Night Rounds

Chapter 13

THEY STARTED AT exactly 7:00 A.M. Everyone from Criminal Investigation as well as a Canine Unit convened to search the building from top to bottom. Another Canine Unit was assigned to the ravine.

The superintendent had collected the entire group in the basement, right outside the elevator door. “I talked to the technicians yesterday evening. They’ve already gone over the entire basement, the elevator, the stairway up to the ICU, and the entire ICU ward. We’re going through the entire place one more time, every nook and cranny in this entire building, anywhere someone could hide a body.”

Andersson surveyed his people. No matter how used to death they were, confronting it always lead to sorrow and depression. He sucked in another lungful of air. “We’ve gotten a master key from Bengtsson, the security guard. For our benefit he’s also made available separate keys for each floor. Fredrik and Jonny will take the basement. The dog unit is also going to start in the basement and move on up. Birgitta and Hannu will go through the polyclinic and the entrance level. I’ll take the care ward and the ICU, which is probably the least likely place she’ll be found. If she’s even here. Irene and Tommy will check surgery and the other rooms on the top floor.”

Each team took its specific keys and scattered throughout the hospital building.

Irene and Tommy left Andersson at the care ward and continued up to the top floor. Outside the surgical ward, they saw a young nurse trying to edge a gurney in through the doors. Tommy rushed forward and politely held the door open for her.

“Thanks,” she said. “The automatic door isn’t working. These old wires and fuses break down regularly.” She smiled with sparkling energy at Tommy. Once she’d pushed the gurney inside, she turned in the doorway and asked, “Why are you here so early in the morning?”

Tommy inclined his head. “We’re going through the entire hospital with a fine-toothed comb. Didn’t you read the paper this morning?”

The nurse shook her head, surprised.

“Well, a murdered woman was found yesterday underneath the bridge at the back of the hospital’s park.”

“Good Lord! Terrible! Is it … was it … Linda?”

“No, a homeless woman. We’ve found out she sometimes slept out there in the garden shed. Had you heard any rumors about that?”

“No. I didn’t even know that there was a shed. Not until the fire there, at least.”

“Who told you about the fire?”

“Folke Bengtsson. He knows everything that goes on here.”

“And you never heard a thing about the homeless woman?”

“No.” The nurse’s voice showed her distraction. She expertly slid the gurney against the wall to leave just enough room so another could pass. The hallway was certainly narrow. On the left were two operating rooms and on the right storage rooms and an office. The hallway gave the impression of being crowded and overstuffed.

“If you want to look around the operating rooms, you’ll have to change clothes. If you’re just going to stay in the hallway, please put on foot coverings,” the nurse said. “Actually, right now would be the best time for you to look around. Surgery is scheduled in an hour.”

The police officers peered in through the doorways of the operating rooms and saw immediately that there was no room to stash a body there. Just bare walls, operating tables, operating lamps overhead, anesthetic machines, and a few rolling tables and footstools. The only way to get rid of a body in this room would be to dismember it and mingle the pieces with the rest of the surgical waste.

The surgical ward was equally cramped; it would be just as impossible to hide a body (or pieces thereof) anywhere in it.

They walked the full length of the surgical ward’s hall. As soon as they exited, they stripped off the blue plastic foot coverings to throw them in a waste basket.

Directly ahead was Administration. Irene peered into the elevator stopped on that level. It was small, with a maximum capacity of four people. It would be impossible to roll a gurney or a bed into it. To transfer a patient, then, the larger elevator at the back of the building would have to be used.

Tommy opened the first door, marked SECRETARY. Two desks were pushed together to face each other in the tiny room. A computer, surrounded by heaps of paperwork, stood on each desk. One entire wall was taken up by racks of folders with different-colored spines.

The next room had an imposing bronze plaque that proclaimed doctors’ offices, but the room itself was not much larger than Tommy and Irene’s office at the police station, perhaps even smaller. Here there were also two desks, two computers, and a shelf with folders and books. In one corner was a low armchair and next to it a floor lamp.

The bathroom beside it was minimal. One would either have to back up into it to sit or decide ahead of time to stand up to pee.

The cleaning closet was unlocked; this made Irene’s pulse quicken for a moment. Perhaps a body would fit inside. But it held just cleaning supplies piled together in the small space.

“So the only room left is the on-call apartment,” Tommy said, without much hope in his voice.

They unlocked that room and stepped inside. Just as Irene was about to switch on the light, she stopped. Heavy snoring vibrated throughout the room from the bedroom adjacent to the office. She motioned to Tommy to follow her as she sneaked toward the bedroom. She stretched her hand around the doorway and flipped the switch for the ceiling light.

The snoring stopped immediately. With an inarticulate sound, the person in the bed sat up. Sleepily, Sverker Löwander blinked at the police officers.

“Who … who are you? Oh, yes, the police.… Good Lord, what time is it?”

He looked just as disheveled as he sounded. His unwashed hair was sticking out in all directions.

“Quarter to eight,” Irene answered.

“I have to get to the operating room in fifteen minutes!”

Löwander leaped out of bed. Irene was surprised to note that he was sleeping with his jeans and socks on. His upper body was bare, and his muscled chest, with just the right amount of hair, showed that he worked out to keep in such good shape for his age. There was not a spare ounce of fat on him. Irene found him fairly attractive. In spite of the fact that he was sleeping when they’d entered the room, he did not look rested at all. Just the opposite—he looked as if he hadn’t slept in days. Irene hoped that the scheduled operations weren’t complicated, for the sake of the patients.

Tommy cleared his throat. “Why are you sleeping here? Were you on call last night?”

Sverker Löwander stopped halfway in the middle of putting on his T-shirt. He lowered his arms and looked directly at Tommy.

“No, I wasn’t on call. It might look odd, but … I was working on some calculations last night, and suddenly I was so exhausted I thought I would faint. It was four A.M. I don’t even remember going to lie down, but obviously I must have.”

Now both police officers noticed that the desk in here was covered with paper and notebooks as well as an old-fashioned adding machine. Long loops of paper tape printed with numbers hung from the table all the way to the floor.

“Did you figure it out?” Tommy asked dryly.

“No. No matter which way I run the numbers, it’s still too expensive. I’m in a hurry right now. Can we continue this after lunch? I have no operations in the afternoon.”

“That works for us. Let’s say one P.M.?”

“Fine.” Löwander was already running toward the operating room.

Together Irene and Tommy walked over to the desk and began to lift each sheet of paper carefully. Most of them seemed to be bids from various contractors. One was for roofing and another for drainage and pipe systems.

Tommy waved his hand over the mess. “Looks like old Löwander Hospital needs a big transfusion of cash. I wonder whether Sverker Löwander is suited to all this. Maybe there’s a system here we can’t see.”

Irene glanced at the paperwork on the table critically. “Hardly.”

They left the disorder of the desk. In the doorway of the on-call department, Irene turned to look back. “Do you wonder whether Löwander ever sleeps at home?”

“Couldn’t prove it to me. We’re always finding him sleeping here.”

“LET’S FIND ANDERSSON and see if anyone else has stumbled across anything,” Tommy said.

They were waiting by the small elevator when the door to the operating room was flung open and the young nurse peered out.

“The guy with the dog wants to talk to you,” she said.

They followed the nurse back through the surgical ward, where more nurses were making their way between the gurneys. Irene realized guiltily that neither she nor Tommy had remembered to put on blue plastic footies. The nurses cast disapproving glances at their street clothes and shoes. Irene picked up her pace.

In the hallway was the canine patrolman with his German shepherd. The dog did not turn its head when Tommy and Irene entered but kept staring at a nondescript door right next to the larger elevator. A deep growl rumbled in the dog’s throat.

Irene turned to the nurse. “Where does this door lead?”

“To an old attic storage area,” the nurse answered with a tremor in her voice. She swallowed before continuing. “It’s still used for storing stuff that isn’t used much. Christmas decorations and that kind of thing.”

The nurse looked from the door to the dog. “Oh, my God … that’s Nurse Tekla’s attic. I mean … the attic where Nurse Tekla died.”

FLOODLIGHTS ILLUMINATED LINDA Svensson’s body. She looked as if she were kneeling, her body hanging forward on the noose suspended from the ceiling beam, her calves touching the floor. Her long hair had fallen in front of her face. Beneath the window a rib-backed wooden chair rested on its side. Next to it was a red down jacket. The stench made it clear there need be no hurry to cut her down.

The technicians walked around taking photos from different angles. The police officers stood outside the attic room and watched the scene through the open door. The atmosphere was heavy, and no one wanted to break the silence.

The patient elevator hummed as it came to a stop and the door swished open.

“It looks like it’s time for me to set up a forensics branch right here at Löwander Hospital,” declared Yvonne Stridner.

It was entirely possible that she was trying to make a joke, but none of the officers laughed. Unperturbed, she scrutinized the hanging body as the technicians went about their work. Then she turned back to the officers, her expression grim.

“That’s our strong-armed murderer again. It’s hard work to pull up a dead body, even if, as in this case, the body was not raised to its full height. What frightens me the most about the three crimes here is the real cold-bloodedness of the killer. He seems to murder spontaneously.”

“You think he did in the homeless woman, too?” Andersson said with surprise.

“Yes. The first blow was perfect—immediate death. The victim had no chance to cry out. Then the body was hidden in a culvert. I call that cold-blooded. What if someone had happened by?”

“And Marianne?”

“Same thing there. Powerful strangulation and quick death. The body hidden where the killer already planned to take out the power. One tough guy.”

For once Andersson seemed to agree with Stridner. Mournfully, he nodded toward the hanging body. “How long has she been dead?”

“The attic is not heated, but it hasn’t been below freezing in here. My informed guess would be about a week.”

“So she died at the same time as Marianne,” Andersson concluded.

“Possibly. I’ll do the autopsy this afternoon.”

With a nod to no one in particular, the pathologist disappeared down the stairs, leaving the faint scent of Joy de Jean Patou in the air.

Andersson sneezed when the perfume tickled his nose. After he collected himself, he said, “We’re closing the hospital. The entire place will be combed through—every square inch. All operations must be halted, and every single person in this place will be interrogated. Everyone! The techs will keep working in the attic while we check the rest of this building.”

“Tommy and I made an appointment with Sverker Löwander right before Linda was discovered. Should we go ahead?” Irene asked.

“Do that. Birgitta, Fredrik, and Hannu will talk to everyone else in the operating ward. Jonny and I will take the care ward. Then we’ll all go through the basement. Although the only person down there is the security guard.”

“Let Tommy and me see him. We’ve talked to him before,” Irene said.

“Fine,” Andersson said. “Let’s go, then.”

TOMMY AND IRENE found Sverker Löwander back in the on-call apartment. He had sunk into the armchair, hands over his face. The noises coming from him sounded suspiciously like sobs. Irene and Tommy could think of nothing to say, so they let the doctor break the silence.

“What’s happening to my hospital? Who’s the crazy person running around here killing people?”

His last sentence sounded like a call for help, which it probably was. Irene saw his hands shake as he ran them through his hair. He was so beside himself that the police officers couldn’t help but feel sorry for him.

Irene took the desk chair and turned it toward him. She sat down silently, while Tommy sat on the rumpled bed. Tommy cleared his throat and said, “Honestly, we don’t know. But it’s so serious we’ve decided to close the hospital today. We’ll do all we can to solve these … occurrences. We would be extremely grateful if you were up to answering a few questions. Or would you like to wait until later?”

Sverker Löwander shook his head. “No! Now! I want these murders solved! We can’t afford to close for long. It will break us financially.”

Tommy assessed him for a moment. “Perhaps that’s where we should start. If I’ve understood correctly, Löwander Hospital is in economic difficulties. How serious is it?”

Sverker Löwander sighed heavily. “Very serious. The hospital will soon be one hundred years old. It needs a new influx of cash. For example, we need to drill a well. It’s going to cost several hundred thousand crowns. The Civil Defense Corps has decided that all hospital facilities in the country must guarantee an in-house water supply in case of possible disruption to the water system. In addition, we have to install a drainage system around the entire building and replace all the old water pipes. The insurance company has condemned the old ones. The roof leaks and will have to be replaced. The copper tiles will cost me the shirt off my back. The safety engineer has given us six months to replace the ventilation in the operation ward. It no longer meets minimum standards for a hospital. During the renovation, activity must be shut down. So we have loss of income while employee salaries must still be paid. All of this together will cost at least five million crowns. That kind of money doesn’t exist.”

Tommy looked at the doctor in surprise. “Why is all this coming at once?”

Sverker Löwander stood up, mumbled an excuse, and went into the bathroom. The two police officers could hear him blow his nose and turn on the faucet. When he came out, Irene noticed that he’d washed his face and tried to fix his hair by wet-combing it. The result was not successful. But his eyes.… For a second, Irene met his gaze and found herself swirling into their sea-green depths. The man was dangerous!

An instant later that impression was gone; the man who drew up a chair appeared anything but a heartbreaker. Irene was ashamed of her thoughts and sat up straight. Just like a romance novel, she thought. She had to pull herself together and be professional. But before she was able to collect herself enough to ask a halfway intelligent question, Löwander began to speak.

“My father took care of all the investments and the renovations. He put a great deal of money into building that new stairwell so we could have a true hospital elevator. We moved the operation ward to the upper level and built the ICU,” he said.

“When was this?” Irene asked.

“Late fifties. He managed the financial side until his death, about fourteen years ago.”

Irene felt she had to ask another question to quell her curiosity. “Why is Källberg Hospital in the black while you’re in the red?”

“They have much greater resources. They have specialists in all areas. They had money and investments and made their renovations before the crisis in health care. Now they are one of the most modern hospitals in Göteborg.”

“And Löwander Hospital?”

“Basically, we’re bankrupt.”

A long silence followed this revelation. Irene broke it by saying, “So what are you going to do?”

“No idea. No one wants to buy the building to run it as a hospital.” He laughed dryly. “Carina has the idea of opening a fitness center here.”

“What do you think about her idea?” asked Irene.

“The way I feel now, I don’t give a damn.” He covered his face and bent forward.

Tommy and Irene shared a look over Löwander’s back. Using the most comforting voice she could muster, Irene said, “We understand that you’ve been under a great deal of stress. First all your worries about the hospital and now these murders. If you would like to take a break, we can continue later this afternoon.”

Löwander nodded. His head down, he disappeared into the bathroom again. Irene and Tommy stood but waited for him to return.

When he reappeared, he looked totally beaten.

“Would you like a lift home?” asked Irene.

“No … thanks. I’ll stay here and try to pull myself together.”

“Would it be all right if we came back at three this afternoon?”

“Yes. Thank you.”

WHEN THEY REACHED the landing outside the care ward, Irene said thoughtfully, “He looks like he’s heading for a nervous breakdown.”

“No kidding.”

“What do you think about these kinds of private hospitals?”

“Not a good thing. But if the public system can’t provide good health care, it shouldn’t stand in the way of our getting help elsewhere. Even going to private doctors. Dying while waiting in a line for care is completely crazy.”

They continued in silence down the stairs to Folke Bengtsson’s domain.

THE DOOR WAS wide open. They found an empty office. Everything looked the same, except that the cardboard box marked Flags was on the desk. Irene was looking inside when they heard Bengtsson’s heavy tread on the stairs. He sounded rushed. Irene took a step back and turned toward the doorway as Bengtsson appeared. He was out of breath and seemed agitated.

“Finally! Somebody who will listen,” he exclaimed.

He headed straight for the desk and opened the cardboard box. Triumphantly, he pulled out a roll of white rope.

“Look! What did I say?”

“Excuse us, Folke, but what did you say?”

Bengtsson looked from Irene to Tommy uncertainly. “But … I thought they sent you here to check it out.”

“Check what out?”

“The rope! The flag rope!” Bengtsson exploded.

“What about it?”

“Someone has cut off a huge length of the rope. I went up to the attic, but the police wouldn’t let me look. I said I had to see, but they still wouldn’t let me in.”

“Why did you need to see Linda?”

“Not Linda! The rope. The rope she hung from. I believe it’s a piece of this.”

He held out the coil to Irene, who took it with surprise. The rope was strong but soft and supple. Perfect for strangling someone. She didn’t remember what the rope around Linda’s neck looked like, but she needed to check it out immediately.

“You’re probably correct. We’ll go right away and see.”

“I’ll go. You two talk,” Tommy said. He took the rope and headed out the door.

Bengtsson dried his face with a reasonably clean handkerchief that he pulled from one of the many pockets in his blue overalls. He blew his nose while he was at it. Then he smiled weakly at Irene. “Want a cup of coffee?”

“Thanks, I would.” What a saint! It was certainly past time to have a cup, Irene thought.

“Make yourself at home.” Bengtsson pointed at the rickety rib-backed chair and went to fill the coffeepot.

As the water began to percolate and the room filled with the blessed aroma of brewing coffee, Bengtsson searched for mugs and cookies. He exhibited a restlessness he hadn’t last time they were here. He put his white mug with the English I’m the Boss on the table, sank down into his desk chair, and pulled out his handkerchief again, repeating the face-wiping procedure.

“You have to understand.… This morning a policeman came with the wire cutters, which they’d found in the stream. Near the dead … Mama Bird. Who for the love of Christ would ever kill that poor woman?” He kept dabbing at his forehead. “The wire cutters belong to the hospital. I’m absolutely sure of it. Earlier I was searching down here for something that Marianne’s killer could have used to sabotage the reserve generator. Then I wasn’t able to find the wire cutters. They were missing from the toolbox.” Bengtsson pointed indignantly at the toolbox on a nearby shelf.

“So they’ve been missing since Marianne was murdered,” Irene concluded.

“Right.”

Bengtsson got up to pour the coffee. “Last night I couldn’t sleep. All sorts of thoughts were tumbling through my head—you know, Marianne’s murder … the bird lady—and I thought it was nasty that the killer had been in here, in my room, and found himself a weapon.”

Bengtsson stopped when he heard noise at the door. It was Tommy returning.

“You were right,” Tommy said, his face grave. “It’s the same rope.”

Bengtsson nodded grimly, as if he’d been sure the whole time. He poured coffee into another mug for Tommy and took up his tale again.

“This morning I overslept, which is unusual. When I arrived at the building, I ran right into a German shepherd in the hallway. I asked the officer with the dog what they were up to, and the guy said they were looking for Linda. It was such a shock. That she’d still be in the building. Then I heard all the commotion in the surgical ward.…”

“Did you know Linda well?”

“I know everybody here. We would chat now and then. She was always energetic and happy. I can’t understand why anyone would do that to her. Or the other two, for that matter. Unbelievable.” Bengtsson shook his head sorrowfully.

“So how did you think of the flag rope?” Irene asked.

“Oh, yeah, that. I’d rushed upstairs and heard that she was … hanging in the attic. One of the operation nurses told me. Then I thought of something.” Bengtsson paused, then spoke each word with emphasis. “I thought that if that devil had stolen one murder weapon from my room, he could steal another. I remembered the rope for the flag that I bought last fall.” He said nothing for a moment. “I came down here and pulled down the box. When I bought the coil of rope, it was twenty meters long. Now it’s hardly fourteen. I’d measured with my thumb, you see.”

“So six meters are missing,” Tommy said.

“Right.”

They finished their coffee and found nothing more to say.

“IT’S ALMOST TIME for lunch,” Irene said. “There’s something we can do between lunch and when we meet Löwander at three.”

Tommy sighed. “It’s been my experience that your little ideas tend to take more time than we expect.”

“Not this one. You and I should go see the old nurse who was working the night Marianne was murdered.”

“The old lady who saw the ghost? Siv What’s-Her-Name?”

“Siv Persson. Remember the brooch found in the shed? At the time I didn’t recall this, but now I remember that Siv Persson wore a similar brooch that morning after Marianne’s murder.”

SIV PERSSON LIVED in a four-story apartment building of yellow brick only a few blocks from Löwander Hospital. Irene had called ahead from the Chinese restaurant where they’d had lunch—beef with bamboo shoots—to make sure she’d be home.

Siv Persson welcomed a visit from the police. Apparently she’d heard about the murder of Gunnela Hägg and was worried about Linda. Irene did not mention that Linda had been found dead. She decided it would be best to tell her in person.

SIV PERSSON LIVED on the fourth floor. The building had no elevator. After trudging up three flights, Irene rang the doorbell next to the teak door. It was a while before they heard noises inside. Irene put on a friendly expression, knowing they were being scrutinized through the peephole. When the door finally opened a few inches, Irene was reminded of a little mouse peeping from its hole. Nurse Siv was wearing the same gray woolen poncho she’d worn the first time Irene met her. Her hair seemed to be made from the same skein of the yarn. Underneath was a beige-brown dress. Even the most charitable person would not be able to say the dress was attractive. The only touch of color came in the light blue frames of her glasses, and even they looked faded.

“Good day, Nurse Siv. I’m Inspector Irene Huss. I just phoned you. And this is Inspector Tommy Persson.”

“Good day.” Nurse Siv opened the door and invited them in.

The hallway was so tiny that Nurse Siv had to back into the kitchen to give Tommy and Irene enough room to take off their coats. From her spot in the miniature kitchen, she said, “I remember you, Detective Huss, from that horrible morning after … the murder. But I’m sorry to say I do not remember Inspector Persson. There was so much going on. Please, though, let’s not stand on formalities. Would you like some coffee?”

“Thanks, I’d love some. That is, if you were going to make some for yourself,” Irene added quickly.

Siv Persson smiled weakly and turned on her coffee machine. She’d obviously prepared everything needed for a proper coffee hour. The living room’s well-polished coffee table was set neatly with coffee cups and chocolate-filled cookies.

“I’m sorry, I have no coffee cake and didn’t have time to run out and buy some.”

“This is fine.” Tommy smiled. “We’re used to simple spreads with our coffee.”

Siv Persson seemed pleased and tripped along to the kitchen. She returned with a sugar bowl and a creamer.

The moss green sofa with its beige armchairs—all straight lines and shining polished armrests—brought Irene back to her childhood living room. The low oval table matched the wood on the arms of the furniture. The pile on the shag carpet was red and green. The entire living room breathed the fifties. It wouldn’t have surprised Irene for a second if Bill Haley’s “Rock Around the Clock” suddenly blared from the speakers.

The art on the walls shattered that impression. The pieces could be measured in square yards and all seemed to be painted by the same artist. The color scale was strong and saturated, gorgeous landscapes with bluish mountains and lush green valleys.

The late-model TV had the largest screen Irene had ever seen. On both sides of the screen were huge speakers.

“My brother painted them.” Siv nodded proudly at the artwork.

“They’re wonderful. Was he abroad when he painted them?”

“Yes, he lived in Provence during the last twenty years of his life. He died ten years ago.”

Was there a colorful person behind Siv Persson’s gray exterior? When she sank her thin body into the beige armchair, it seemed as if she melted into it and disappeared. Only the light blue frames of her glasses remained floating in midair. Irene shook the image from her brain and decided it was time to get down to reality.

“As you probably figured out, we’re here for something more concrete about what you saw the night of the murder,” she began.

“I’ve told my story several times,” Siv Persson said. There was a hint of worry in her voice.

“Of course. But now a week has gone by. Perhaps some things have gotten clearer to you or some new detail came to mind?”

The nurse pressed her lips together and shook her head slightly. Irene did not let herself be dismissed.

“Have you heard about the garden-shed arson?”

“Yes, it was in the paper … but that can’t have anything to do with Marianne’s murder, can it? Or Linda’s disappearance? I didn’t even know there was a garden shed back there.”

“I assume that you know about the murder of the homeless woman.”

“Yes, that was also in the paper. What is going on at Löwander Hospital?”

“That’s exactly what we’re trying to find out. And we need your help.” Irene let her last sentence sink in. Then she said emphatically, “The murdered homeless woman lived in that shed.”

Siv Persson’s expressions ranged from suspicion to surprise. She wrinkled her forehead. “That can’t be possible, can it? Living in a garden shed during the middle of winter?”

“She was probably grateful to have a roof over her head. Have you ever seen her around the hospital grounds?”

“What did she look like?”

“She was short and very thin. She wore a large man’s coat held together by a piece of rope. Pink knitted cap.”

“No. I’ve never seen anyone who looked like that. I certainly would remember it if I had,” Siv Persson said firmly.

“Back to the fire on Saturday night. It was arson. The homeless woman had a bed of blankets and a sleeping bag. The arsonist set fire to everything after he’d put a black wool nurse’s uniform on top. We also found a nurse’s brooch among the remains. It belonged to a nurse who graduated from the Sophia nursing school. I remembered you had a brooch that matched.”

Without saying a word, Siv Persson stood up and disappeared behind a closed door that Irene guessed concealed her bedroom. Tommy and Irene exchanged looks. They could hear the nurse rummaging around. A few minutes later, Siv Persson came back. Somehow she reentered the room as a different person, straighter, with an air of authority. She’d transformed into a nurse right to the ends of her fingertips.

She wore a white hat with a wide black band; on the edge of the band was a narrow, crisp ruffle. The blindingly white dress collar had at its center the shining silver nurse’s brooch. The black dress itself had puffed, capped sleeves lined with buttons. The bodice was short, a tight row of more black buttons running down to the waist. The pleated skirt came to the middle of the calf, revealing black stockings and shoes. Over one arm she had a neatly folded apron.

“This is how she was dressed,” declared the nurse. She turned slowly so that the police officers could see the uniform from all angles. “But one thing was missing.”

“Missing?” echoed the officers.

“Yes, missing. The apron was gone. This is how it’s supposed to look.”

Siv Persson shook open the crackling, starched apron so they could get a closer look. It had a gentle golden tinge, an indication of its age. “At home you always wear the apron.”

“At home?”

“If you are working on a ward, you are at home in that ward. Then you wear the apron but not the belt.”

“So when you’re away from your department, you take off the apron and put on the belt? Do I understand you correctly?”

“That’s right.”

Irene and Tommy both got to their feet to inspect the dress more closely.

“It’s not black. More like dark blue,” Tommy said.

“But it wouldn’t be practical to work in that uniform, would it? Hard to wash.”

Nurse Siv snorted. “We certainly didn’t work in this uniform! This is a dress uniform for important events. The daily uniform was a light blue cotton one. No puffed sleeves or all these buttons.”

“And the person you saw the night of the murder was dressed just as you are now?”

“That’s right. Tekla was also a Sophia graduate. Since the beginning of the twentieth century, it has been the tradition at Löwander to have nurses trained at the Sophia nursing school.”

“But isn’t Sophia in Stockholm?”

“Yes, but it was always the most prestigious school. Plenty of Göteborg girls applied to Sophia for their training. I did. Many of them wanted to return to Göteborg after graduation, and Löwander Hospital was happy to hire them. In those days working at Löwander brought status. Dr. Löwander’s mother was also a Sophia nurse.”

“You mean the younger doctor?”

“Yes.”

“Are all the nurses at Löwander Hospital still graduates of the Sophia nursing school?”

“No, just Ellen and myself. All the others were educated here in Göteborg, except Margot. She got her education in Karlstad.”

Irene tried to remain casual. “You are absolutely sure that it was Nurse Tekla you saw that night?”

The nurse sighed, and then she wilted. “I know it sounds unbelievable. But the moon was shining brightly—it was almost like broad daylight when the clouds broke up. I was about to enter the nurses’ office and happened to look at the glass doors. And I saw her as clear as day.”

“What did she look like? Did you see her face?”

“No, I saw her sideways, from the back. But she was tall and … stately. She’d set her hair up according to regulations. You were supposed to be able to see all the way around the collar.”

“Did you see the color of her hair?”

“Blond. The light of the moon was reflecting off it. She looked just as she did in the picture I showed Superintendent Andersson.”

“But she was ‘away.’ No apron.”

“That’s right.”

Tommy hadn’t said much, but now he squeezed in a question. “What was Nurse Tekla wearing when she was found hanging in the attic?”

Siv Persson looked at him with distaste. “She was wearing the daily uniform.”

“With cap and apron?”

“Yes.”

“How do you know?”

“Gertrud told me. She was there and helped cut Tekla down. Gertrud had taken over Tekla’s position after she’d quit. So the two of them never met—in life, that is.”

Tommy nodded as he reflected on her statement. Then he said innocently, “Why does she haunt the hospital in her ceremonial uniform when she hanged herself in her daily uniform?”

Siv Persson pressed her lips together. “I’m going to change,” she said.

Irene stifled a smile and wagged her finger at her colleague in admonition. Perhaps he was correct in his suspicions, but there was no point in antagonizing Siv Persson. She was their most important witness, since she’d seen the murderer. The only other such witness had been silenced forever. At least they had Irene’s transcript of Kurt Höök’s tape recording. It was time to find the connection to Gunnela Hägg’s murder. One thing on the tape troubled Irene, and perhaps Siv Persson would be able to enlighten her.

Irene did her best to appear pleasant when the nurse returned wearing her dust-colored clothes. She smiled as she said, “Perhaps you can help us with the other murder. The homeless woman, Gunnela Hägg. Does her name ring a bell?”

Siv Persson wrinkled her tiny face in concentration, then shook her head. “At first I thought … but … no. I don’t recognize the name.”

“Gunnela’s statement was recorded the day after Marianne’s murder. She told a reporter the story of Tekla’s suicide. She even calls her by name.”

Siv Persson appeared surprised. “Strange. Maybe she worked for us?”

“Hardly. She was an inpatient at Lillhagen for over twenty-five years and—”

“That’s it!” Siv Persson leaped out of her armchair. Her pale face was brightened by a slight flush. “Was she at Lillhagen … let’s see … thirteen years ago?”

“That’s right.”

“Then she could have been one of the ten patients we took in from Lillhagen when they closed for the summer. Löwander Hospital did it to generate extra income. We signed a contract with the hospital’s board and took a number of patients from different medical institutions.” She fell silent to think for a minute. “All the following summers we had no mental patients, thank God. Löwander Hospital is not set up for long-time care and certainly not for mentally ill people. It was the worst summer of my life. At least as far as my work was concerned.”

“That could be something to check out. Let’s ask Hannu to follow up on that.”

Irene’s last sentence was directed to Tommy, who pulled his cell phone from his jacket.

Irene also stood and took Siv Persson’s hand. She thanked her for the coffee and the inestimable help she’d given them. As she put on her jacket, mostly to have something to say, Irene asked, “When are you going to return to work?”

Siv Persson crossed her arms on her chest as if the room had suddenly gotten very cold. “Not before my own surgery in two weeks.”

“An operation? I hope it’s not serious.”

“No. Cataracts in one eye.”

Irene froze. She remembered her mother complaining before her cataract surgery about how fuzzy everything appeared and how difficult it was for her eyes to adjust between light and dark. Trying not to show her agitation, Irene asked, “Do your cataracts bother you much?”

Tommy lifted an eyebrow questioningly. But this could be important.

“Oh, yes. It’s worst when I read. All the lines meld—” The nurse stopped suddenly and glared at Irene. “I know what you’re implying. But I saw her clearly. The clouds parted, and the moonlight flooded in through the windows. I saw her!”

Irene chose her words carefully. “I have no doubt that you saw a woman. But it was no ghost. You saw a murderer dressed up. Put aside all thoughts of a ghost. Think about a real person. Who might it have been?”

Siv Persson didn’t answer, just hugged herself more closely. Tommy walked over to her and set a hand gently on her shoulder. She trembled but didn’t shrug his hand away.

“We don’t want to scare you, but we believe that Gunnela Hägg was killed because she’d seen the murderer. Her statement indicates that she had.” Tommy paused and let his words sink in before he continued. “You are now the only surviving witness. This is a dangerous killer. You must take precautions. Do not open the door if someone rings and you don’t know who it is. Even if you do know someone, think back and make sure that it isn’t someone who could have dressed up as Nurse Tekla.”

“Well, you are certainly scaring me now.”

“With good reason. We found Linda this afternoon. She’s dead.”

“No!” Siv Persson reeled as if she’d been hit. Irene took her arm and led her to the chair. Nurse Siv sank into it heavily and stared straight ahead. She whispered, so softly they could hardly hear her, “How did it happen?”

“You mean how did she die?”

She nodded wordlessly.

“She was found hanged in the same place that Nurse Tekla hanged herself. From a beam in the attic ceiling. The pathologist believes that she’s been dead for a week.”

“So she died the same night as Marianne,” Siv Persson said emotionlessly.

“That’s more than possible, but we don’t know for sure.”

“Was it … suicide?”

“We don’t know. We have to wait for the autopsy results. But I agree with my colleague. Think about what happened to Marianne and Gunnela Hägg. Be careful. Please, stop thinking that you saw a ghost. Ghosts don’t commit murder. That’s left to the living.”

The nurse’s face looked like a death mask, but she nodded to show she’d heard what Irene said.

“Will you be all right? Shall we call someone for you?” Irene asked.

The nurse shook her head heavily. “I’m used to taking care of myself. But … how can anyone be so cruel? Kill young girls like that. And that poor homeless lady.… It’s horrible!”

Both police officers nodded. Senseless atrocities were playing out in the old hospital.

• • •

IRENE SIGHED. “NURSE Siv is right. It makes no sense only because we don’t have a motive. If we had a motive, we would be able to close in on the murderer.”

Tommy nodded. They were in the car on the way back to Löwander Hospital. It was going on three and time to continue their talk with Sverker Löwander.

His cell phone rang, and Tommy answered. He didn’t say much. After he clicked off, he said somberly, “That was Andersson. Stridner has just called from Pathology. Linda was definitely murdered.”

They completed the drive in silence.

SVERKER LÖWANDER WAS as pale as a corpse. Irene was starting to wonder if he had already gone over the edge. His hair had still not been washed, and he smelled strongly of sweat. He looked like a man who had lost his whole world. Which he probably has, Irene thought. In spite of his worn appearance, she still found him extremely attractive. Obviously some people have it and some people don’t. Unfair.

“Sit down,” Löwander said, skipping any small talk. Tommy sat down on the bed, and Irene pulled out the desk chair. They were all sitting exactly where they’d been that morning. Only one thing had changed: Now the police knew that Linda Svensson had been murdered.

“I want to ask you about Linda,” Irene began.

Löwander looked nauseated. After drawing a few deep breaths, he said, “Excuse me, but all of this has been … just too much.”

“I understand. First the economic difficulties and now the murders. Not exactly the kind of advertising a private hospital would want,” Irene said.

“No hospital in the world would want any of this.” Löwander sighed.

“Returning to Linda. When did you see her last?”

“Monday the tenth. I saw her briefly during the morning rounds. I swung by the nurses’ station to look for some misplaced paperwork. It was supposed to have been sent up to the operating room.”

“Which paperwork?”

“What’s that got to do—Nils Peterzén’s medical consultation. His heart and lungs weren’t in the best shape. There wasn’t much time to read through it before surgery.”

“How did Linda appear the last time you saw her?”

“Appear? The usual for a Monday morning with a full operation schedule. Stressed. Not more than average, though. She was her usual self.”

“Did she say anything to you?”

Löwander’s forehead wrinkled in thought. For a brief moment, he showed his fifty years. “We said hi and complained about the cold.… I asked where the paperwork was, and she helped me look for it. She was the one who realized that it was probably still down at the secretary’s desk.”

“Did you see her later that day?”

Löwander shook his head. “I spent the rest of the afternoon and the evening in the ICU. Peterzén was in bad shape. I might have caught a glimpse of her around five when she was leaving for the day. But I couldn’t say for sure if it was that specific Monday or the Monday before.… I’m so tired. I’m totally exhausted.” Löwander covered his face with his hands.

“What is your opinion of Linda as a person?” Tommy asked.

“Happy and pleasant. A good nurse.”

“Have you ever seen any indications that she might have a problem?”

“What kind of problem?”

“Maybe a drug addiction or something similar?”

The doctor shook his head emphatically. No, absolutely not. Marianne Svärd didn’t take drugs either. I didn’t know Marianne as well as I did Linda, because Marianne worked the night shift. But I’m absolutely sure neither of them had a drug problem.”

“We’ve received some information from the pathologist. Linda Svensson did not commit suicide. She, too, was murdered.”

At that, Löwander vomited so quickly that he barely had time to lean forward. Not much came up, just fluid from an empty stomach. “Excuse me,” he said.

He stood on shaky legs and headed for the bathroom. They heard the sound of the faucet, and he returned with a bit of toilet paper to wipe up the vomit on the rug. He headed back to the bathroom.

When he returned again, the first thing he did was open the window, for which they were all grateful, as the sour stench of gall had permeated the room. He sat back down in the armchair but no longer appeared so hopeless. There was an air of caution about him that had not been there before.

In a formal tone, he said, “Please excuse my behavior.”

Tommy smiled in his friendly way. “We understand you’re not feeling well.”

Our plastic surgeon, Kurt Bünzler, told me last week, right before he went on vacation, he was going to retire this June. Today our anesthesiologist, Konrad Henriksson, turned in his resignation. He’s found a new position at Källberg Hospital.”

“So they’re looking ahead.”

“That they are.”

“Will it be difficult to find replacements?”

“Not just difficult. Impossible. Who wants to sign on to a sinking ship?”

“And you have the same problem finding nurses?”

“Of course. It’s been hard the past few years. We had the luck to find a few good nurses, although they were young when they started here.”

“Linda, Marianne, and Anna-Karin, you mean.”

“Right.”

Of those three, only one is still alive, Irene thought. She mentally made a note to talk to Anna-Karin as soon as she could.

“If you can’t find replacements, what are you going to do?”

Löwander sighed. “I made up my mind this afternoon. I’m going to close the hospital this summer.”

“You’re giving up?”

Löwander nodded tiredly.

Irene cleared her throat. “I have a practical question. How many master keys are there for this hospital? The door to the attic, where we found Linda, was locked, and there were no signs of forced entry on the door or on the lock. Just as with Marianne’s murder.”

“There are two. Bengtsson, the security guard, has one. I have the other.”

“No one else has one?”

“No one.”

“Do you have yours with you now?”

“Yes.” The doctor stuck his hand into his pocket and took out a key ring. He snapped it open and looked through the keys before pulling one out. “It’s this one. This is the master key.”

He extended the key ring to Irene, who took it and examined it. It was a normal ASSA key with a large L engraved on one side.

“Do you always keep these keys with you?”

“Always.”

So all the master keys were accounted for. If it wasn’t one of these two men, who was it? Inadvertently, Irene thought, Only ghosts can move through locked doors.

She handed the key ring back. On impulse she asked, “What will you do after you close the hospital?”

“No need to worry about me. My patients will follow me to another clinic. Perhaps Källberg, I hope. I’m not sure where I’ll go, but it’ll work out somehow.”

“The other employees will lose their jobs,” Irene stated.

“Yes, they will. Unfortunately.”

“What will happen to the hospital building?”

“No idea. I’m going to put it up for sale as is.”

They could tell from his voice that he couldn’t care less what happened to the building. Irene and Tommy exchanged glances. They silently agreed there was nothing much more they could find out right now.

Just as they were getting up to go, Irene’s cell phone rang. Irene took it from her pocket. “Irene Huss.”

“Hi, Mama.” It was Jenny’s voice on the other end. “Your hairstylist just called. She was really mad you missed your appointment. She said you’d have to pay for it anyway.”

“Damn.”

SUPERINTENDENT ANDERSSON LOOKED glum. Questioning the hospital employees had not yielded any leads. No one had noticed any change in either Marianne or Linda in the days leading up to the murders. Both had been acting normally. Only Nurse Ellen hadn’t been reinterviewed; she’d been sick and hadn’t been in. Andersson sighed and rubbed his bald head.

His investigators were starting to trickle in. Birgitta and Hannu were the first ones back. Birgitta said, “I’ve gone through three interrogations with that swine Schölenhielm. He’s out of his mind!”

Andersson tried to think. Who was Schölenhielm and how did he fit in at Löwander Hospital? Maybe he was the security guard? No, that guy was called Bengtsson.… He gave up. “Who is Schölenhielm?”

“The guy who beat his Polish girlfriend to death last Saturday. Maria Jacobinski.”

“What? What are you doing with that case? You’re supposed to be dealing with this Löwander problem.”

“Who else was available? Irene had to take over the shift for Hans Borg Saturday night because you forgot to have it covered.”

That last sentence came out a bit more spitefully than she intended, and, observing the shifting color of her boss’s face, she hurried to continue.

“I took over the case on Sunday. It’s clear-cut. The forensics team faxed the preliminary report yesterday. She was beaten all over, and her body had massive signs of earlier beatings as well. Two fingers had been broken, and from appearances they healed without treatment. The back of her skull was beaten in—that was the killing blow. During my first interrogation, the used-car salesman insisted that he’d lost his memory. I would rule it a massive hangover. But today he had a completely new story.”

In spite of himself, Andersson was curious. “Let’s hear it.” By now most of the group had arrived and was listening.

“He says that the Polish mafia forced their way into his apartment that evening and forced him to drink an entire quart of Grant’s. Then they beat his girlfriend to death. There was nothing he could do, since the alcohol had incapacitated him. He was helpless as he watched them kill his girlfriend.”

Jonny snorted. “Well, that’s a new spin on an old story. What was his name again?”

“Sten Schölenhielm. He took the name twenty years ago. He was born Sten Svensson. Probably thought that a name that sounds vaguely noble would be good for business.”

“All right, let’s ignore the salesman and his Polish whore for now. Birgitta, see if you can find someone to take over that investigation. Maybe Tomas Molander—What’s wrong now?”

Birgitta’s back was as straight as a board as she leaned over the table and stared into Andersson’s eyes. She said in an ice-cold voice, “How would you know?”

“How? What?”

“How do you know she was a whore?”

Andersson stared at Birgitta in surprise. “Everybody knows that’s what they’re all like.”

“All like what?”

“They hang around in bars picking up tourists. Find a rich foreigner and get off the street and away from their miserable lives.”

“And they’re all like that?”

“Well, maybe not all, but most of them.”

“And you know for a fact that Maria Jacobinski was a whore?”

“Yes … no … but she had to be.”

Birgitta and Andersson glared at each other like two roosters ready to fight. The air seemed to vibrate between them. Irene understood what was behind it. It had nothing to do with Andersson’s thoughtless comment regarding Maria Jacobinski. Birgitta still felt bad about Hans Borg, and Andersson had not backed her up. Birgitta wanted Hans Borg’s head on a platter. And Andersson couldn’t understand Birgitta’s reaction. He felt he’d made a smooth move as an administrator and solved the problem by exchanging Borg for Hannu Rauhala. No gossip and no leaks to the media about sexual harassment inside the police force.

Irene also knew that Birgitta would never win this fight. Perhaps she realized this herself, as she rounded off her harangue. “Most of those women are lured here by promises of marriage only to find they’re sex slaves in a foreign country. The cost of returning is just too high. And even if they manage to return, they end up having to take up the life anyway. Even if Maria Jacobinski had been a streetwalker back in Poland, that’s no reason for denying her justice here.”

“I never said she wouldn’t get justice.” Andersson bristled, outraged. His glare let Birgitta know she’d gone too far. “Forget about Tomas Molander. You’re still on this investigation.” He nodded toward the door.

Birgitta looked at him, not comprehending.

“Go and deal with your used-car salesman and Polish lady.”

Teeth clenched, Birgitta stood up and collected her papers. Without looking at anyone and with her back still straight, she walked right out the door.

An unpleasant silence filled the room until Jonny broke it by saying, “What a bitch!”

Jonny and Andersson exchanged a look of male camaraderie. Irene bit the inside of her cheek to keep herself from speaking up. Like Birgitta, she knew that this was a fight she could not win.

“Back to Löwander Hospital,” said Andersson. “We haven’t gotten the final pathology reports on either the bird lady or Linda. Stridner promised we’d have both reports early tomorrow morning. We’ll go over them during morning prayer at seven-thirty.” A few members of the group nodded. “Stridner could tell me, however, that Linda was strangled and then hung up on the ceiling beam by the doubled flag line.”

“Why was she strung up?” asked Hannu.

“Maybe so it would seem like suicide?” Jonny suggested.

“No, he left the rope used for the strangulation embedded in her neck,” Hannu said.

The group pondered this for a minute until Irene said, “I believe Hannu has raised a good point. The intention was not to make it appear like a suicide. The murderer had something else to say. Otherwise it would have been enough just to strangle her and throw her behind the door of the locked attic.”

“As he had with Marianne,” Fredrik Stridh interjected. “Just throw her into the room.”

“Another strange detail. If it’s a detail. Why go down the elevator with Marianne’s body and drag her into the generator room when it would be easier to throw her into the attic, too? It took a lot of extra time.” Irene was thinking out loud.

“Time,” Hannu said.

Everyone in the group remembered Hannu’s succinct way of speaking from previous cases and knew it was best not to press him for more. When he was ready, he was ready. He wouldn’t say a word before then, which really got on the nerves of everyone else. However, every word he said was golden.

Andersson usually had great respect for the Finn’s acumen, but because he was still mentally off balance after his confrontation with Birgitta, he snapped. “What the hell do you mean?”

Unperturbed, Hannu continued. “The murderer needed time. That’s why he sabotaged the electricity. The respirator stops. The doctor and the nurse have to hurry to take care of the patient. The murderer can return to the attic and get on with stringing Linda up.”

The entire room fell silent. Most of them were surprised at such a long statement from Hannu, but what he said gave them much to think about.

“Continue,” Andersson said.

“The murderer has to go the electrical room anyway to sabotage the electricity. He takes Marianne’s body there because he knows that it will be found as soon as someone comes looking to see what’s wrong. That’s exactly what he wants. It might delay the discovery of Linda’s body.”

“That’s exactly the hell what happened—a whole week!” The superintendent stared gloomily at his underlings. No one said a word, because if Hannu’s theory was correct, it was a coldly planned trap and they’d all fallen into it.

“It’s pretty clear now that the murders of the two nurses are connected. But the murder of the crazy bird lady? Someone else?” Jonny asked.

Tommy shook his head. “No, Stridner believes it’s the same killer. ‘Brutal and strong,’ she said. And the probable murder weapon, the wire cutter, is the same one used to sabotage the electricity that night. Remember, it was found on the stream bank near Gunnela Hägg’s body.”

“Keep in mind, too, that everyone says that Linda and Marianne were acting totally normal right before they were murdered,” Andersson pointed out.

“There’s one niggling detail about Linda,” Irene said. “She asked her partner to move out, since she no longer loved him. Was she in love with someone else, even though she denied it? Perhaps we should look into this separation some more. Of course, this doesn’t explain where Marianne comes into the picture, not to mention the murder of Gunnela Hägg.”

“It’s all about the hospital.” Hannu’s calm voice.

Irene was startled. She’d also had that feeling many times. “I agree. We keep circling around Löwander Hospital and what happened a long time ago—”

The superintendent groaned. “Please don’t bring up that damned ghost.”

“No, not the ghost. We’re searching not for a phantom but a killer. But there’s something connected to the story of Nurse Tekla. Remember, the killer hung Linda’s body in the same place where the nurse hanged herself fifty years ago. That must mean something.”

“Such as?”

“No idea. We have to keep looking into the stories surrounding the hospital. Maybe the dead can lead us to the killer.”

“Have you lost your mind? We can’t keep digging into old shit when we’re up to our knees in what’s going on right now,” Jonny exclaimed.

Andersson quietly looked from one of his inspectors to the next. The superintendent was inclined to agree with Jonny, but he also felt there might be something to Irene’s point of view. Resolutely, he proclaimed, “Hannu, Irene, and Tommy, you dig around the hospital history. Fredrik, Jonny, and Birg—I mean, and myself will keep talking to the living.”

“SO HOW SHOULD we go about this?” asked Hannu.

The members of Irene’s group, which Jonny had already nicknamed the “Ghostbusters,” were sitting in Irene and Tommy’s office.

“I’ll track down Sverker Löwander’s first wife, Barbro. She knew Sverker’s parents and certainly knows some of the hospital stories. And I’d like to hear more about her accusations against Carina regarding the fire at the doctor’s mansion,” Irene said.

Tommy nodded agreement. “I’ll try to speak to Siv Persson again. I want to track down any of Tekla’s relatives, if any are still alive. And I want to know exactly where in the attic she was supposed to have killed herself. Did Linda’s murderer hang her in the exact same spot? And then the obvious follow-up question: Why?”

“How could the murderer know the exact place?” Hannu said.

Irene felt absolutely sure they must follow this trail. Everything was tied up in the history of the hospital. The ghost disguise was a smart move, but it might be the murderer’s downfall. Knowing the exact spot where Tekla had died made for a limited field of suspects.

“I’ll follow up the patients at Löwander Hospital during the summers of ’83 and ’84,” Hannu said.

Irene nodded and tried to hide a yawn. It had been a long day, and tomorrow hardly promised to be a shorter one.

She’d have to remember to call her hairdresser for another appointment.