Night Rounds

by Helene Tursten

  Nurse Ellen glanced at Irene. She said with a slight smile, “No. If you’ll excuse me?”

  The nurse swept out of the room brandishing the syringe. The chief inspector frowned. “What the hell? Rhino what?”

  “Rhinoplasty,” Irene said.

  “What’s that?”

  “Something that should not be done on a day like this,” recited Irene in a singsong voice. “According to Anna-Karin at the ICU.”

  Andersson took a deep breath. “And weren’t you supposed to be there already?”

  Irene gave a flip salute. “Aye-aye! But there’s one more thing first.”

  She went to the bookshelf mounted on brackets above the desk. She’d seen the title Medical Terminology in faded gold letters on a green linen spine. She pulled down the book and searched under rh. “Aha! Rhinoplasty is a nose job!” She shut the book with a bang, turned on her heel, and marched through the office door.

  Sighing, the superintendent looked at his watch, which showed 2:47. Nurse Linda was long overdue.

  THE ICU WAS chaotic. Nurse Anna-Karin was arguing with someone on the phone. “If there’s no more O-positive, you have to send O-negative! The patient is hemorrhaging! Last hemo was eighty-three!”

  Her cheeks were bright red from urgency. Her short hair stuck out in all directions. The fact that she kept running her fingers through it wasn’t helping.

  “All right, then! Send it by taxi!”

  The receiver banged down. Irene could hear Anna-Karin’s quick breaths. The nurse lifted her head and spied Irene. She jerked up her palm and said, “Stop! We don’t have time for questions! The rhino’s turned into an emergency!”

  Irene glanced at the same bed where Nils Peterzén’s body had rested a short time before. A man in green scrubs and a middle-aged nurse were bent over the patient who now occupied the bed. Irene assumed that the man in scrubs was a doctor, but he wasn’t Dr. Löwander. Irene walked to Anna-Karin and said in a low voice, “Linda hasn’t come in for her evening shift. Do you know where she might be?”

  It took a second for Anna-Karin to realize the implication of the inspector’s words. She showed real surprise. “She’s not here?”

  “No. And there’s no answer at her place.”

  The nurse’s surprise turned to worry. “That’s strange! Linda’s never late. Maybe she had a bike accident? Maybe she’s hurt?”

  “We don’t know, but we’ll have to find out. Do you know where we can find her partner?”

  Anne-Karin stiffened and pressed her lips together. What a perfect witness, Irene thought. This girl can’t hide anything. Since it looked like she wasn’t going to answer, Irene pressed on more firmly. “It would save time if you tell us now. We’ll find out anyway. And after what happened here last night, it looks strange that you’re not helping us.”

  The nurse shrugged. “They broke up. He moved out last Saturday.”

  “They separated?”

  “Yep.”

  Irene felt a real sense of worry regarding the nurse’s whereabouts. It had hardly been twenty-four hours since her colleague had been murdered.

  “What’s the guy’s name, and where does he live now?”

  “Pontus … Pontus Olofsson. I have no idea where he’s living now. I haven’t had a chance to talk to Linda much since they broke up.”

  “Anna-Karin! More cyclosporine! Same dose!”

  The doctor’s command cut their conversation short. Anna-Karin hurried to the medicine cabinet. At the same moment, the older nurse looked up from the bed and ordered, Call surgery and have them send Bünzler down here at once!

  Now was not the time to question Anna-Karin further, Irene realized. She’d have to come back later.

  OUT ON THE floor, there was palpable worry in the air. Nurse Ellen spoke for everyone: “I wouldn’t normally be worried, but after last night … and Linda’s never late to work. There must be some explanation for all this!”

  She’s right, Irene thought. We have to find Linda Svensson. “Where does Linda live?” she asked.

  “Let me think.… Kärralundsgatan. The building number is in the department address book.”

  The nurse pulled open the top drawer of the desk. She shuffled through a few papers until she found a black address book, paged through it, and then wrote down an address on a slip of paper. “Are you going right over? I mean, maybe she’s sick or something.”

  Irene nodded.

  Superintendent Andersson cleared his throat. “Yes, you go check on her. I’ll remain here in case she shows up. And all emergency rooms should be contacted.” He looked at the nurse.

  Nurse Ellen smiled gently at the superintendent. “Then I hope that you can make those calls yourself. I have a mountain of extra paperwork.”

  Before Andersson had a chance to reply, Nurse Ellen whisked out the door. Irene grinned slyly as she, too, waved good-bye and headed off.

  Chapter 5

  IRENE HEARD THE doorbell echo through the apartment, but no one came to the door. She hadn’t expected that anyone would. She bent down and looked through the mail slot. Her eyes met another pair of eyes, turquoise blue and wide open. She heard a sharp intake of breath and jumped back as the lid of the mail slot banged shut.

  Meeeow … hiss, came from behind the closed door.

  Irene giggled quietly. She looked around to make sure that no one on the floor had witnessed her smooth move. The public wouldn’t understand a police officer having a heart attack during a confrontation with a Siamese cat.

  But the cat gave her an idea. There were two more doors on the ground floor of the apartment building. No one answered when she rang the bell on the door to the right. Undeterred, Irene rang the bell to the door on the left. The nameplate on it said R. BERG. Irene could hear a rustling sound on the other side before the brittle voice of an old woman called, “Who is it?”

  Irene did her best to sound friendly. “I’m Inspector Irene Huss from the police.” She held her ID to the door’s peephole. Apparently the elderly lady inside was convinced, because Irene heard the rattling sound of a safety chain being pulled back and then the thud of a dead bolt. The door opened an inch. Irene leaned forward and tried to appear harmless.

  “Good afternoon, Mrs. Berg—”

  “Miss. Miss Berg.”

  “Excuse me. Miss Berg. We’ve received a call at the station about a cat howling incessantly in the apartment next door.”

  The door opened, and Irene could get a better view of the apartment’s inhabitant. There wasn’t much to see. The elderly lady was less than five feet tall. Her scanty white hair was pulled together at the back into what looked like a rat’s tail. She was bent and so thin that she seemed almost transparent. Her frail hand with its blue veins quivered on the door handle, a movement that traveled through her entire body.

  “It wasn’t me that called. But I’ve certainly heard that cat. It’s been going on since early this morning. Doesn’t bother me, though. I hardly ever sleep these days.”

  The elderly woman’s voice was surprisingly steady and clear, but she seemed barely able to stand. Irene felt she had to hurry her questions. “What about its owner? Have you seen or heard her?”

  “No. Miss Svensson is a nurse at Löwander Hospital, and I never know what her hours are,” the old lady said.

  “I see. When was she home last?”

  The wrinkles on the small face puckered in thought. Then she smiled, such a large smile that her dentures slipped.

  “Last night.” Miss Berg paused for a minute to suck her teeth back into place. “She was home late last night. She always plays her music too loud. I’ve argued with them. The young man has just moved out, but I used to argue with him, too. We have a rule. After ten they’re supposed to turn down the music. They usually keep to the agreement.”

  “Did Linda do that last night?”

  “Yes, two minutes past ten, she turned the music down. Then she turned it off and left.”

  “When was that?”

  �
��About eleven-thirty.”

  Irene felt worry harden in her chest, but she worked to hide it so she wouldn’t upset the old woman. “Does Linda usually go out so late?”

  “Sometimes she goes out with Belker.”

  “Who’s Belker?”

  “The cat.”

  Of course the cat.

  “She takes him out in a little harness,” Miss Berg explained.

  “Did she return very late last night?”

  “Come to think of it, I didn’t hear her come home at all. The first thing she does when she comes through the door is to turn on the music, no matter what time it is. Sometimes the TV, too. At the same time.” Miss Berg snorted to emphasize her opinion about this noise pollution.

  Irene thought about her own fourteen-year-old twin girls. She said nothing at all.

  The old woman continued. “I haven’t heard any more music or anything else coming from there since she went out last night. And I didn’t hear her arrive home. I usually do.”

  Irene didn’t doubt that for a minute. She was certain that something was wrong. “So nothing at all from next door.”

  “No. Just the cat meowing and meowing. He’s probably hungry. Poor thing.”

  Irene tactfully explained the situation to the old woman. “It’s a little worrying that Linda has not come home. I’ll have a locksmith pay a visit. We need to get inside and see to poor … Belker.”

  Miss Berg nodded with enthusiasm. “You do that. Belker is a wonderful cat. He’s one of a kind, like all Siamese.”

  “I’ll phone right away for the locksmith,” Irene said pleasantly as she tapped in the numbers for the emergency dispatcher.

  “Dispatch. Detective Rolandsson.”

  “Hi, Inspector Irene Huss here. We’ve gotten a complaint from a neighbor that a cat has been howling all day. The owner hasn’t been seen since late last night, and she also has not shown up at work today. I need to get in to check on her. Can you send a locksmith?”

  “All right. Who is making the complaint?”

  Irene took her phone away from her ear and whispered to Miss Berg.

  “What’s your first name?”

  “Ruth,” Miss Berg said hesitantly.

  “Ruth Berg,” Irene spoke into the phone. She gave Rolandsson the address and clicked off.

  “But I didn’t make a complaint!” Ruth Berg looked somewhat resentful.

  “I know. It’s just procedure. Now everything will go faster. For Belker’s sake,” Irene added.

  The old woman’s face softened at the mention of the cat’s name. “I see. Something must have happened, but don’t ask me to go on any witness stand.”

  Irene reassured her that that would be highly unlikely. She jerked her thumb toward the door of Linda Svensson’s other neighbor. “Who lives there?”

  “Nobody,” Ruth Berg sniffed. “Not right now. An old man lived there until he couldn’t take care of himself any longer. Finally, right after Christmas, they had to put him in a nursing home. He got filthy. Did his business anywhere he pleased, not in a toilet like normal people. Now they’ll have to renovate the whole place before they can rent it out again.”

  Irene was reluctant to ask her next question. “Miss Berg, may I have your age, please?”

  At first it seemed as if Ruth Berg did not intend to answer. Eventually, though, she shrugged and sighed. “Ninety-one next month. But no one’s coming here to celebrate it. I live all alone. Everyone else has passed on. Sometimes I believe that our Lord has forgotten me.” Miss Berg fell silent. Then she said, “I really can’t stand up and answer questions any longer. If you need anything else, please ring the bell again.”

  Miss Berg closed her door. Irene could hear the rattling of the chain and then the thud of the bolt.

  WHILE SHE WAITED for the locksmith, Irene called Löwander Hospital to check in with the superintendent. Linda Svensson still had not shown up at work. She also had not been admitted to any emergency room, Chief Inspector Andersson reassured Irene, mentioning that he’d placed those calls himself. The fact that Linda hadn’t been seen since last night worried him also.

  “Please don’t tell me that another nurse has become a victim!” he said.

  THE LOCKSMITH ARRIVED and easily unlocked the door, letting Irene inside. She carefully shut the door behind her so Belker couldn’t get out, then switched on the ceiling lamp in the small entry hall. The cat was nowhere to be seen. He’d obviously gone into hiding. On the right there was a tiny bathroom, directly ahead a small kitchen, and to the left of the kitchen was the entrance to a large living room with a sleeping alcove. All the rooms were tidy. The furniture was mostly from IKEA, and splashy movie and theater posters had been framed and hung on the walls. The whole impression was functional, youthful, and pleasant.

  There was no trace of Linda. Irene called the chief inspector again to let him know. His only response was a deep sigh.

  Irene found the litter box next to the shower stall, and it reeked. She had no idea how to take care of a cat, since she’d owned only dogs, but she expected that the sand in the box had to be changed and the cat was certain to need some food.

  Resolutely, Irene searched the kitchen cabinets until she found cans of cat food. She washed the two ceramic bowls she saw on the floor and filled one with water and the other with the food. Now only the guest of honor had to be found.

  “Here, kitty, kitty, kitty. Food! Belker! Come and get your food!” she called.

  Her dog would have responded immediately. Before she’d finished the final syllable, Sammie would be standing right next to his bowl. The area rugs in the hallway would be scrunched together like the bellows of an accordion after his sprint to the kitchen.

  Apparently cats didn’t work like dogs. Or perhaps Siamese cats didn’t let themselves be commanded. Belker did not show up. Irene decided to search the apartment, both for Belker and for any clues to Linda’s disappearance.

  She searched the kitchen thoroughly. Either Linda Svensson was anorexic or she never ate at home. All Irene found was one almost-finished bag of muesli, one unopened pack of yogurt, and one tube of Kalles caviar. There were spices, half a pound of coffee, and a few tea bags on the shelf above the stove. The freezer held one opened package of fish sticks. On the other hand, she found four more cans of cat food. At least Belker’s needs were seen to, even though he didn’t seem to have the sense to come when he was served.

  The tiny bathroom also held no secrets. Neither were there clues in the hall closet. In the large living room, Irene searched through the bookshelf and then the neat pine desk by the window. She sat down on the swivel chair in front of the desk and systematically went through the contents of its one drawer.

  The layout of the desk drawer showed that Linda was highly organized. The tidy piles of bills, postcards, letters, and bank forms had nothing in common with Irene’s own administrative system, which was “deal with the one on top first.” At the bottom of the drawer, Irene found a new passport in the name of Linda Sophia Svensson.

  None of the papers gave any clues to Linda’s whereabouts. Suddenly Irene realized why. There were no address books or telephone lists—not even a pocket calendar. She searched the room again and found none of these things. Nor were there any keys, nor a wallet. Nor Belker.

  Irene’s toes struck something. When she bent down to look under the desk, she saw an old yellow caller ID box with deep claw marks in the plastic. A gray cord had been disconnected from the telephone. Obviously the caller ID box had become a plaything for a bored Belker. Irene reconnected the ID box to the phone, but it was obvious that the device was completely dead, probably broken when it fell.

  Nothing else to see here. Probably time to quit. Irene turned off the light in the room and went into the hallway. As she reached up to turn off that light, she wondered where Belker had gone to hide. A second later a tiger bolt flew from the hat rack onto her head. Belker hissed with fury, and with all the strength he possessed, the Siamese cat dug his claws right
in under her chin. It hurt like hell. Irene instinctively grabbed his front leg, but then a burning pain shot through her right ear as Belker buried his teeth in it.

  “OH, MY DEAR. This is really not a pretty sight.”

  Nurse Ellen shook her head sympathetically as she continued to clean the wound in Irene’s ear. Irene’s right arm was sore after a tetanus shot, but she hardly noticed that compared to the pain in her ear and under her chin.

  Dr. Löwander walked into the room and put on his professional cheerfulness. “This will heal without a scar. You’ll need some antibiotics, but it’s too late to fill the prescription at a pharmacy. We’ll start you out with a few pills from our medicine cabinet.”

  He sank down at the desk and pulled out a prescription pad from the desk drawer. Before he began to write, he rubbed his eyes and smiled sleepily at Irene.

  “I’ve been up thirty-six hours, and I’m still in shock over what happened to Marianne. And now Linda can’t be found.… I’m tired to death.”

  Irene noticed that Dr. Löwander was in fact a very attractive man, despite the weariness etched into deep lines around his eyes and mouth, and despite the few silver streaks in the hair by his temples and forehead. As always, unfair, Irene thought. Women go gray, men become distinguished. She made a mental note to call her hairdresser for a color and cut.

  Dr. Löwander wrote some scrawls on the prescription pad and ripped off the page. With that same sleepy smile, he handed the prescription to Irene. His eyes were bloodshot from fatigue, but their green still shimmered.

  Impulsively, Irene said, “Let me give you a lift home. I’ve got to get home, too, and if I stayed here, I wouldn’t be a very good advertisement for Löwander Hospital.” She gestured at her head, covered with bandages. Her protruding right ear was especially comical, packed into a compress carefully taped in place.

  “Don’t worry. It will heal just fine. And yes, I’d be glad to have a ride home,” he replied.

  Superintendent Andersson rolled into the door just as Sverker Löwander was rising to leave.

  “Time to go home?” he asked.