Night Rounds

by Helene Tursten

  His smile was both amused and vicious. “Shocked again?”

  “No, not this time either. But what’s the poster for?”

  “I was a drag-queen dancer. A poor nursing student who needed some extra cash to fill in the gaps left by his student loans.”

  “Are you still dancing?”

  “No.”

  Niklas opened the front door to let them out.

  Chapter 8

  AT SEVEN-THIRTY IN the morning, Irene and Tommy began their workday at the edge of the forest grove on the far side of Löwander Hospital’s park. Since it was a long time before full daylight, they decided to wait half an hour. The park was large and overgrown, so it would take some time to comb through it, even though the trees were bare of leaves. During the night the temperature had risen to around freezing. The sky was dark gray, which could mean either snow or sleet.

  They began their search near the small grove of fir trees. There were many footprints in the thin layer of frost, but also paw prints both large and small. This was clearly a favorite spot to take dogs for walks. Where the grove ended, deciduous trees took over. Most of them had been planted more than a century ago, when the park was first founded. Right behind the hospital itself were big clumps of lilac and golden chain. As the two of them examined the densest bushes more closely, they could see that once upon a time this had been a lilac arbor. Decades of neglect had made it as thick as rain-forest vegetation. Deep among the branches, they could make out a hut.

  Irene and Tommy searched for a way in and found an opening almost completely hidden by overgrowth, which appeared to be the former entrance to the arbor and from which they could clearly see the hospital’s employee back door.

  They stood in the middle of the thicket. The lilac bushes grew several meters high and concealed almost totally the tiny, green-painted hut. It seemed to be surprisingly new, with a ramp leading up to the wide door. Tommy approached it and tried the handle. With a protesting creak, the door opened. Tommy went inside but came out just as quickly.

  “Goddamn it. We’ve found her hidey-hole.”

  Irene looked inside. A stench assaulted her nose. Its source was clear. Right by the door was a plastic bucket filled with urine and excrement. The hut was apparently a gardening shed: shovels, rakes, and other gardening tools were lined up neatly against the wall. In the middle of the floor stood a riding lawn mower. There was not much space around it, but here was where Mama Bird had made her home.

  At the back of the room, she’d heaped newspapers and flattened cardboard boxes. On top of that was an old sleeping bag covered with a bloom of mildew. She had a plastic bag stuffed with newspapers and rags as her pillow. Irene felt a lump grow in her throat when she realized that Mama Bird had actually made up her bed with a bedcover. On the lower end of the sleeping bag, she’d spread a grimy baby blanket. Once upon a time, the tiny hopping lambs on it must have been pink.

  Irene peered into the large plastic bag at the head of the bed. “Here’s the rest of the bread she got yesterday from the pizza joint.”

  Examining Mama Bird’s home was a quick job. They stepped outside into the much more pleasant fresh air.

  “It looks like she didn’t sleep here last night. She got the bread the day before yesterday,” Irene said. “I imagine she’ll be coming back.”

  “Do you think she has a number of hiding places?”

  “Possibly. I wonder if anyone at the hospital knows that someone is living here?”

  “No idea. We’ll have to ask them later. Now let’s go back to the grove.”

  Even though it was lighter now, they still had to use their flashlights to see in the darkness beneath the fir trees. Farther in, the trees grew close together, and it was difficult to make their way between them. They found condoms, empty containers, and dog shit. Beer cans, empty cigarette packs, candy wrappers, potato-chip bags—city people have great faith in nature’s ability to break down waste.

  Half an hour later, they’d gone over the whole area. Irene was sweating and disappointed. Tommy plucked pine needles out of her hair and pointed to his own forehead. “Check this out. I was so focused on looking at the ground that I banged my head on a branch.”

  Irene stared at him, thinking about what he’d just said. “If we could hardly see in broad daylight, how about someone in the middle of the night?”

  “Anyone hiding here wouldn’t have to go in very far.”

  “Maybe we should be smarter, then. Concentrate near the hospital and not go too deeply into the woods. And we need to look at the branches, too. Something might have caught in them.”

  They did another round through the grove. A few minutes later, Tommy called out.

  “Irene! Come here!”

  She made her way through the tangle toward Tommy. Without a word he pointed up at a stout fir, about a half meter over the ground. There were some dark fibers hanging on its outer branches.

  He pulled a plastic bag from his pocket, slipped it up his arm, and took hold of the branch. He broke it above the fibers and enclosed it in the bag, textile fragments and all, then carefully pocketed it. They continued searching but found nothing more beyond further evidence that many people had come here with their dogs. Maybe the forensic technicians could have found something more, but they weren’t here. An ice-cold rain was starting to fall.

  “Nothing more here,” Tommy said. “Let’s go inside and ask if anyone knows about Mama Bird’s nest.”

  Irene agreed that it was hopeless to continue the search. The rain poured down, making the prospect of shelter tempting. Their boots squelched as they rounded the hospital toward the front just in time to catch a glimpse of Superintendent Andersson disappearing through the grand entrance.

  THE WOMAN AT the reception desk looked up from her keyboard, and Irene nudged Tommy. He was good at handling middle-aged women.

  “Hi. Do you mind if I bother you for a moment?” Tommy asked in a friendly manner. He looked into her eyes with his kind, puppy-dog gaze.

  The receptionist patted her age-inappropriate blond hair, straightened her glasses, and let a pleasant smile appear on her well-reddened lips. “Sure. But I do have a great deal of work to do.”

  “I wonder if you’ve seen an elderly lady around the hospital grounds. She looks like she’s probably homeless.”

  “A homeless person? Here at Löwander Hospital? Don’t be silly. What would a person like that be doing around here? They usually keep to Brunn Park.”

  “You haven’t heard any talk?”

  “No.”

  “Is there anyone else here who might know about her?”

  “Our security guard, Folke Bengtsson, usually knows everything that goes on around here.”

  “Where can we find him?”

  “One floor down. His room is on the left at the bottom of the stairs.” The phone rang, and the receptionist picked it up, answering with professional warmth: “Löwander Hospital. How may I help you?”

  They headed down to Folke Bengtsson’s domain. The security guard was not in, but his door was unlocked, so they went inside. The room was fairly large, with a basement window set high up. When Irene stood on her toes, she could catch a glimpse of the lilac arbor. In silent accord they began to explore the room.

  There were a number of Track & Field World Cup posters on the walls. Tommy pointed at a large tool bag hanging near the door. They gave it a quick search but couldn’t find any large wire cutters. On the shelves various things were jumbled together: cardboard boxes with lightbulbs, plumber’s snakes, rolls of steel wire, and a carton labeled Flags. There was an old brown lamp on the desk, as well as a coffeemaker. Irene pulled the desk drawers open. She found only a tin of snuff, some invoices and order forms, pens, and two well-thumbed sports magazines. The upper drawer was locked, and she couldn’t budge it. She was just about to try to force the lock when Tommy signaled to her to stop. They heard heavy footsteps coming down the basement stairs. Irene stepped away from the desk, turning her back to it, a
nd pretended to be looking out the basement window. She said loudly, “You can just about see the tops of the trees in the park.”

  “It’s not like they were generous with the view,” they heard a bass voice from the door.

  Irene whirled around and tried to appear surprised. “Hi! We were looking for you.” She smiled and held out her hand. “Criminal Inspector Irene Huss. I saw you early Tuesday morning, but we didn’t have a chance to talk.”

  “Hi, I’m Folke Bengtsson. Lots of other officers were talking to me.”

  They all shook hands. Without even asking, Bengtsson took the glass carafe from the coffeemaker and disappeared into the hallway. They heard him fill it with water from a tap. The security guard was back in an instant and began to measure pleasant-smelling ground coffee into the paper filter. Without his knowing it, Folke Bengtsson was rising in Irene’s esteem. A guy who started the coffee machine right away must be a good guy, at least in her opinion. Her coffee gene was already crying out for a cup.

  Folke Bengtsson was about sixty years old, bald and stocky. He reminded Irene of a hefty tree stump. Irene, who kept herself in shape, could tell that this man was still active in some kind of sport, so she began her interrogation with a question. “These posters from the world championship are really great. I was dumb enough to get rid of mine.”

  “I took vacation and was able to watch almost the whole thing,” Bengtsson said contentedly.

  “Are you active?”

  “Not any longer. I coach several young guys, but these days I just lift some weights.”

  Judging from the biceps under his blue plaid flannel shirt, Bengtsson lifted a great many weights. He handed plastic mugs filled with coffee to Tommy and Irene, keeping a porcelain mug with the text I’m the Boss in English for himself. He took the large key ring from his belt and opened the desk’s top drawer. Irene craned her neck to see what was inside: a packet of cookies and a number of other keys. Bengtsson took out the cookies and shut the drawer.

  Irene thanked him for the cookie, drawing the aroma of fresh-brewed coffee into her nostrils. “Excuse me, Folke, for changing the subject. I do have to ask you about keys,” she said. “The murderer must have had keys to the hospital. There is no trace of forced entry anywhere in the building, and I’m wondering about master keys. How many are there?”

  “Two. I have one and Dr. Löwander has one.”

  “What kinds of keys do the other employees have?”

  “One to the outer doors. It’s the same key for the front and back doors, and it also works for the employee changing room here in the basement. Then they have a separate key for their department.”

  “So the employees of the care ward would have keys to the care ward and surgery employees for the surgery department?”

  “That’s right.”

  “But you keep extra keys for everything in that drawer?”

  “Yes, but I’m the only one who has a key to this room, and I lock it when I go home for the day. This desk drawer is always locked, and I’m the only one with a key.” Bengtsson appeared satisfied with his mastery of the key situation.

  “But this room wasn’t locked when we got here.”

  “No, it’s open during the day.”

  “But the top drawer is always locked.”

  “Always.”

  “Where do you keep the master key?”

  “Here.” The security guard pulled the key ring out of his pocket and showed how it was attached to his belt. “And here’s the key to the top drawer.”

  Irene saw that she wasn’t going to get any more information about keys, so she decided to change the subject and ask about Mama Bird.

  “Are you aware that there’s a lady living in the toolshed?”

  Bengtsson stiffened. He looked down into his steaming coffee mug and mumbled, “Hmm, there is?”

  He was truly a terrible liar.

  “Didn’t you see yesterday’s GT? Didn’t you read about the woman who had seen old Tekla haunt the place on the night of the murder?”

  “Well … yes … I saw it. Where did they find out about that?”

  “The journalist who wrote the article had interviewed Mama Bird.”

  Bengtsson looked up from his mug, surprised. “An interview? In her state?”

  “So you know her?”

  The security guard sighed, defeated. “Yes, I know her. Or at least I’m aware of her. I found her right before Christmas.”

  “Found?”

  “Yes, she was wrapped up in a garbage bag and had huddled against the basement heating exhaust, on the other side of the electrical room’s wall. At first I thought that someone had dumped garbage on the property, and I was furious. I walked over to get it and drag it to the garbage room when I realized that there was a human being inside.”

  “Did you bring her into the building?”

  “No. She stank to high heaven. It made you want to throw up. And she was totally off her rocker. I couldn’t get a word of sense out of her.”

  “So you decided to let her sleep in the toolshed.”

  Bengtsson nodded, resigned. “What else was I supposed to do? The hospital was closing for Christmas. She obviously had no home of her own. I unlocked the garden shed for her. She seemed to be very happy. Sometimes I hang a plastic bag with sandwiches on the door handle, and they’re gone the next morning. Though I have to say that I once saw her crumbling them into bits so she could feed the birds.”

  “Where did you see her do that?”

  “Here in the park.”

  “Does anyone else know about Mama Bird?”

  Folke Bengtsson shrugged his massive shoulders. “Don’t know. Maybe.”

  “Do you know her real name?”

  “No idea. She only babbled about being Mama Bird. But really, I haven’t talked to her much since that first morning.”

  “Does she stay in the shed during the day?”

  “No, she’s always gone in the morning. I arrive at six-thirty A.M. I never catch a glimpse of her then.”

  “Have you looked inside the toolshed?”

  The guard swallowed and nodded. “Yes, it’s pretty damned awful.… But she can stay through the winter. After that I’ll throw her out and lock the door again. I’ll deep-clean the shed and then repaint it thoroughly. No one will ever have to know that she lived there.”

  It was obvious he was pleading with them not to tell. He seemed to feel sympathy for the homeless woman.

  “Do you know where we can find Mama Bird during the day?”

  “No idea. But.…” He hesitated, thought awhile, then said doubtfully, “One Saturday morning a few weeks ago, I saw her in Drottning Square. She came out of the shopping center with a big plastic bag in each hand, singing to herself as she walked by.”

  “Did you hear what she was singing?”

  Bengtsson looked surprised. “No. I kept my distance.”

  “Did she see you?”

  “No. She went to Hotel Eggers and sat down right by the entrance. Then she opened the bags and began to crumble up loaves of bread and scatter oats until she was covered with pigeons. Disgusting.”

  The woman’s curious stink had an explanation, Irene thought. “When did you last see her?”

  “Well … she’s not easy to spot. I only saw her that one time in Drottning Square. She comes to the shed late at night and leaves in the early morning. Last Monday night I hung a bag of sandwiches for her, and they were gone Tuesday morning.”

  So Mama Bird was definitely nearby on the night of the murder. It was urgent that they find her.

  “What does Mama Bird look like? How is she dressed?”

  Bengtsson took some time to think before he answered. “Well, it’s hard to tell how old she is. Perhaps a bit younger than me. Short and thin. Though it’s hard to see what she really looks like. She wears a large man’s coat. She wears a knitted cap—I believe it’s pink. She keeps it pulled over her ears and nearly over her eyes. You don’t see much of her face.” “What co
lor is her coat?”

  “Don’t know. Brown. Gray. She wears it with a rope tied around her waist. She has big gym shoes on her feet, and she stuffs them with newspaper.”

  “Anything else?”

  “No. Yes. She has hardly any teeth.”

  Tommy and Irene thanked him for the coffee and got up to leave. As they walked through the hallway, Irene stopped by the door marked central electricity.

  “Have the techs searched the entire basement?” she asked.

  “Yes, but they didn’t find anything outside of this room,” Tommy answered. “They also made a sweep of the elevator. Malm believes that she was killed in the ICU. She must have opened the door for the killer, since the lock can only be turned from the inside. Looks like she knew the murderer.”

  “Unless the murderer had a key.”

  “It’s possible. But the techs couldn’t figure out where in the room she was killed. During the outage Dr. Löwander and the old nurse were fumbling around and knocking stuff over. By the next morning the young ICU nurse had already cleaned it all up. Anna-Karin. She knew Marianne and was Linda’s friend.”

  Again Irene had the feeling that Anna-Karin knew more than she was letting on. Still, it was only a feeling, and she couldn’t press the nurse further just on a hunch. She turned to Tommy and said, “I’m going up to the care ward. Nurse Ellen promised to take a look at my cat scratches.”

  “All right. I’ll ask around and see if I can get anything more on Mama Bird.”

  • • •

  IRENE CLIMBED THE stairs up to the ward. At the nurses’ station, she found her boss in happy conversation with Nurse Ellen Karlsson. They were laughing heartily together at a good joke. Irene tried to remember when she had last heard him laugh like that. When he saw her, he stopped abruptly, and his face turned red. He had the look of a kid with his hand in the cookie jar, Irene thought. But there should have been nothing for him to blush about.

  Nurse Ellen followed Andersson’s glance and spun around in her chair. “Well, hello. How are you feeling? Your scratches giving you any trouble?”

  “Thanks, I’m fine. As long as I don’t laugh.”