“ ‘Linda Svensson. Born January twenty-third, 1973. According to the police report, found dead in an attic, hanging from a ceiling beam. Found almost on her knees with her upper body hung by a doubled flag line. The rope went under the chin and up over the back of her head. The body appeared discolored on both the left and right sides of the face, and there were external abrasions on the right side of the neck. Lesions visible on the skin of the neck. A thin rope remained embedded in the wound. Underneath it bleeding in the soft tissues and musculature. Broken thyroid cartilage and hyoid bone. Also spotty bleeding in the eyes and the oral mucosa. These findings indicate that death resulted from strangulation. Probable time of death: midnight between the tenth and eleventh of February, as concurrent with the changes apparent within the body. Complete toxicological examination still ongoing. Samples have been taken for forensic examination.’ ”
Fredrik looked up as he threw the report on the table.
“Sick! The murder is sick in and of itself, but to hang her body up like that. Hanging her was some kind of ritual. And a sloppy one.”
“Yes, it is sick, and the murderer, in his sick mind, meant something by it,” Irene said.
“Keep digging, Ghostbusters,” Jonny cackled.
Irene refused to rise to his taunt. He did not realize how right he was. They had to search back in time, into the tangle of legends, ghosts, and lies. Right now everything felt at a standstill, she admitted to herself. But she’d never admit that to Jonny.
“We’ll meet again here at five in the afternoon. Svante Malm will bring some of his lab results,” Andersson concluded.
THE SAHLGREN HOSPITAL’S buildings were a hodgepodge of styles thrown together by a crazy architect, Irene thought. Every single style of architecture from the previous century was represented. It was neither beautiful nor functional.
Irene walked toward the complex’s main entrance. She could see a woman waiting by the glass doors, sheltering from the wind. She just had to be Sverker Löwander’s ex-wife. Carina and she were remarkably similar, blond and tall, although Barbro was eleven years older according to the files. She wore her hair just like Carina, but there were some streaks of gray in her blond. Another woman who needs an appointment for a color job, Irene thought to herself. Barbro Löwander’s skin was sallow. Although Irene was not a big believer in makeup per se, she thought that Barbro Löwander really ought to get some help from the cosmetics industry. A touch of bronzer, a little mascara, and some nice lipstick would make a world of difference on this colorless face. Adding to the miserable appearance was the beige down coat. Was she consciously trying to downplay her looks? All these thoughts swirled through Irene’s brain as she held out her hand to the woman and said with a smile, “Excuse me, are you Barbro Löwander?”
“Yes, that’s me.”
“Hi, I’m Criminal Inspector Irene Huss. Can we go somewhere we can talk?”
Barbro Löwander nodded in reply and turned toward the automatic glass doors. For a second, Irene imagined that the sensor wouldn’t react to such a colorless woman and the doors wouldn’t open.
Sahlgren Hospital would never win a prize for the most welcoming entry. Even though someone had stuck a bubbling fountain next to the window, the good impression was lost among the floating cigarette butts.
They marched down the wide hall that ran the length of the building. They did not exchange a word as they passed the cafeteria and exited the building again through the glass doors on the other side. Barbro Löwander bent over into the strong wind and hurried toward an older, dark brown brick building. Through the windows they could see a number of white-clad people moving about, protected from the wind and the rain. Irene had a feeling that her interview would not be easy.
Once inside, Barbro headed up some worn stairs, looking neither right nor left and saying not a word to Irene, who followed her glumly. Barbro stopped on the third floor, and Irene could hear the rustling of a key chain. Barbro Löwander unlocked the door and said, without much enthusiasm, “Come in. This room is empty, as its occupant is on vacation.”
The room was spacious and airy, with two large windows overlooking the botanical gardens. Not much to see in February, but it was not hard to imagine how spectacular it would be in spring when all the green plants came to life.
“Does this building have only offices?” Irene asked.
“For the most part,” Barbro replied.
She hung her jacket on a wall hook, and Irene did the same with her leather jacket.
“Were there care wards here before?” Irene continued.
“No, this was a nursing school.”
Irene suddenly understood that no brand of cosmetics in the world could make Barbro into a beautiful woman. The thickest layer of makeup couldn’t hide the fretful bitterness on her face. Irene moved a pile of papers from a chair and sat down, trying to figure out what made Sverker’s ex-wife tick.
Barbro plopped down on a desk chair next to the large computer. She withdrew a pack of cigarettes and impatiently shook one out. Apparently smoking was forbidden in the building, as she did not light it but nervously rolled it between her fingers.
“I really don’t understand why I have to be dragged into all that mess over at Löwander Hospital,” she exclaimed.
To her surprise, Irene saw tears spring up in the other woman’s eyes. Irene asked her next question carefully. “Did you know either of the murdered nurses?”
“No. I haven’t set foot in that place in eleven years. I had nothing to do with any of the employees either. I broke away completely from all of that … then.”
“When you divorced?” Irene clarified.
Barbro nodded in response. Irene looked into her blue-gray eyes and could see the pain. She was surprised. A lot of time had passed since the couple had split up. Perhaps the divorce was still an open wound that was best left undisturbed. She decided to try another approach.
“It’s not the murders or the divorce that I came to ask you about. We need your help.” Irene let her words sink in.
Barbro’s tense shoulders relaxed slightly, but her voice was still suspicious as she asked, “Why would you need my help?”
“Well, you worked at Löwander Hospital for many years. You were married to Sverker for … how many years?”
“We were married for thirteen years. I worked at Löwander for six years. I started half-time after Julia was born.”
Barbro snapped her mouth shut as if she felt she had given away too much. Irene could hardly agree. She tried a new question.
“What kind of people were your in-laws?”
Barbro could not hide the look of surprise that flickered across her face. Finally she shrugged and said, “I can hardly see how they’d have anything to do with the murders. Just as little as I would.” She thought for a moment. “Sverker’s mother died when he was nine years old. My ex-father-in-law, Hilding, died the year before our divorce. He was eighty-nine. A strong man until his last year of life. Then he had a stroke, and … everything went downhill fast. He was furious.”
The hint of an affectionate smile played at the corners of her mouth. Irene was surprised. Apparently Barbro had liked her father-in-law.
“Why was he furious?” Irene asked.
“He was forced to loosen his grip on Löwander Hospital. The hospital was his life. He’d stopped performing surgery years earlier, but he did all the administration work and the day-to-day running of the place.”
“How did Sverker feel about that?”
Barbro gave Irene a cold look of disdain. “He thought it was just fine. He had all the time in the world to run after Carina.”
“So Sverker did not want to run the hospital.”
“No.”
“Did your ex-father-in-law ever remarry?”
“No.”
“Do you know of any stories circulating around him … about other women …?”
Irene left her sentence unfinished on purpose to see if Barbro would swallow the bait.
She did, with a bitter grimace.
“I read the article in the paper about Nurse Tekla. Of course I’d heard her story. Everyone who worked at Löwander knew it. I don’t believe it. Ancient gossip and rumors.”
“It looks like Sverker didn’t know anything about any relationship between Hilding and Nurse Tekla.”
“Well, it’s possible. He did know that she’d hanged herself in the attic, and people said she haunted the place. But he never talked about any of it. Perhaps no one dared mention the gossip to his face.”
“So there never was another woman in Hilding’s life as long as you knew him?”
“Never, but he was seventy-two when I met Sverker.”
“I understand that his parents were fairly well along in years when Sverker was born.”
“Yes. Hilding was fifty, and Lovisa must have been … almost forty-five. Oh, I’d never thought of her as that old. She’d been dead many years by the time we got married, and Sverker never talked much about her. But then there were many things he didn’t talk about.”
Barbro was back to the divorce like a tongue probing a loose tooth. Even though it hurts, you can’t stop.
“So he never told you he’d started a relationship with Carina?”
“Of course not! I was the last to know, as usual. I was presented with a fact. Carina was expecting, and so now he wanted a divorce. For the baby’s sake. Not thinking he already had two children. He never gave them a thought while he was busy chasing that cat’s tail, just like she’d planned. He fell into the oldest trap in the book.”
Obviously Barbro saw Sverker as an unknowing victim of Carina’s wiles. It takes two to tango, Irene couldn’t help thinking. She kept her thoughts to herself and carefully posed the next question.
“How long had their relationship gone on before you knew about it?”
“About six months. The worst thing was his lying and sneaking around. That they were doing it almost right in front of my eyes. I’ve never been so humiliated in my whole life.”
Finally some color had come into Barbro’s face and a spark into her eyes, but it was not attractive. Her hate and bitterness shone through.
Irene felt it was time to ask the most important question. “Someone at the hospital told me that you accused Carina of setting fire to the old mansion.…”
Barbro sat silent for a moment. Then she said stiffly, “No one would listen to me. No one believed me. But I saw her.”
“Where did you see her?”
“Outside the house. She was circling it. I saw her try the basement door, but it was locked. Then she moved backward to look up at the upper floors. She stood there for a long time. I heard her laugh to herself and saw her raise her fist and shake it at the house. Like this.”
Barbro bent her head back and laughed a hissing laugh. She shook her fist toward the ceiling.
“Were you still living in the house at the time?”
“No, the children and I had moved out.”
“What were you doing there?”
Barbro looked depressed, but now she was more willing to talk. “There was a police investigation after the house burned down. The police asked why I’d been there. I’ll tell you what I told them: I wanted to see what Sverker and Carina were up to.”
“So you were spying on them?”
“Yes.”
“Was Carina living in the house with Sverker?”
“No, she hated that house and never intended to move in. That’s why she burned it down. She and Sverker denied it during the investigation. They said I suffered from a jealousy bordering on mental illness.”
Again the deep pain appeared in her eyes, and she pressed her lips together. Irene realized that would be about all she would give. She thanked Barbro Löwander for her time, lifted her leather jacket from the hook, and left.
FOR THE REST of the afternoon, Irene busied herself with all the paperwork that had collected on her desk. She read through her report of her conversation with Barbro Löwander several times without feeling any wiser. It was not pleasant to meet with such hatred and pain. Irene had the impression that Barbro was the kind who cherished her grudges, whether they were real or imagined. It looked like she was the one who had suffered the most from the divorce, since her mental health appeared so unstable. Was there any truth in her accusations against Carina Löwander? It certainly was high time to meet Carina herself.
Irene’s colleagues were all taking their chairs in the conference room. To Irene’s surprise, Birgitta was back in her seat. She nodded in reply to Irene’s greeting. The superintendent did not comment on Birgitta’s reappearance but handed the floor to Svante Malm immediately.
“I can begin by saying that we found the same kind of dark fibers on Linda Svensson’s clothes as we had on Marianne Svärd’s clothes. The fibers seem to have come from the same garment—namely, the nurse’s uniform found in the burning garden shed last Saturday evening. There was enough left of the uniform dress so we could establish that fact with absolute certainty.”
“No such fibers on Gunnela Hägg?” Tommy asked.
“No. On the other hand, Gunnela had a great deal of talcum powder on the upper part of her skirt. We even found a fuzzy handprint. The murderer appears to wear size seven and a half in gloves.”
“Large female hands or small male hands,” Irene pointed out. She wore size eight in gloves, size ten in shoes. If you’re five-ten in stocking feet, that’s how it is.
“We’d also found glove talc on the two nurses. The murderer wore medical gloves while he committed all three murders. In addition, we were able to secure blood and hair samples from the wire cutters. Both came from Gunnela. We believe that we have also found the murder weapon used to kill Marianne.”
Svante Malm flipped through his notebook. Everyone else was silent.
“As you know, the killing length of rope was still around Linda’s neck when she was found, even though she was hung up after death. This rope was deep in her musculature, and the murderer did not bother to remove it. Marianne was also strangled, but the ligature was not still on her body. We wondered why, and now we know. The murderer still needed it.”
Svante said nothing as he bent down to pick up a paper bag by his chair, and he drew out a clear plastic bag containing thin, white rope. Before opening it, he pulled on a pair of thin latex gloves.
“This is the rope for the flag that was stolen from the security guard’s roll. There’s almost six meters of it. One meter was cut off and used to strangle Linda. That’s this piece.”
Malm took out a meter-long piece of rope. It was darkly stained in the middle.
“The strange thing was that there was also a stain in the middle of the rope used to raise Linda’s body. We thought it must be blood, but of course we had to analyze it. And it was blood, but not Linda’s. It was Marianne Svärd’s blood.”
The superintendent’s breathing had become labored, and he started to gesture wildly. “Wait a minute. This sounds nuts. First strangle Marianne and then bring away the rope because it’s still needed to hang up Linda? And Linda left with the shorter part still stuck around her throat? There’s no rhyme or reason to any of this.”
To everyone’s surprise, Hannu corrected the boss. “First Linda. Then Marianne.”
Andersson glowered at this suggestion. “Explain,” he said shortly.
“First he strangled Linda with the short piece of rope. Then he strangled Marianne with the long piece. He took it back because he needed it to hang up Linda’s body.”
The timeline might be correct, but why? Why was Linda hung up in such a way?
Andersson turned to Irene to hear if Barbro Löwander had brought any leads. After Irene summarized her interview, it was Tommy’s turn.
“I met with Siv Persson, the old nurse, today. She was practically one hundred percent certain that the nurse who cut down Tekla had said that Tekla had hanged herself from the ceiling beam closest to the window. We didn’t find Linda there. She was on the beam two
in from the window.”
“Is this important?” asked Jonny.
“Don’t know. Maybe it was enough to hang her up in the same room where Tekla had been but not necessarily from the same ceiling beam.”
“What would that indicate?” asked Irene.
“The murderer knew only part of the story,” said Hannu.
A vague idea flashed in Irene’s brain. This was important, but she still didn’t know why. She nodded at Hannu. “The murderer didn’t know all the details of Nurse Tekla’s death. Gunnela Hägg didn’t know them either. She knew the story, but she didn’t know the details. Has anyone confirmed whether she’d ever been at Löwander Hospital, by the way?”
“Yes,” said Hannu. “A group of Lillhagen’s mental patients were at Löwander Hospital one month in 1983. Gunnela was one of those.”
Yet again things were beginning to fall into place in the puzzle. Irene was staring at Hannu in concentration when she became aware that Tommy was laughing quietly beside her.
“Hannu found all that out by lunchtime, so I called Siv Persson back. I asked her if she might know how any of the mental patients could have known the story of Nurse Tekla. She was angry at me at first and said she had no idea, but in the end she confessed. She’d told them the story herself.”
“Why in the world would she tell this story to a group of mental patients?” Irene asked.
“So that they’d stay in their rooms and not sneak out at night. She made them afraid of the ghost.”
“Lord help us!”
Here was the reason that Gunnela knew the Löwander Hospital ghost story, which led to a newspaper story, which in turn led to the poor woman’s death.
Svante Malm had more to say. “There were two large suitcases and a smaller, older leather briefcase up in the attic as well. We’re going to take a look at them. Their locks were broken rather recently, and they were wiped down with a cloth afterward, so there was no dust on them at all. We’ve taken all of them to the lab, and they’ll be ready tomorrow afternoon. Would any of you like to look at them then?”
Night Rounds Page 20
