbled down her particulars, noting that she was last seen wearing a red down coat and brown leather boots with platform soles. Her bicycle was also missing, and it was assumed that she’d ridden it away.

“It’s a city bike, light green metallic color,” Andersson concluded. Unfortunately, he was still standing too close to the microphone as he said, “What the hell is a ‘city’ bike?”

Questions from the reporters flew through the air, but Andersson could not add much. Instead he promised another press conference within twenty-four hours.

Irene watched the clock hit 4:00 P.M. In an hour the detectives would meet again. Before then Irene decided to call home to check in with her twin daughters, who were on winter break. Jenny was happy that one of the girl cousins from Säffle had called. The girls had been invited to join their cousins in Säffle, and from there all four girls would head to the family summer cabin in Sunne, where they planned to go snowboarding in Finnfallet and do some cross-country skiing in Sundsberget. Irene gave them permission to go, even as she thought that this trip seemed rather hastily put together.

Then she collected her thoughts and wrote her report covering the day’s events. Actually, quite a bit had happened. She’d just finished when it was time to go to the conference room. She took the tape recorder and a new notebook. On the cover she wrote “Löwander” in black ink. She opened to the first page and wrote “pizza” in neat letters.

ALL OF THEM had written their food orders on the list, and the orders had been called in.

“Everybody here?” Andersson said to open the meeting. “I see Jonny is missing. I imagine he’ll be here soon. Let’s get going.”

He took a breath and began to tell them about the morning’s phone call to Marianne Svärd’s parents, who had been extremely upset and shocked. The superintendent felt they’d need a few days before they were questioned again. Both parents agreed they’d never known of any threat to their daughter, nor had she behaved any differently when they’d last seen her over the weekend. That was two days before she’d been killed.

After that, Andersson summed up his conversation with Yvonne Stridner in Pathology. As he was wrapping up, Jonny appeared in the doorway, one eye covered with a bandage. His right hand was also wrapped up.

Irene tittered. “Hello. It looks like you’ve met Belker.” she said in her mildest voice.

Jonny’s flushed face contrasted nicely with his white bandages. He sank down into the nearest chair. “That damned cat jumped on me from the hat rack. I had to go to Mölndal Hospital for treatment. Including a tetanus shot. While I was defending myself from that cat, guess what? A little old lady came into the apartment and what does she say?” Jonny cleared his throat and proclaimed in perfect falsetto, “ ‘Are they being mean to you, little Belker?’ ”

Everyone around the table burst into laughter.

“Then she just picked up that tiger, and wouldn’t you know that little devil curled up in her arms and began to purr. She asked me to bring the cat’s feeding dish and water bowl into her apartment, because now she was going to take care of the poor little pussycat.”

Irene was happy to hear the last bit—both because Belker and Ruth Berg were going to keep each other company and because Linda’s apartment would now be terror-free for the police.

“Anything new about Linda Svensson?” asked Andersson.

“I went to Kungsbacka and talked to her parents. She’s an only child. They’re beside themselves with worry. I asked them if her ex had ever hit her, but they didn’t believe he had. According to them he’s not the violent kind. Otherwise nothing new turned up in Linda’s apartment. I searched the area around the apartment building for the bicycle, but I didn’t find it. The building manager lent me a master key, and I looked in the basement, the laundry room, and the garbage room. The building has two stairways, and there are nine apartments on each floor. None of the other inhabitants saw or heard anything around the time Linda disappeared. Well, except the old lady who took in that man-eating beast. She says she heard Linda leave her apartment on the tenth of February at eleven-thirty P.M. Not a trace since. She and the bicycle are just gone.”

Andersson frowned. He thought for a long time before he finally said, “Jonny, you keep working on finding Linda. Fredrik, too. It feels like time is running out on us. Birgitta, did you reach Linda’s ex?”

“Yes, but only by phone. He’s taking a seminar in Borås and won’t be back until late tonight. He works for some kind of computer company.”

“All right. You talk to that young man tomorrow. Take Jonny with you. Try to lean on him to see what he knows.”

“Okay,” said Birgitta.

Irene observed that Birgitta did not look at Jonny while she nodded. On the surface she didn’t show any discomfort, just seemed to accept the assignment. But Irene sensed the tension between Jonny and Birgitta, and she wondered why. Of course, all Jonny’s off-color jokes offended some people, but Irene hadn’t been a policewoman seventeen years for nothing. Her instincts told her there was more to it than that.

“Should we request a reverse search on Linda’s phone?” Birgitta asked.

“Reverse search?” Andersson echoed.

“Linda had an ID box on her phone, which, unfortunately, the cat destroyed. But we can ask the telephone company to check who called her phone number on the tenth of February.”

“Is that possible?” Andersson asked, surprised.

“Yes, but it’s not cheap. We have to go through the prosecutor’s office.”

“Inez Collin,” Andersson said gloomily.

“That’s right.”

Andersson sighed. “Okay. I’ll talk to Her Highness and arrange it. It sounds like something that won’t happen overnight, though.”

“I’ve got to leave at seven,” Irene put in. “But I want you to know that there were more than one person attending seminars on the night in question.”

She quickly explained the gist of her interview with Niklas Alexandersson, that he and Andreas Svärd were living together, and that she planned to interview them together in their home at seven-thirty.

“I just don’t get that kind of thing at all.” Andersson shook his head. “Two guys living together? And one of them once married to a really cute girl to boot.”

“A cute girl who’s now dead,” Jonny pointed out.

“Exactly.” The superintendent thought a moment. “Tommy, go with Irene. It’s better if there are two of you.”

“Will do.”

“Fine. The pair of you will take care of our little pansies, ha! Hmmm.” Andersson cut his laughter short when he saw that only Jonny was laughing with him. He quickly turned to Irene. “Was that everything?”

“No. I went to the GT home office and had a chat with Kurt Höök.” Irene repeated her conversation with the journalist. Everyone else in the room had already read the article, and it had led to speculation about possible leaks. Here was the answer. As the icing on the cake, Irene played the tape she’d made of the conversation with Mama Bird. When she turned off the tape recorder, Jonny snorted.

“You’re terrible at re-creating conversations. But regardless, that is one crazy old lady. No reason to pay any attention to her.”

Irene nodded, ignoring his criticism of her dramatic-reenactment skills. “Of course, she’s mentally ill. But listen between the lines. She knows about Nurse Tekla and the story going around the hospital. She may have gotten the wrong date for Tekla’s death, but she knew it was a suicide. And she mentions that the building went dark. She must have been near the hospital when the power went out and the murder took place.”

Andersson’s face flushed with excitement from cheeks to ears, and he slid forward on his chair. “You’re absolutely right. We have to track down this … Mama Bird. You and Tommy get on it right away tomorrow morning.”

“Aye-aye.” Irene made a joking salute to her boss, but he’d already turned his attention to Tommy.

“So what did you do today?”

“I was supposed to help Birgitta interview Pontus Olofsson, but since he was gone for the day, I decided to help Hans and Fredrik canvass the neighborhood. We went to all the apartment buildings and single-family houses around Löwander Hospital. No one had seen or heard anything on the night in question. One person walking his dog around eleven-thirty P.M. said that the dog went crazy while they were walking through the park behind the hospital. The park there stretches all the way to a stream at its south side. On the west it meets the edge of a forest. That’s where the dog owner was walking his dog. The dog suddenly began to growl in the direction of the grove. The man couldn’t see anyone but felt uncomfortable, so they left right away.”

If the murderer hid in the grove of trees at the edge of the forest.… If Mama Bird also was in the vicinity.… They would have to find her. But where should they start to look for her? Maybe in the park.…

Irene’s thoughts were interrupted by her pager.

“Come get your pizza,” said one of the men from the front desk.

Irene and Tommy got up to get the food. In the elevator Irene said, “This evening we’re going to talk to Andreas Svärd and Niklas Alexandersson. Then tomorrow morning we’ll have to search for Mama Bird. We’ll have to go to Löwander Hospital and see if there’s anything in the grove, if someone was perhaps waiting there. Perhaps she’s homeless? Höök said she smelled awful.”

Tommy nodded in agreement. “Seems reasonable.”

“There’s a lot of pressure on us right now, especially about Linda Svensson’s disappearance.”

“The two must be connected somehow. Marianne had Linda’s day planner in her pocket.” Tommy was thinking out loud. “And, for a night nurse, no flashlight? Very strange.”

And worrisome, Irene thought. Very worrisome. Yes indeed, why did Marianne, the night-shift nurse, have Linda’s day planner but no flashlight in her pocket?

THE POLICE OFFICERS had eaten their pizza and worked out their assignments for the following day when Irene and Tommy headed out to interview Marianne Svärd’s ex-husband.

Finding the address was not easy. Many of the stone buildings near Linnégatan had been torn down in the 1980s when a changing water table had rotted their support pilings. Architects attempting to re-create a turn-of-the-century atmosphere had not always been successful, but now pleasant pubs, small boutiques, and proximity to the large forest of Slottsskogen had made this area extremely popular. House prices and rents were sky-high.

They finally located the address; A. SVÄRD and N. ALEXANDERSSON were on the nameplate by the entrance. Irene called on the intercom and heard Niklas’s sour voice. “I’m opening,” he said crossly.

The front door buzzed and let the police officers into an airy hallway. The light gray marble floor and warm, champagne-colored walls with their iris-blue borders were very attractive. The elevator was the same champagne tone as the walls, so as to not disturb the aesthetics.

The elevator swished silently to the top floor. Just as Irene was about to press the doorbell, the door was yanked open. The angry twist to Niklas’s mouth took away from his handsomeness. “Is this really necessary?”

Irene replied mildly, “And a good evening to you, too, sir. Yes, our errand is really necessary, since Marianne has been murdered.”

Niklas jerked at her last word but said nothing else. He still wore the sour expression as he led them through the entry hall over a rug that was soft underfoot. He motioned them toward a large, cozy living room. The furniture and the artwork gave the room an upscale feeling. A man was sitting on the silver-gray sofa. He stood and offered his hand.

“Hi. I’m Andreas Svärd.”

“Hello. I’m Criminal Inspector Irene Huss.”

“Tommy Persson here. I’m also a criminal inspector.”

“Welcome. Please sit down.” Andreas Svärd was a pleasant contrast to Niklas. He treated them as welcome guests. As Irene sank into one of the plush leather armchairs, she observed the lawyer before them. Andreas Svärd was six feet tall and slender. He had thick blond hair and a fairly ordinary face. Irene knew he was thirty-three years old, but he appeared younger. He wore a light gray silk shirt, chinos in a darker gray, and a wine-colored lamb’s-wool sweater—casual but obviously expensive. To her surprise, Irene could tell that he’d been crying.

“I understand why you’re here. This has been a real shock for me … what happened to Marianne, that is. In spite of how our relationship ended, we were actually still close.”

Andreas Svärd turned his face away. Irene looked at Niklas, who glowered even more. Andreas appeared to be mourning, but Niklas just seemed angry.

Irene cleared her throat. “When was the last time you saw Marianne?”

Andreas cast a sidelong glance at Niklas before he answered. “We had lunch two weeks ago.”

Niklas seemed even angrier, so Irene turned to him. “What about you?”

“I haven’t seen her since last Christmas,” he growled.

“How was that?”

“She came to dinner here.”

It was obvious that he wasn’t the one who’d invited her. Irene turned back to Andreas. “Did you get together often?”

“Not that much.”

“How often?”

Andreas looked nervously at Niklas but seemed determined to tell the truth. “About once a month.”

“Why did you meet?”

The lawyer seemed truly surprised by her question. “We’ve known each other all our lives. We grew up together on the same street. Over the last year, we’d sometimes have lunch together.”

“At which restaurant did you last have lunch?”

“The fish restaurant Fiskekrogen.”

Niklas could not contain himself any longer. Half suppressing a swear word, he swiveled on his heels and stalked from the room. Andreas looked after him thoughtfully but said nothing. It seemed he was willing to tell the truth even if it enraged Niklas. At any rate, now it would be easier to interview Andreas, one-on-one. “Would it be possible for you to come down to the police station tomorrow afternoon?”

“Sure, but not till after four.”

“That’ll work for me, too.”

The police officers stood up and shook hands. Irene noticed Andreas’s hands were unusually small and well formed.

In the apartment’s hallway they saw no sign of Niklas. Irene did not raise her voice as she said, “Niklas, I need to talk to you.”

A door opened, and Niklas stuck his head out. “What do you want?”

“We need to talk to you some more. I would like you to come down to the police station tomorrow. What time can I expect you?”

“I work until four-thirty. I can’t get there until five, but five-thirty is more likely.”

Tommy let his eyes wander to the artwork in the hallway. He pointed to a framed poster. “Is that you?”

Irene turned to look at the poster. Drag Show Fever was written in Gothic letters. A slim, long-legged woman wearing fishnet stockings and impossibly high stilettos climbed a staircase, a black G-string cutting between her two firm buttocks. The back of her sequined top was low, and her long hair flowed over her shoulders. Her head was slightly turned away, but even through the woman’s false eyelashes and makeup, Irene was able to recognize the cool, amber-eyed gaze. Surprised, she turned to Niklas and exclaimed, “It is you!”

His smile was both amused and vicious. “Shocked again?”

“No, not this time either. But what’s the poster for?”

“I was a drag-queen dancer. A poor nursing student who needed some extra cash to fill in the gaps left by his student loans.”

“Are you still dancing?”

“No.”

Niklas opened the front door to let them out.