Night Rounds

by Helene Tursten

  “They’re wonderful. Was he abroad when he painted them?”

  “Yes, he lived in Provence during the last twenty years of his life. He died ten years ago.”

  Was there a colorful person behind Siv Persson’s gray exterior? When she sank her thin body into the beige armchair, it seemed as if she melted into it and disappeared. Only the light blue frames of her glasses remained floating in midair. Irene shook the image from her brain and decided it was time to get down to reality.

  “As you probably figured out, we’re here for something more concrete about what you saw the night of the murder,” she began.

  “I’ve told my story several times,” Siv Persson said. There was a hint of worry in her voice.

  “Of course. But now a week has gone by. Perhaps some things have gotten clearer to you or some new detail came to mind?”

  The nurse pressed her lips together and shook her head slightly. Irene did not let herself be dismissed.

  “Have you heard about the garden-shed arson?”

  “Yes, it was in the paper … but that can’t have anything to do with Marianne’s murder, can it? Or Linda’s disappearance? I didn’t even know there was a garden shed back there.”

  “I assume that you know about the murder of the homeless woman.”

  “Yes, that was also in the paper. What is going on at Löwander Hospital?”

  “That’s exactly what we’re trying to find out. And we need your help.” Irene let her last sentence sink in. Then she said emphatically, “The murdered homeless woman lived in that shed.”

  Siv Persson’s expressions ranged from suspicion to surprise. She wrinkled her forehead. “That can’t be possible, can it? Living in a garden shed during the middle of winter?”

  “She was probably grateful to have a roof over her head. Have you ever seen her around the hospital grounds?”

  “What did she look like?”

  “She was short and very thin. She wore a large man’s coat held together by a piece of rope. Pink knitted cap.”

  “No. I’ve never seen anyone who looked like that. I certainly would remember it if I had,” Siv Persson said firmly.

  “Back to the fire on Saturday night. It was arson. The homeless woman had a bed of blankets and a sleeping bag. The arsonist set fire to everything after he’d put a black wool nurse’s uniform on top. We also found a nurse’s brooch among the remains. It belonged to a nurse who graduated from the Sophia nursing school. I remembered you had a brooch that matched.”

  Without saying a word, Siv Persson stood up and disappeared behind a closed door that Irene guessed concealed her bedroom. Tommy and Irene exchanged looks. They could hear the nurse rummaging around. A few minutes later, Siv Persson came back. Somehow she reentered the room as a different person, straighter, with an air of authority. She’d transformed into a nurse right to the ends of her fingertips.

  She wore a white hat with a wide black band; on the edge of the band was a narrow, crisp ruffle. The blindingly white dress collar had at its center the shining silver nurse’s brooch. The black dress itself had puffed, capped sleeves lined with buttons. The bodice was short, a tight row of more black buttons running down to the waist. The pleated skirt came to the middle of the calf, revealing black stockings and shoes. Over one arm she had a neatly folded apron.

  “This is how she was dressed,” declared the nurse. She turned slowly so that the police officers could see the uniform from all angles. “But one thing was missing.”

  “Missing?” echoed the officers.

  “Yes, missing. The apron was gone. This is how it’s supposed to look.”

  Siv Persson shook open the crackling, starched apron so they could get a closer look. It had a gentle golden tinge, an indication of its age. “At home you always wear the apron.”

  “At home?”

  “If you are working on a ward, you are at home in that ward. Then you wear the apron but not the belt.”

  “So when you’re away from your department, you take off the apron and put on the belt? Do I understand you correctly?”

  “That’s right.”

  Irene and Tommy both got to their feet to inspect the dress more closely.

  “It’s not black. More like dark blue,” Tommy said.

  “But it wouldn’t be practical to work in that uniform, would it? Hard to wash.”

  Nurse Siv snorted. “We certainly didn’t work in this uniform! This is a dress uniform for important events. The daily uniform was a light blue cotton one. No puffed sleeves or all these buttons.”

  “And the person you saw the night of the murder was dressed just as you are now?”

  “That’s right. Tekla was also a Sophia graduate. Since the beginning of the twentieth century, it has been the tradition at Löwander to have nurses trained at the Sophia nursing school.”

  “But isn’t Sophia in Stockholm?”

  “Yes, but it was always the most prestigious school. Plenty of Göteborg girls applied to Sophia for their training. I did. Many of them wanted to return to Göteborg after graduation, and Löwander Hospital was happy to hire them. In those days working at Löwander brought status. Dr. Löwander’s mother was also a Sophia nurse.”

  “You mean the younger doctor?”

  “Yes.”

  “Are all the nurses at Löwander Hospital still graduates of the Sophia nursing school?”

  “No, just Ellen and myself. All the others were educated here in Göteborg, except Margot. She got her education in Karlstad.”

  Irene tried to remain casual. “You are absolutely sure that it was Nurse Tekla you saw that night?”

  The nurse sighed, and then she wilted. “I know it sounds unbelievable. But the moon was shining brightly—it was almost like broad daylight when the clouds broke up. I was about to enter the nurses’ office and happened to look at the glass doors. And I saw her as clear as day.”

  “What did she look like? Did you see her face?”

  “No, I saw her sideways, from the back. But she was tall and … stately. She’d set her hair up according to regulations. You were supposed to be able to see all the way around the collar.”

  “Did you see the color of her hair?”

  “Blond. The light of the moon was reflecting off it. She looked just as she did in the picture I showed Superintendent Andersson.”

  “But she was ‘away.’ No apron.”

  “That’s right.”

  Tommy hadn’t said much, but now he squeezed in a question. “What was Nurse Tekla wearing when she was found hanging in the attic?”

  Siv Persson looked at him with distaste. “She was wearing the daily uniform.”

  “With cap and apron?”

  “Yes.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Gertrud told me. She was there and helped cut Tekla down. Gertrud had taken over Tekla’s position after she’d quit. So the two of them never met—in life, that is.”

  Tommy nodded as he reflected on her statement. Then he said innocently, “Why does she haunt the hospital in her ceremonial uniform when she hanged herself in her daily uniform?”

  Siv Persson pressed her lips together. “I’m going to change,” she said.

  Irene stifled a smile and wagged her finger at her colleague in admonition. Perhaps he was correct in his suspicions, but there was no point in antagonizing Siv Persson. She was their most important witness, since she’d seen the murderer. The only other such witness had been silenced forever. At least they had Irene’s transcript of Kurt Höök’s tape recording. It was time to find the connection to Gunnela Hägg’s murder. One thing on the tape troubled Irene, and perhaps Siv Persson would be able to enlighten her.

  Irene did her best to appear pleasant when the nurse returned wearing her dust-colored clothes. She smiled as she said, “Perhaps you can help us with the other murder. The homeless woman, Gunnela Hägg. Does her name ring a bell?”

  Siv Persson wrinkled her tiny face in concentration, then shook her head. “At first I t
hought … but … no. I don’t recognize the name.”

  “Gunnela’s statement was recorded the day after Marianne’s murder. She told a reporter the story of Tekla’s suicide. She even calls her by name.”

  Siv Persson appeared surprised. “Strange. Maybe she worked for us?”

  “Hardly. She was an inpatient at Lillhagen for over twenty-five years and—”

  “That’s it!” Siv Persson leaped out of her armchair. Her pale face was brightened by a slight flush. “Was she at Lillhagen … let’s see … thirteen years ago?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Then she could have been one of the ten patients we took in from Lillhagen when they closed for the summer. Löwander Hospital did it to generate extra income. We signed a contract with the hospital’s board and took a number of patients from different medical institutions.” She fell silent to think for a minute. “All the following summers we had no mental patients, thank God. Löwander Hospital is not set up for long-time care and certainly not for mentally ill people. It was the worst summer of my life. At least as far as my work was concerned.”

  “That could be something to check out. Let’s ask Hannu to follow up on that.”

  Irene’s last sentence was directed to Tommy, who pulled his cell phone from his jacket.

  Irene also stood and took Siv Persson’s hand. She thanked her for the coffee and the inestimable help she’d given them. As she put on her jacket, mostly to have something to say, Irene asked, “When are you going to return to work?”

  Siv Persson crossed her arms on her chest as if the room had suddenly gotten very cold. “Not before my own surgery in two weeks.”

  “An operation? I hope it’s not serious.”

  “No. Cataracts in one eye.”

  Irene froze. She remembered her mother complaining before her cataract surgery about how fuzzy everything appeared and how difficult it was for her eyes to adjust between light and dark. Trying not to show her agitation, Irene asked, “Do your cataracts bother you much?”

  Tommy lifted an eyebrow questioningly. But this could be important.

  “Oh, yes. It’s worst when I read. All the lines meld—” The nurse stopped suddenly and glared at Irene. “I know what you’re implying. But I saw her clearly. The clouds parted, and the moonlight flooded in through the windows. I saw her!”

  Irene chose her words carefully. “I have no doubt that you saw a woman. But it was no ghost. You saw a murderer dressed up. Put aside all thoughts of a ghost. Think about a real person. Who might it have been?”

  Siv Persson didn’t answer, just hugged herself more closely. Tommy walked over to her and set a hand gently on her shoulder. She trembled but didn’t shrug his hand away.

  “We don’t want to scare you, but we believe that Gunnela Hägg was killed because she’d seen the murderer. Her statement indicates that she had.” Tommy paused and let his words sink in before he continued. “You are now the only surviving witness. This is a dangerous killer. You must take precautions. Do not open the door if someone rings and you don’t know who it is. Even if you do know someone, think back and make sure that it isn’t someone who could have dressed up as Nurse Tekla.”

  “Well, you are certainly scaring me now.”

  “With good reason. We found Linda this afternoon. She’s dead.”

  “No!” Siv Persson reeled as if she’d been hit. Irene took her arm and led her to the chair. Nurse Siv sank into it heavily and stared straight ahead. She whispered, so softly they could hardly hear her, “How did it happen?”

  “You mean how did she die?”

  She nodded wordlessly.

  “She was found hanged in the same place that Nurse Tekla hanged herself. From a beam in the attic ceiling. The pathologist believes that she’s been dead for a week.”

  “So she died the same night as Marianne,” Siv Persson said emotionlessly.

  “That’s more than possible, but we don’t know for sure.”

  “Was it … suicide?”

  “We don’t know. We have to wait for the autopsy results. But I agree with my colleague. Think about what happened to Marianne and Gunnela Hägg. Be careful. Please, stop thinking that you saw a ghost. Ghosts don’t commit murder. That’s left to the living.”

  The nurse’s face looked like a death mask, but she nodded to show she’d heard what Irene said.

  “Will you be all right? Shall we call someone for you?” Irene asked.

  The nurse shook her head heavily. “I’m used to taking care of myself. But … how can anyone be so cruel? Kill young girls like that. And that poor homeless lady.… It’s horrible!”

  Both police officers nodded. Senseless atrocities were playing out in the old hospital.

  • • •

  IRENE SIGHED. “NURSE Siv is right. It makes no sense only because we don’t have a motive. If we had a motive, we would be able to close in on the murderer.”

  Tommy nodded. They were in the car on the way back to Löwander Hospital. It was going on three and time to continue their talk with Sverker Löwander.

  His cell phone rang, and Tommy answered. He didn’t say much. After he clicked off, he said somberly, “That was Andersson. Stridner has just called from Pathology. Linda was definitely murdered.”

  They completed the drive in silence.

  SVERKER LÖWANDER WAS as pale as a corpse. Irene was starting to wonder if he had already gone over the edge. His hair had still not been washed, and he smelled strongly of sweat. He looked like a man who had lost his whole world. Which he probably has, Irene thought. In spite of his worn appearance, she still found him extremely attractive. Obviously some people have it and some people don’t. Unfair.

  “Sit down,” Löwander said, skipping any small talk. Tommy sat down on the bed, and Irene pulled out the desk chair. They were all sitting exactly where they’d been that morning. Only one thing had changed: Now the police knew that Linda Svensson had been murdered.

  “I want to ask you about Linda,” Irene began.

  Löwander looked nauseated. After drawing a few deep breaths, he said, “Excuse me, but all of this has been … just too much.”

  “I understand. First the economic difficulties and now the murders. Not exactly the kind of advertising a private hospital would want,” Irene said.

  “No hospital in the world would want any of this.” Löwander sighed.

  “Returning to Linda. When did you see her last?”

  “Monday the tenth. I saw her briefly during the morning rounds. I swung by the nurses’ station to look for some misplaced paperwork. It was supposed to have been sent up to the operating room.”

  “Which paperwork?”

  “What’s that got to do—Nils Peterzén’s medical consultation. His heart and lungs weren’t in the best shape. There wasn’t much time to read through it before surgery.”

  “How did Linda appear the last time you saw her?”

  “Appear? The usual for a Monday morning with a full operation schedule. Stressed. Not more than average, though. She was her usual self.”

  “Did she say anything to you?”

  Löwander’s forehead wrinkled in thought. For a brief moment, he showed his fifty years. “We said hi and complained about the cold.… I asked where the paperwork was, and she helped me look for it. She was the one who realized that it was probably still down at the secretary’s desk.”

  “Did you see her later that day?”

  Löwander shook his head. “I spent the rest of the afternoon and the evening in the ICU. Peterzén was in bad shape. I might have caught a glimpse of her around five when she was leaving for the day. But I couldn’t say for sure if it was that specific Monday or the Monday before.… I’m so tired. I’m totally exhausted.” Löwander covered his face with his hands.

  “What is your opinion of Linda as a person?” Tommy asked.

  “Happy and pleasant. A good nurse.”

  “Have you ever seen any indications that she might have a problem?”


  “What kind of problem?”

  “Maybe a drug addiction or something similar?”

  The doctor shook his head emphatically. No, absolutely not. Marianne Svärd didn’t take drugs either. I didn’t know Marianne as well as I did Linda, because Marianne worked the night shift. But I’m absolutely sure neither of them had a drug problem.”

  “We’ve received some information from the pathologist. Linda Svensson did not commit suicide. She, too, was murdered.”

  At that, Löwander vomited so quickly that he barely had time to lean forward. Not much came up, just fluid from an empty stomach. “Excuse me,” he said.

  He stood on shaky legs and headed for the bathroom. They heard the sound of the faucet, and he returned with a bit of toilet paper to wipe up the vomit on the rug. He headed back to the bathroom.

  When he returned again, the first thing he did was open the window, for which they were all grateful, as the sour stench of gall had permeated the room. He sat back down in the armchair but no longer appeared so hopeless. There was an air of caution about him that had not been there before.

  In a formal tone, he said, “Please excuse my behavior.”

  Tommy smiled in his friendly way. “We understand you’re not feeling well.”

  Our plastic surgeon, Kurt Bünzler, told me last week, right before he went on vacation, he was going to retire this June. Today our anesthesiologist, Konrad Henriksson, turned in his resignation. He’s found a new position at Källberg Hospital.”

  “So they’re looking ahead.”

  “That they are.”

  “Will it be difficult to find replacements?”

  “Not just difficult. Impossible. Who wants to sign on to a sinking ship?”

  “And you have the same problem finding nurses?”

  “Of course. It’s been hard the past few years. We had the luck to find a few good nurses, although they were young when they started here.”

  “Linda, Marianne, and Anna-Karin, you mean.”

  “Right.”

  Of those three, only one is still alive, Irene thought. She mentally made a note to talk to Anna-Karin as soon as she could.

  “If you can’t find replacements, what are you going to do?”

  Löwander sighed. “I made up my mind this afternoon. I’m going to close the hospital this summer.”