The superintendent had to stop for breath. No one dared point out that his last sentence made no sense. He was right, but Nurse Siv Persson’s testimony, whatever she’d seen, was still one small fact to fit into the puzzle.
Malm returned to his subject. “We found one more odd thing on Marianne’s smock.” He held up an item in a plastic bag for all to see. In it was a thick day planner, one of the popular brands. “This isn’t Marianne’s day planner. Written on the inside cover is the name Linda Svensson.”
Surprised silence greeted his announcement.
“Why in the world would Linda Svensson’s day planner be in Marianne’s pocket?” exclaimed Irene.
No one had a reasonable answer. Irene felt an icy shiver down the back of her neck. This was not a good sign, definitely not a good sign.
Since no one had any more ideas about the murder, Andersson changed the subject to Linda Svensson’s disappearance. Irene described her search of Linda’s apartment and how she’d been struck by the fact that she could not find anything like a day planner, an address book, or a list of telephone numbers. Also, Linda’s caller ID had been broken. She did not go into Belker’s attack.
Andersson took up the topic. “We put out a missing-persons call on Linda Svensson last night for the whole district. We contacted her parents in Kungsbacka, but they haven’t seen or heard from her. They didn’t know the new address of her ex-boyfriend.”
“But I do!” Birgitta exclaimed triumphantly. “Since I had his name and old address, I was able to get the new one from the post office’s change-of-address list.”
“Good. Then I’ll send you to interview him today. But take Tommy or one of the other guys with you. Irene?”
“I’m wondering about something Anna-Karin said yesterday. She’s a nurse in the same department as Marianne, but on the day shift. Anna-Karin is just a few years younger, and the two of them hung out a bit. She mentioned that Marianne had left Östra Hospital because she could not stand running into a certain man every day. Perhaps it would be a good idea to find out which man this was?”
“That was two years ago. Still, it might give us something to go by. Head out to Östra, and while you’re at it, you can check into her ex-husband as well. I have his address.…” The superintendent began to search feverishly among the heaps of paper on the table. He finally found what he was looking for and waved a wrinkled sheet. “Here!”
Irene took the sheet of paper and glanced at it. Andreas Svärd. Residence on Majorsgatan and attorney’s office on Avenyn. Obviously a rich dude.
Andersson continued. “Fredrik and Hans, I’d like you to keep knocking on doors and questioning folks living near Löwander Hospital. We are most interested in the time around midnight between Monday and Tuesday. We should also ask around in case Linda Svensson had been seen in the vicinity. Right now it appears as if the earth just opened up and swallowed her. Maybe Linda and Marianne met that evening, especially since Linda’s day planner turned up in Marianne’s pocket.”
Irene shivered at his last sentence. Warning bells were going off inside her head.
“Jonny, I’m putting you in charge of Linda Svensson’s disappearance. Here’s her passport. It was issued just last year.”
“She’s hot,” said Jonny as he looked over the photo.
Irene held out her hand for the passport; she hadn’t gotten a good look the evening before.
Linda was five feet five inches tall, according to the passport. Even Irene could see that she was quite good-looking. Her golden blond hair cascaded to her shoulders. She had a pleasant smile and dimples in her cheeks. Her blue eyes sparkled at the camera.
Marianne Svärd’s passport was also on the table. Hers was issued four years earlier. She was five feet six inches tall and also attractive, though not as pretty as Linda. She had fairly dark hair, which was thick and long. Her large brown eyes and her mouth were set in a serious expression. She lacked Linda’s spark, but the two women still had a great deal in common. They were nurses at the same hospital, they were approximately the same age, and something dramatic had happened to both of them on the same day. Irene hoped with all her heart that Linda was not dead as well, but what had happened to her and where was she?
Andersson concluded the meeting. “I am going to have a chat with Marianne Svärd’s parents. Then I’ll head over to the pathology lab. At three this afternoon, there’ll be a press conference. Contact me if you find out anything new. Otherwise we meet here at five P.M.”
IRENE DECIDED TO start by calling Andreas Svärd, the attorney, at his home number. No one answered. She tried the office number. The answering machine informed her that the office did not open until 9:00 A.M. She had a half hour to wait, so she decided to ferret out more about Andreas Leonard Svärd. It appeared that both his parents were still alive and lived in the town of Stenungsund, where Andreas had been born thirty-three years earlier. On a hunch Irene went to get Marianne’s parents’ address from Andersson. Yes, both sets of parents were neighbors. Perhaps it wasn’t important, but Irene decided it might be a good idea to eventually contact the attorney’s parents.
Before she phoned the attorney’s office again, Irene called her hair salon and made that appointment for a cut and color. They had space available late in the day, when she could squeeze it in, the following week. Pleased that she’d remembered to schedule the appointment, Irene turned back to the matter at hand.
A pleasant female voice picked up. “Svärd, attorney-at-law, secretary Lena Bergman here. How may I help you?”
“Good morning. My name is Inspector Irene Huss. I’m looking for Andreas Svärd.”
The secretary gasped audibly before she answered, “I’m sorry, he’s not in today. He’s gone to Copenhagen for a seminar, and he won’t be back until this evening. I imagine this must be about that horrible thing that happened to Marianne.”
Irene was surprised. So far there’d been nothing in the news about the murder, though it would certainly be in the evening papers. They’d only sent out an initial communiqué that morning.
“How did you know?” Irene asked sharply.
“Marianne’s mother called just a minute ago for Andreas … I mean, Mr. Svärd. She was completely beside herself and weeping. When I asked what was wrong, she told me about the murder. How awful.”
“Yes. Murder is always awful. Did you know Marianne personally?”
“No, I’ve only been working here for two years. They were already divorced when I started.”
Irene thought about the date. Two years. The same length of time that Marianne had been working at Löwander Hospital. Coincidence?
“Were you acquainted with Mr. Svärd before you took this job?”
“No. I answered an ad in the paper, just like everybody else.” Lena Bergman sounded surprised and slightly insulted at the same time. Irene thought that she was probably telling the truth, but she decided she’d question the secretary again another time. They said their good-byes, and Irene hung up.
She felt that her body and brain needed at least three cups of coffee as soon as possible. Once she’d had them, she’d head over to Östra Hospital and try to find out the story behind the man that Marianne could not stand to see.
THE SILHOUETTES OF the three yellow-brick buildings stood out against the blue February sky. Irene parked close to the largest building, the central complex. She guessed that Marianne had worked in this building. The other two contained the gynecological units and the maternity ward. Irene had given birth to her twins here, because they’d been living close by on Smörslottsgatan at the time.
Irene heard the sound of air pressure as the entrance doors swished open for her. She stopped for a moment to admire the tapestry on the wall before looking for a map to direct her to the ICU. She saw she had to cross the entrance to the elevators on the other side, and as she walked, she passed a large café, a hair salon, and a convenience store. An employee was just setting out the evening papers, whose headlines screamed, NURSE MURDE
RED. There was more, but Irene didn’t bother to read it. She already knew what it would contain.
She rode the elevator to the ICU. The doors were locked, and a sign asked visitors to press the button for the doorbell. Irene rang the bell, and a nurse wearing a mask came to open it.
“Yes?” the nurse said. It was apparent she was stressed.
“Hi. I’m Inspector Irene Huss, and I’m looking for the head of the ICU.”
“Dr. Alm is in surgery right now.”
“Perhaps there is someone else I could talk to? This concerns a nurse who used to work here, Marianne Svärd.”
The nurse pulled her face mask under her chin and looked at Irene with surprise. “Marianne? Why would the police need information on Marianne?”
“Do you know her?”
“Yes, we worked together.”
“Was Marianne on the day shift or the night shift while she worked here?”
“The day shift. Why do you need to know?”
“Unfortunately, she’s been the victim of a crime. How long did you two work together?”
“Two years before she took the job at Löwander.”
“Why did she leave?”
The nurse bit her lower lip. Finally she smiled and said, “Even though you’ve got quite a collection of bandages, I don’t think you need intensive care.”
Unbelievable how much people made fun of a few bandages. Irene wasn’t sidetracked, however. It was clear that the nurse hoped to avoid the question. Irene replied evenly, “You’re right, I don’t need intensive care, thank you. I do need information regarding Marianne Svärd, so I’ll ask the question one more time. Why did Marianne leave this department?”
The nurse pulled her face mask back over her mouth. “Let me … go get the department head,” she mumbled, and quickly shut the door.
As seconds turned into minutes, Irene felt her irritation grow. At last she heard steps approaching, and the door was forcefully flung open by a man who looked like Adonis. At least Irene thought so. This was the second deeply tanned person she had had run across in the past twenty-four hours. The man, lithe and muscular, was as tall as Irene was, and he wore his thick, honey-blond, and highlighted hair in a ponytail. His amber eyes were pricked with darker splashes. His face had beautiful classic features, and when he smiled, showing shining white teeth, the effect was irresistible.
“Hi. I take it you’re from the police.”
“Yes, I’m Inspector Irene Huss.”
“Niklas Alexandersson. Head of ICU.”
He held out his hand and gave her a dry, firm shake. Irene noticed that he had many tiny gold rings in both ears. He was older than she’d thought at first glance, closer to thirty than twenty.
She decided to waste no time and got right to the point. “I need someone to talk to me about Marianne Svärd. Did you work with her?”
The effect on the man was astonishing, as if Irene had switched off a light. The beautiful face lost its glow. He stood silent for a while. At length he said, “Let’s go into the conference room.”
Alexandersson closed the ICU door behind them and walked over to a door in the hallway, which he then unlocked. He gestured Irene in.
The room was furnished with an oval conference table, matching wooden chairs, and the obligatory overhead projector. Niklas Alexandersson walked over to a telephone next to the window, pressed a number, and spoke into the microphone: “This is Niklas. I’ll be in the conference room if someone needs me, but I don’t want to be disturbed except for an emergency.”
“All right,” a woman’s voice answered.
He turned back to Irene. “Why do you need information about Marianne? And what kind of information do you want?”
“I need to know as much as possible. To start, what do you think of her as a person?”
The department head glanced sharply at Irene before putting a quick smile on his face. This one was not dazzling, but downright nasty. “Harmless and kind.” It was obvious from his tone that he did not like her.
“Were you displeased with her work as a nurse?”
“No, she was competent and careful.”
“She never made any serious mistakes? No mistreatments?”
Niklas Alexandersson looked surprised. “No. What do you mean?”
“Well, her colleagues at Löwander Hospital said she’d quit her job here suddenly two years ago. Do you know why?”
“I can’t see why that would involve the police.”
Irene captured his godlike amber gaze. Without breaking eye contact, she said slowly, “Marianne Svärd was murdered last night.”
Color drained from his face, and his tan faded to a sickly gray. He looked about to faint until he reached for a chair and sank into it.
Irene continued mercilessly. “This is why the police are involved. I will now repeat my question: Why did Marianne Svärd quit her job here?”
Niklas put his elbows on the table and let his face fall into his hands. A few moments later, he rubbed his eyes and miserably replied, “She said she wanted to try something new.”
“That’s not what her colleagues at Löwander told us.”
He stiffened but did not say a word.
Irene continued. “They said there was a man here she wanted to avoid.”
He still did not flinch or answer.
Irene decided to take a chance. “If you are not prepared to respond, I believe I will have to speak with Dr. Alm.”
He gestured tiredly. “No need. Everybody here already knows that I was the person she couldn’t stand.”
Irene was surprised. He didn’t seem to be her type. “Why did she dislike you?”
A weak reflection of his mean smile returned. “I took her guy, Andreas, away from her.”
“You mean … you and Andreas were …?”
“That’s right. He left her for me. Are you shocked?” As he said this, he lifted a disdainful eyebrow and looked right into her eyes. His color was starting to return.
“No, I’m not. Are you two still together?”
“Yes. We live together.”
“How did Marianne react to your relationship?”
Niklas Alexandersson snorted. “She wouldn’t let go of him. She was more dependent than I realized. It was hard on Andreas. And on me.”
“How was it hard for Andreas?”
“She didn’t give up. He didn’t want to make her unhappy. And his family wouldn’t accept our relationship either. She made them believe that this was just a temporary phase and Andreas would soon come back to her. She’d say, ‘I’ll forgive him for everything.’ ” As he imitated Marianne, his voice rose to a falsetto that sounded very much like a deep female voice, his hand fluttering. When he switched off the imitation, all the fake femininity vanished from his body language.
The intercom beeped. “Niklas?”
“Yes?”
“X-ray called regarding the CVC. It’s the pneumothorax. He’s taken a bad turn, and his blood gases are much worse.”
“Not good. Have you contacted Alm?”
“No, he’s still in surgery.”
“All right. Call him and get him over here as soon as he’s finished.”
“Right.”
Niklas stood up and tried to look regretful. “As you’ve heard, I have to go.”
Irene felt as if she were caught in an episode of General Hospital without understanding a word. She found it tiresome. Was it truly necessary for Niklas to leave, or was it just an excuse?
“Really serious?”
Niklas stopped. “A punctured lung is life-threatening for such a sick patient. Please excuse me.…”
Irene was not about to let him go that easily. “When do you get home?”
It looked for a second as if he was debating whether to tell the truth. Finally he shrugged and said, “Right before six.”
“Is Andreas also home then?”
“Yes, he’s returning from a seminar this afternoon.”
Irene thought quickly. �
�Here’s what we’ll do. Have your dinner in peace and quiet, and I will come by at seven-thirty.”
“Is this really necessary?”
“Yes, it is. We are looking for a murderer.”
He flinched at that last word but said nothing. He sized Irene up as he held the door open for her, a gentlemanly gesture you don’t often see anymore, she thought.
BACK DOWN IN the grand entrance, people were having coffee at the tiny café tables. Irene found an empty table and sat down. A cup of coffee and a sandwich would be perfect right now. She hung her jacket on the back of one of the chairs and walked to the counter to place her order. She glanced at the convenience store and the newspaper headlines on display.
At first she thought it was a joke, but as she reread the banner, she realized that the Göteborg Times headline really did read, WITNESS SAYS: GHOST KILLED NIGHT-SHIFT NURSE.
Chapter 7
CHIEF INSPECTOR ANDERSSON hated going to Pathology. Even more, he hated talking to pathology professor Yvonne Stridner. Most of all, he abhorred entering the autopsy room, but this was the only way to get a quick response.
When Andersson asked for the professor, the security guard pointed up the stairs with a burly, body-built arm. The chief inspector was relieved that Stridner was in her office and not in the middle of an autopsy. He tapped on her closed door.
Beeeep! A red light next to the text occupied lit up. A yellow light, indicating please wait, was beside it, as well as a green one stating come in. Even though he’d spent time driving here, Andersson was glad to accept the red light and the yellow. He sat down on the uncomfortable wooden chair against the wall. He could clearly hear the professor’s voice: “… the worst oral examination I’ve ever heard! You must study and be thoroughly prepared, even for an oral examination. It’s incredible stupidity to believe you’d pass just because you gabbled on and on. You have to know what you’re talking about. Obviously you haven’t studied. Or else you haven’t understood what you were studying. The latter would be even worse. The former is fixable: Go home and study properly and I will give you another examination in three weeks with every question you failed. And that exam will be written.”
Night Rounds Page 6
