Authors: Helene Tursten
Irene’s cheeks had gotten slightly pink from the ideas that came pouring in. Jonny brought her right back to earth. “And this Göran would look like the perfect Valkyrie in an antique nurse uniform?”
Irene thought back to Göran’s appearance and sighed. “No, he’s almost six feet tall and weighs well over two hundred fifty pounds,” she admitted. Her mood fell.
Jonny scoffed. “So Doris Peterzén, wearing a nurse’s uniform, drives over to Löwander Hospital to cut the power so the respirator stops working. At the same time, she strangles Marianne Svärd. After that she pedals away on Linda Svensson’s bicycle, wearing the uniform, and then shoves the bike down the culvert. She’s shocked the next day when she reads that there’s a witness and in some supernatural manner knows that this must be Gunnela Hägg. Maybe she’s psychic? Then she kills Gunnela. On Saturday she returns to set fire to the garden shed and the nurse’s uniform. And where does Linda fit into all this? Irene, I believe this is one of your worst theories ever.”
Irene sourly thought that some people seem to recover more quickly than others from stomach flu. The worst thing was that Jonny was right. Linda’s disappearance did not fit into her theory, and, of course, Linda was involved. Her day planner was in Marianne’s pocket, her bicycle was in the culvert, and she’d been gone ever since Marianne’s murder.
The pager buzzed to let them know the pizza had arrived. Irene and Tommy volunteered to go pick it up.
In the elevator Tommy said seriously, “We have to find Linda. Dead or alive. We won’t understand how the murders of Marianne Svärd and Gunnela Hägg are connected until we do.”
“So you believe it’s the same killer?”
“Oh, yes.”
THE SUPERINTENDENT STILL
looked tired, Irene thought. This case was wearing him down. No one knew better than Andersson that they hadn’t gotten much further than they’d been a week ago, when the only thing they worried about was Marianne Svärd’s murder. So far the media hadn’t found out that Gunnela Hägg was dead. As soon as they did, they’d bite. Andersson didn’t realize that he’d sighed heavily, but everyone else heard it. Tactfully, they pretended that they didn’t notice. At his age he was allowed a few small eccentricities. Not to mention he was the boss.
“I want to hear that tape again,” Tommy said.
For lack of other alternatives, Irene started the tape from the beginning. Tommy leaned forward and listened closely until the end. “She took the bike. God punishes theft!”
“Yep! That’s exactly what she says.” Tommy looked at his colleagues in triumph. They all tried their best to appear as if they understood what he was getting at. “Don’t you hear what she says? ‘She took the bike. God punishes theft!’ So the bike did not belong to ‘Nurse Tekla,’ but she was the one who pedaled away on it.” Tommy used air quotes around the ghost nurse’s name.
“So you mean that Gunnela Hägg saw Linda arrive and park her bike at the hospital but it was not Linda who biked away again,” said Irene.
“Yep.”
“And the person didn’t resemble Linda,” Jonny pointed out.
“Why would Linda park her bicycle and then disappear completely?” Irene countered.
Jonny glared, but he was forced to agree.
They listened to the tape one more time, but there was nothing to add.
“If Tommy is right, Gunnela Hägg saw Linda leave her bike in the hospital park. You could wonder why she went in the back way during the middle of the night. It’s a little creepy, and she had a key for the much better-lit front door.” Irene fell silent for a moment. “Did Gunnela see her actually enter the building? We don’t know. But let’s say she did.”
“Okay. Let’s say she did,” Jonny snapped. “And then what?”
Irene pretended he’d said nothing. “Gunnela says that Nurse Tekla came out, took Linda’s bike, and rode off.” She paused to see if her colleagues were following her. Everyone kept silent, so she continued. “Gunnela said nothing about seeing Linda come out again.”
Andersson glowered at her mistrustfully. “Still in the hospital? Ridiculous!” He thought it through. “But then again there’s nothing to indicate that she ever did come out.”
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
L
INDA
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.”