Chapter 2
DR. SVERKER LÖWANDER paused on the other side of the ICU door. He let the beam of his flashlight play over the stairwell. Nothing. Rapidly, he climbed the stairs to the top floor and stopped again up there to shine his beam around the landing outside surgery. Everything appeared normal. Two rolling beds were parked next to the closet to his left. He went to the elevator shaft and shone his light through the window. As he aimed the beam down, he could see the top of the elevator just below him. He pulled out his key chain, which jingled as he searched for the master key.
Beyond the door to surgery, everything was still. The smell of disinfectant stung his nose. The doctor made a quick pass through the two anterooms and decided that all was as it should be.
He hurried through the surgery ward and opened the door to the other, somewhat smaller, stairwell. At the administration offices on the other side of the stairs, Dr. Löwander tested the doors to the house mother’s station, the doctors’ assistants’ offices, and his own office. He felt relief to find them all locked. The last door in the hallway belonged to the on-call apartment.
He rushed inside, snatched his cell phone from his briefcase, and tapped 112, his hands shaking slightly. The emergency-services operator promised to send a police car as soon as possible. They would also contact the emergency electric service but made no promises about when an electrician could get there.
Dr. Löwander held the flashlight in his teeth to search through the phone book, which, luckily, was on his desktop. He flipped through the Bengtssons of Göteborg until he got to Folke Bengtsson, security guard, Solrosgatan 45. He had to describe the situation first to the newly awakened Mrs. Bengtsson and then again to Folke Bengtsson himself. Folke promised to jump into his car right away. As Dr. Löwander pressed end, he found he was covered in sweat. He took a few deep breaths before heading back out into the hallway and down the steps as quickly as he dared. He slowed as he got to the ward and carefully opened the door to the darkened room.
Nurse Siv was sitting on the floor outside the nurses’ station, crying softly. She’d wrapped her arms tightly across her body, and she was rocking back and forth. When she saw the doctor, she began to wail.
“I saw her! I saw her!”
“Who?” the doctor asked, more sharply than he’d intended.
“The ghost! Nurse Tekla!”
Confused, Dr Löwander gaped at the nurse, who continued rocking and shut her eyes against the bright glare of the flashlight. Tears ran down her face. He pondered what to do. Finally he said, “Here. Take the flashlight. Sit here at the station. I’ll come back with the police. We’ll find out what’s at the bottom of all this.”
He helped the shaking woman to her feet, pushed the flashlight into her hand, and led her back to the nurses’ station and to her desk. Unresisting, she let him push her into her chair.
Now that the moonlight was stronger, Dr. Löwander was able to find his way much more easily down the stairs to the ground floor. Once he reached the foyer, he had to slow his pace. The darkness among the pillars of the art nouveau arches was impenetrable. As he got to the main door, a chill went down his spine. He was certain that someone was watching him. He felt as if a person were standing amid the pillars observing his every move. His fingers fumbled with the key. He almost yelled with relief as the heavy door swung open. The chill of the night swept across his sweaty forehead, and he took a deep breath.
“I’VE SEARCHED THE entire upper floor, and there’s no trace of Marianne.” Dr. Löwander filled the police in, trying to speed their search for the nurse. “She’s not on the middle floor either. That’s where the care wards and ICU are located. Probably she’s here on the ground floor or even in the basement. If she hasn’t gone outside into the park, that is.”
Security guard Bengtsson had brought his own flashlight. Dr. Löwander had already sent him to the basement to check on what had happened with the electricity and the backup generator.
The three policemen had brought strong flashlights as well. The oldest, who had introduced himself as Sergeant Kent Karlsson, swung the beam of his around the large, dark foyer. Dr. Löwander felt slightly irritated with himself; there was clearly no one hiding among the pillars.
“If you loan us your keys, Jonsson and I could make a round through this floor and—”
“Hey there! Help! I found her!”
A call from the basement interrupted the sergeant. They could see the wavering glow of his flashlight before the full beam blinded them and obscured the guard. Nevertheless, his excited words were clear: “I’ve found Nurse Marianne!”
“Where?” Dr. Löwander asked sharply.
“In the main electrical room. I believe … I believe she’s … dead.” Bengtsson’s voice was failing, and the word “dead” was nothing more than a hoarse whisper echoing among the pillars.
“Show us where you found her,” Sergeant Karlsson ordered.
• • •
HER BODY WAS stretched facedown across the backup generator. The men standing in the doorway could just see the backs of her legs and her rear, encased in long pants. Her head and arms were out of sight over the other side. Dr. Löwander registered that she was missing a shoe. He walked around the generator, bent down, and dutifully checked the pulse at her neck, but he could feel that the chill of death had already set in. Her thick, dark braid brushed the floor. A sharp bluish red mark ran across her throat.
“She’s dead,” he said quietly.
Sergeant Karlsson took charge. “We’re leaving the room now. Do not touch anything. I have to call for reinforcements.”
Dr. Löwander nodded and obediently left with the others. “We’ve got to get back to Nurse Siv. She’s all alone,” he said.
Sergeant Karlsson looked at him with surprise. “Night nurses are used to being alone.”
“True enough, but not under these circumstances. She’s in shock.”
“Why?”
“She believes she saw a ghost.” Dr. Löwander said this lightly, hoping that the police would not pay too much attention to it. He quickly turned to Bengtsson and said, “Come with me. Let’s check on Siv.”
He took Bengtsson’s flashlight and led the way to the stairs. Folke Bengtsson followed him with relief.
AT SEVEN O’CLOCK, Superintendent Sven Andersson and Detective Inspector Irene Huss arrived at Löwander Hospital.
The investigators climbed out of their blue Volvo, which the superintendent had parked by the main entrance. They paused for a moment and looked up at the impressive building. The hospital was built of brownish red brick. The entrance led to a grand stairway right at the center of the structure. The main entrance was covered with stucco decorations. Two carved marble Greek gods kept watch on each side.
They pushed open the heavy door. Detective Fredrik Stridh was sitting in a chair by the entrance, waiting for them. They knew he was not sitting to rest tired legs but was taking the opportunity to write up his notes. When he saw them, he leaped to his feet and came to meet them.
“Good morning,” Superintendent Andersson said to his youngest detective.
“Morning, sir!” Stridh eagerly launched into his report. “The crime scene was secured by the patrol, and the technicians were already hard at work when I arrived at three-thirty A.M. Malm is here from Forensics, and he says it appears the girl was strangled.”
The superintendent nodded. “Why weren’t you here before three-thirty?” he asked.
“I’d swung by Hammarkullen to look at a guy who flew out of a ninth-floor window just before midnight. There were quite a few people in the apartment, and the party was still going strong. Either they’d all worked together to throw him out or he’d decided to jump on his own. We’ll have to see what the chief forensics officer has to say. Speak of the devil, here she comes now.”
They looked out the thick panes of the window as a white Ford Escort shot in through the gate and stopped sideways behind the superintendent’s car. The driver-side door opened, and flaming red hair popped up over the roof.
“Yvonne Stridner!” moaned Superintendent Andersson.
Criminal Inspector Irene Huss was irritated by the tone of her boss’s voice, but she hoped he’d control his temper long enough to profit from Stridner’s invaluable information. Stridner was incredibly capable, according to many people working in the department, and Irene agreed with them. The superintendent was probably thinking along the same lines, since he lumbered forward and held the door open for Professor Yvonne Stridner. She nodded condescendingly.
“Good morning, Andersson. I see that the Violent Crime Division has put in an appearance.”
The superintendent mumbled that this was indeed the case.
“Where’s the body?” Professor Stridner wondered aloud in her typical businesslike tone.
Fredrik Stridh showed them the way down the stairs to the basement.
“THE VICTIM HAS been identified as Marianne Svärd. A nurse. Twenty-eight years old. Just below medium height, slim build. Lying on her stomach across a motor … rather, the hospital’s backup generator. Her clothes are in order. Missing a shoe from her right foot. Judging by rigor mortis, she has been dead approximately six hours, probably slightly longer. Livor mortis on the body parts closest to the ground corroborates this. I am measuring the body temperature now at the scene. The room temperature according to a thermometer on the wall is nineteen degrees Celsius.”
Yvonne Stridner turned off her tiny pocket recorder and began to examine the corpse. Police technician Svante Malm was careful to stay out of her way. Superintendent Andersson pulled his two inspectors out into the hall and whispered, “While Stridner sucks all the oxygen out of the room, what have you learned so far?”
He looked at Fredrik Stridh, who took his notebook from his pocket, licked his thumb, and began to flip through the pages. “The alarm came in at twelve forty-seven A.M. Dr. Sverker Löwander called from his cell phone to report that Löwander Hospital had a power failure. The backup generator also did not start. At the same time, a nurse had gone missing. The patrol arrived at one-ten A.M., the same time as security guard Folke Bengtsson. Dr. Löwander met them at the entrance. Since Bengtsson had a flashlight, Dr. Löwander asked him to go and check what was wrong with the backup generator. The guard was the one who found the body in the room where the main electrical-distribution panel and the backup generator are located.”
Fredrik Stridh had to stop and take a breath at that point. The superintendent quickly put in a question. “What was wrong with the lights? They’re working fine now.” He gestured at the fluorescent ceiling fixtures.
“Bengtsson took a look at the panel and saw that the main circuit breaker had been disconnected. All he had to do was reset it.”
“And what about the backup generator?”
“Someone had cut all the cables to and from the unit. Not a chance that it would work.”
Andersson’s eyebrows rose to his nonexistent hairline. “Anything else of interest?”
“The victim’s shoe was found in the elevator. By me. A hefty sandal. Scholl brand.”
“The victim. What do you know about her?”
“Dr. Löwander identified her as Marianne Svärd. One of the night nurses employed at Löwander Hospital.”
“So you’ve talked to the doctor.”
“Yes. It appears he was spending the night at the hospital to keep an eye on a patient who was on a respirator. An elderly man, who’d been operated on earlier that day. By the way, the patient died while the power was out.”
The chief inspector took a quick, deep, audible breath. “So another person died, too?”
Detective Stridh lost his train of thought and said, slightly confused, “Yes … well … the respirator stopped working. He couldn’t breathe. He was in the ICU. Dr. Löwander and the old nurse who was making night rounds on that ward tried to revive him. But they couldn’t. It was then they realized that the victim—Nurse Marianne—had gone missing.”
Irene Huss looked thoughtfully at her colleague. “It seems that she was not at her station right before the power outage,” she pointed out.
Fredrik Stridh shrugged. “So it seems.”
Superintendent Andersson looked grim. “So. We have two people who died here at the hospital last night.”
“What did the other nurse have to say?” wondered Irene.
Fredrik Stridh snorted. “When I arrived, she appeared calm, but as soon as I started to question her about last night, she began to wail. By the way, her name’s Siv Persson. She insists that she saw a ghost walking through the hospital and that that’s who murdered Nurse Marianne. She even went to find an old photograph from some cupboard or other to show me.”
Fredrik Stridh was interrupted by the pathologist, who came out into the hallway. “You can move her now. The technician is almost finished,” Stridner said. Svante Malm was taping broad strips onto Marianne Svärd’s body to prevent anything important from falling off it as well as protect it from any outside contamination.
The pathologist glanced sharply at Andersson, who’d unknowingly hunched his shoulders in defense. “An extraordinary case, Andersson,” she said. “That’s why I wanted to be here at the crime scene myself. Sometimes it reveals a great deal.”
“So what does this crime scene show you? How did Marianne Svärd die?” Irene hurried to ask.
Yvonne Stridner looked at Irene with surprise, as if she’d just now noticed that she and the superintendent were not alone in the basement hallway. She raised her eyebrows slightly before she replied.
“She was strangled by a noose, and probably not in the room in which she was found. The traces of dirt on her heels indicate that she was dragged here. It appears that the murderer just opened the door and threw her inside, which is why she landed on the generator. She died sometime around midnight.”
The hallway was quiet as the police officers digested the information. Finally Irene asked, “Is the noose still around her throat?”
“No, but it’s left a deep mark. The murderer has strong arms. Now I must head off to the pathology lab. I’ll do an autopsy after lunch.”
Yvonne Stridner swept up the stairs, leaving behind her the scent of her perfume and the sound of her high heels clicking. Irene wondered what her boss would say if she informed him that Yvonne’s perfume was named Joy.
The police trio were lost in their thoughts until Andersson broke the silence.
“Marianne Svärd apparently was murdered during the night, and there were only two people on the night shift in the entire hospital: Dr. Löwander and that nurse … Siv Persson. Am I right, Fredrik?”
“Yes, but they were not alone. There were six patients who’d been admitted into the care ward, not to mention the old guy on the respirator.”
“Irene and I will have a little chat with the doctor and Nurse Siv. Fredrik, go back to the station and get two or three people to canvass the neighborhood. Have them interview the other patients, too. Then go home and go to bed.”
“But I’m not tired!”
“Don’t backtalk. The directive coming down from the powers-that-be stipulates no expensive overtime.”
The inspector waved his finger under Stridh’s nose. Stridh loped away without a reply.
• • •
DR. SVERKER LÖWANDER looked worn to the bone. Lack of sleep carved deep lines around his eyes. He seemed to have no shirt on beneath his doctor’s coat, and the coat itself had been buttoned wrong. He had sunk deep into his armchair, his eyes closed, the small muscles on his face twitching sporadically. Superintendent Andersson and Inspector Huss stood quietly in the doorway watching until the superintendent cleared his throat loudly. The doctor startled and opened his eyes. He quickly ran his fingers through his thick hair, but it hardly made a difference in his appearance.
“Excuse me if I woke you up. Let me introduce myself. I am Superintendent Sven Andersson, and this is Detective Inspector Irene Huss.
“Yes, of course … What time is it?”
“Quarter past eight.”
“Thanks. I have my first patient in fifteen minutes.”
“Will you be up to performing surgery this morning?”
“I have to be. The patients come first. Thank God there’s nothing major today.”
“But after a night like this?”
Sverker Löwander gave him a tired look as he rubbed one of his eyes. “I have to. We don’t have many people on staff right now. And the patients can’t wait. They don’t seem to understand there could be anything else going on in their doctors’ lives.”
The two officers contemplated Löwander for a moment in silence. Finally the superintendent pulled a notebook from his jacket pocket and began to pat the other pockets fruitlessly. Sverker Löwander understood and handed him his own pen from his jacket pocket. In gold lettering the pen advertised, LÖWANDER HOSPITAL YOU’RE IN SAFE HANDS.
“Are you able to answer some questions for us?”
“Sure, as long as you’re quick about it. Or we could schedule an appointment for this afternoon, when I’m not so short on time. Why don’t you come back at four-thirty?”
“All right, but let me ask one short question right now: Why aren’t you wearing anything underneath your coat?”
Sverker Löwander started and stared down at his misbuttoned doctor’s coat. “Thanks for pointing that out. I’d forgotten. I’ll have to put something on before I leave.” He moved as if to get up from the armchair but then sank back down again. He continued, “Yesterday I took a shower and went to lie down in bed to read. It was a tough day, with several difficult operations. Not to mention the complications that set in with Nils Peterzén. Just as I was about to turn off the light, the power went out. My first thought was for the respirator. I wasn’t really worried, though, because Marianne Svärd is … was an extremely competent ICU nurse.”
He stopped speaking for a moment and sighed. The superintendent had the chance to slip in another question. “Were you lying down with your clothes on?”
“No. I was intending to sleep for a little bit. Peterzén’s condition was stable.… Where was I? Yes, the power went out. I stayed put, waiting for the backup generator to kick in, but it didn’t. When I heard the respirator alarm, I threw on my pants and coat as I rushed out. The rest of the night was just as hectic. I haven’t had the chance to think about how I look.”
Now Löwander did get up from the armchair and knelt to look under the furniture. He found a T-shirt beneath the bed. “Sorry. I’ve got to run. Come back at four-thirty and we can talk more.”
The doctor held the door open for the police officers.
IRENE DECIDED TO plant herself on a wooden chair just inside the door to listen to the superintendent’s first round of questioning the night nurse Siv Persson.
“Nurse Siv, you must understand our difficulties believing that a ghost was the murderer,” Andersson began carefully.
Siv Persson pursed her mouth but did not answer. The superintendent spent a moment considering the photograph that Siv Persson still held in her hand.
“Would you be so kind as to describe this ghost?” he continued.
“You and I are probably the same age, so don’t be so polite,” Nurse Siv snapped.
“Fine.” He looked down at the old picture again. “Did she look the same as she does in this photo?”
“Yes, she looked exactly like this.”
The photograph had been taken from overhead and from a distance. The superintendent remembered the window he’d checked not that long ago. Farthest to the right side, there was a black car. A tall, muscular man was opening the door to the passenger’s seat for a much shorter woman. She was holding her hat in the gusty wind so that her coat sleeve blocked her face. The man’s light-colored coat was fluttering, and the tiny birch sapling’s branches were bending to the left.
Between the tree and the people next to the car stood a nurse. She was in profile. In spite of the camera angle, it was easy to see that she was tall. The lens was sharply focused on her. She wore a nurse’s uniform: white hat with a curly brim and black ribbon, white collar, white cuffs, calf-length black dress, and black shoes with stout heels. It was apparent that she had blond hair, which had been pinned up under her hat. She carried a suitcase in each hand.
Slowly, the chief inspector turned over the photo and read the caption written in black ink. The handwriting was elegant but gave only the date: May 2, 1946.
“Where did you find this picture?” Andersson asked.
“It’s always been here in the ward. Nurse Gertrud showed it to me.”
“Is Nurse Gertrud still working here?”
“No, she died last year. She was exactly ninety years old.” Nurse Siv looked directly into the superintendent’s face, with eyes that seemed unnaturally large behind the thick lenses of her old-fashioned glasses. She hesitated before she continued. “Nurse Gertrud came here in 1946, in the fall. She took Nurse Tekla’s place as the head nurse of the ward and house mother. Gertrud never met Tekla in person. She only met her, so to speak, after she died.”
Siv Persson reached for the photograph, and Andersson let her take it. Nurse Siv contemplated the picture for a moment. “Of course, Gertrud had heard a great many rumors concerning her. Nurse Tekla was an extremely fashionable woman.” Nurse Siv fell silent. When she picked up her story again, she seemed even more troubled.
“Now, I’ve only heard this thirdhand, but … they say there’d been a love affair between Nurse Tekla and Dr. Löwander.”
Superintendent Andersson stirred suddenly. “Wait a minute! I’ve just met Löwander. He wasn’t even born when Nurse Tekla worked here!”
Nurse Siv snorted. “Of course not! I’m talking about the old Dr. Löwander, Hilding Löwander. Sverker Löwander’s father.”
Naturally. Irene knew that Superintendent Andersson was probably feeling just as sheepish as he looked. The hospital had been named Löwander Hospital after the deceased doctor.
“Apparently his wife found out about the affair and demanded that Tekla be fired. The hospital belonged to the family of Mrs. Löwander, after all. She’d inherited it from her father.”
“So Sverker Löwander’s mother was wealthy?”
“Yes.”
“Tell me about his father … Hilding?”
“I remember Hilding Löwander very well. He was a doctor from the old school. No one dared talk back to him. He performed surgery until he was seventy-five years old.”
“What happened to Nurse Tekla?”
“Gertrud told me all about this love affair. Nurse Tekla had just turned thirty, and he was twenty years her senior. What’s remarkable is that, according to rumor, Mrs. Löwander didn’t mind at first. All three of them even went on vacation together. According to Gertrud, this photograph was taken secretly as they left for one such vacation.”
Andersson took the photo back and peered at it with renewed interest while Siv Persson continued.
“The Löwanders had been married for many years when Mrs. Löwander unexpectedly became pregnant. She’d already turned forty. It was then she decided that Nurse Tekla had to go. Somehow Nurse Tekla found a job in Stockholm and moved there early in the fall of 1946. No one heard anything from her until March 1947. It turned out she was found in the attic of this building at that time. She’d committed suicide. Hanged herself.”
The room was quiet. Irene realized that the superintendent had no idea how to interpret Nurse Siv’s story. She looked as if she truly believed she’d seen the long-dead Nurse Tekla during the night. In order to break the silence, Irene asked, “How did you find this photograph?”
“Gertrud found it. The old medicine cabinets were going to be discarded, and she and a colleague were supposed to clean out all the expired medicine. She found the picture stuffed behind an extra shelf at the bottom of one cabinet. They had no idea what to do with it, so they put it back when the renovation was over. It became one of the nurses’ secrets. The picture has been there all these years, and every new nurse gets to see it when she starts working here. Naturally, everybody has heard of the hospital ghost. And whenever it’s discussed, we take out this old photo.”
“Why? To prove that the stories are true?”
“The stories are absolutely true! Nurse Gertrud was the person who cut Tekla down. She’d been hanging in the attic for a few days before someone noticed the smell.”
“And you really believe she haunts this place?”
“Lots of folks have seen her over the years,” Siv protested. “I’ve heard her before, but I’ve never seen her. Until last night.”
She glanced at the superintendent, and Irene hurried to ask, “What do you mean when you said you heard her?”
Nurse Siv answered slowly. “Sometimes there are rustling noises by the sinks in the disinfection room, even though nobody is there. Sometimes you hear her skirts swish in the hallway. Once I felt an ice-cold breeze pass right next to me. Most people here avoid this hallway between midnight and one in the morning.”
“What about you? What do you do at that hour?”
“We usually go to my office and have a cup of coffee and something to eat.”
“You and the ICU nurse?”
“That’s right.”
“Are you the only two people working here at that time?”
“Yes, we are.”
“But after twelve A.M. you could be joined by Nurse Tekla, you say?”
“Between twelve and one. She never appears after one.”
Andersson said, “So she’s a classic ghost who observes the witching hour. In that case what happens during the summer when it’s still light? Does she come between one and two then?”
Nurse Siv realized he was making fun of her and clamped her mouth shut.
To steer the interview in another direction, Irene asked, “How long had Marianne Svärd worked at this hospital?”
At first it seemed that Nurse Siv would not answer, but after a moment she blew her nose with a tissue she’d been holding in her hand and said, “Just about two years.”
“What did you think of her?”
Nurse Siv took her time answering. “She was extremely good at her job. She was able to deal with all these new machines. I’m not, but I’m going to retire soon.”
“How was she as a person?”
“She was sweet and pleasant. Helpful.”
“Did you two get to know each other well?”
The nurse shook her head. “No, but she was easy to talk to. Just when we got on something personal, like family and such, she didn’t share anything.”
“Was she married?”
“No, divorced.”
“Did she have children?”
“No.”
Irene couldn’t think of any more questions. The tiny gray nurse appeared to sink deeper into her poncho, her face tired and stressed. Even the chief inspector noticed this and started to feel sympathy.
“Shall I ask someone to drive you home?” he asked in his friendliest voice.
“No, thanks. I live just around the corner.”