He sank into the chair, breathing hard. Stridner gave him a sharp look.
“Isn’t there any kind of workplace health care at the police department that could organize a diet group for you? Exercise for the overweight and so forth? Or at least provide some basic nutritional information? It’d help your blood pressure enormously.”
Andersson would not let himself be goaded. Mustering all his self-restraint, he replied neutrally, “I’m taking medicine for my blood pressure, and it’s under control. But I really came to hear what you’ve found out about Marianne Svärd.” He forced a pleasant smile.
Stridner’s lips curled as if she doubted his statement about his blood pressure, but to Andersson’s relief she kept to the official subject. “Marianne Svärd. Livor mortis, rigor mortis, body temperature, and the temperature of the room all indicate that death occurred right around midnight. Analysis of stomach contents is still in progress, as well as blood and fluid analyses. It will take a few days before those results come in. Nevertheless, I believe they will corroborate a time of death at approximately midnight.”
Stridner paused and looked for a long time at Andersson over the frames of her glasses before she continued.
“Cause of death is strangulation. The noose had sunk deep into her neck and caused strong subcutaneous bleeding and damage to the musculature and circoid cartilage. Around the ligature marks are scratches, probably a result of the victim’s attempt to defend herself from the noose. Based on the appearance of the cut, I determined that the murderer stood behind the victim. It is clear to see where the noose was tied at the back of the neck. In addition, I have determined that the murderer was taller than the victim, unless the victim was seated at the time of the attack.”
“What kind of noose was it?”
“Thin, smooth, and strong. I found a number of fiber strands in the wound, which I have sent for analysis. An educated guess would be that it was a thin cotton rope strengthened by smooth synthetic material. Or perhaps the entire noose was purely synthetic.”
Stridner furrowed her brows as if she were thinking about something, and then her face brightened and she said, “Speaking of fiber. I did find some strands underneath the victim’s fingernails on both the right and left hands. Dark, thin textile fiber.”
“Wool strands.” The chief inspector sighed.
Stridner looked at him with surprise. “Wool? That’s quite possible. Probably the victim grabbed at the murderer’s arms in an attempt to make him loosen the noose, but she only caught the fabric of his jacket sleeves.”
“Dress sleeves,” Andersson said, depressed.
“What do you mean by that?”
He sighed again. “We have a witness. An older nurse who insists she saw the hospital ghost at the time of the murder. The ghost is said to be a nurse who’d committed suicide fifty years ago. They say she wears an old-fashioned nurse uniform.”
“Ridiculous! Ignore that witness completely. I can tell you that this strangulation was done by a living, breathing killer with strong arms.”
The professor drew her eyebrows together sharply; her expression brooked no defiance. Not that the superintendent wanted to contradict her. No, for once the two of them were in complete agreement.
“I know. But the witness was definite about what she’d seen.”
Stridner harrumphed. “Ghosts! A ghost doesn’t drag a victim across the floor. Don’t even give a thought to such a ridiculous notion.”
The superintendent muttered defensively that he didn’t believe that a ghost had done it either, but Stridner was not listening to him. She said brusquely, “I have to give a lecture in an hour, and I need to have lunch before then. Let’s wind this up. She was not pregnant and had never given birth. In her stomach was a rather small meal. She’d eaten approximately four hours before she died. Her food was mixed with a froth that I believe was some kind of antacid. Her stomach lining was reddened toward the pylorus, but I saw no signs of an active ulcer. I found a healed ulcer near the duodenum, but it was old. Otherwise it appears that Marianne Svärd was in perfect health. She has no other wounds besides the strangulation mark and the drag marks on her heels. I found traces of talc underneath her arms.”
Andersson could imagine the scene. The ghost nurse, floating in her old-fashioned black dress, coming up behind the night nurse. The latter, clueless about her fate. Quickly, the ghost throws the noose over the nurse’s head and pulls tight. The panicked young woman clutches in vain at her throat and behind her head in order to stop her killer. All she can do is grab strands of cloth underneath her fingernails.
Andersson was completely engrossed in his vision and did not hear what Stridner had just said. She frowned at him with concern.
“Are you feeling ill? Is your head spinning? Have you ever had an epileptic attack or similar?”
“No, I was just thinking.…”
Stridner tapped at her watch. “Well, in that case I have no more time for you. I’ll send the written report in a few days.” She stood up and opened the door to the depressing hallway. The chief inspector could do nothing more than slink out. He mumbled a good-bye that went unheard, as the door behind him had already been shut.
IRENE HAD PICKED up a copy of the Göteborg Times from the news rack at the same time she bought her food. She settled into her chair and began to read.
NIGHT NURSE KILLED BY GHOST? a headline screamed. The byline attributed the article to Kurt Höök, the permanent reporter on the crime beat for GT.
A photo of Löwander Hospital’s façade covered half the front page, which indicated they didn’t have much of a story yet. The caption beneath the photo read, “What horror hid behind the hospital’s grand façade last night? The chief of medicine refuses to comment.” A photo insert of Sverker Löwander, disheveled hair and all, had been plugged into the right lower corner of the larger image. Some of the article was completely new information to Irene, however.
A nearby resident tells this newspaper that she saw the Löwander Hospital ghost roaming the grounds at the time of the murder. Everyone in the area, as well as in the hospital, knows the story of the nurse who committed suicide there a century ago and now returns to wreak vengeance on those who drove her to it. The witness, who asks for anonymity, describes the ghost as wearing an old-fashioned uniform and walking on the grounds around midnight. Our witness remained awake until past 3:00 A.M. and swears that no one else came or went that night
.
After this came a great deal of filler on the history of Löwander Hospital. Typical archival material. The anonymous witness wasn’t quoted again in the article.
Irene felt shaken. Where had Kurt Höök gotten the story of the ghost nurse? He didn’t get it entirely correct; Tekla had in fact had died in the 1940s. So his information probably didn’t come from anyone inside the hospital.
Irene sat there for a long time thinking without coming up with any new ideas. Finally she gave up and finished her coffee and cheese sandwich.
She glanced at her watch. Quarter past twelve. It was time to pay Kurt Höök a little visit.
TRAFFIC WAS HEAVY on the E6, but apart from a bit of stop-and-go near the Tingstad Tunnel, there were no major obstructions. The newspaper complex’s great grayish white buildings towered above the side of the highway. Their lighted display showed that the outdoor temperature was -8 C, the time was 12:38 P.M., and people were encouraged to buy today’s GT.
Irene parked in a visitor’s space and got out, locking the door of her old Volvo. She entered through the triangular glass doors and was welcomed by the very proper middle-aged woman at the reception desk.