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 MURDERED. 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.”