Tommy looked at the doctor in surprise. “Why is all this coming at once?”
Sverker Löwander stood up, mumbled an excuse, and went into the bathroom. The two police officers could hear him blow his nose and turn on the faucet. When he came out, Irene noticed that he’d washed his face and tried to fix his hair by wet-combing it. The result was not successful. But his eyes.… For a second, Irene met his gaze and found herself swirling into their sea-green depths. The man was dangerous!
An instant later that impression was gone; the man who drew up a chair appeared anything but a heartbreaker. Irene was ashamed of her thoughts and sat up straight. Just like a romance novel, she thought. She had to pull herself together and be professional. But before she was able to collect herself enough to ask a halfway intelligent question, Löwander began to speak.
“My father took care of all the investments and the renovations. He put a great deal of money into building that new stairwell so we could have a true hospital elevator. We moved the operation ward to the upper level and built the ICU,” he said.
“When was this?” Irene asked.
“Late fifties. He managed the financial side until his death, about fourteen years ago.”
Irene felt she had to ask another question to quell her curiosity. “Why is Källberg Hospital in the black while you’re in the red?”
“They have much greater resources. They have specialists in all areas. They had money and investments and made their renovations before the crisis in health care. Now they are one of the most modern hospitals in Göteborg.”
“And Löwander Hospital?”
“Basically, we’re bankrupt.”
A long silence followed this revelation. Irene broke it by saying, “So what are you going to do?”
“No idea. No one wants to buy the building to run it as a hospital.” He laughed dryly. “Carina has the idea of opening a fitness center here.”
“What do you think about her idea?” asked Irene.
“The way I feel now, I don’t give a damn.” He covered his face and bent forward.
Tommy and Irene shared a look over Löwander’s back. Using the most comforting voice she could muster, Irene said, “We understand that you’ve been under a great deal of stress. First all your worries about the hospital and now these murders. If you would like to take a break, we can continue later this afternoon.”
Löwander nodded. His head down, he disappeared into the bathroom again. Irene and Tommy stood but waited for him to return.
When he reappeared, he looked totally beaten.
“Would you like a lift home?” asked Irene.
“No … thanks. I’ll stay here and try to pull myself together.”
“Would it be all right if we came back at three this afternoon?”
“Yes. Thank you.”
WHEN THEY REACHED the landing outside the care ward, Irene said thoughtfully, “He looks like he’s heading for a nervous breakdown.”
“No kidding.”
“What do you think about these kinds of private hospitals?”
“Not a good thing. But if the public system can’t provide good health care, it shouldn’t stand in the way of our getting help elsewhere. Even going to private doctors. Dying while waiting in a line for care is completely crazy.”
They continued in silence down the stairs to Folke Bengtsson’s domain.
THE DOOR WAS wide open. They found an empty office. Everything looked the same, except that the cardboard box marked Flags was on the desk. Irene was looking inside when they heard Bengtsson’s heavy tread on the stairs. He sounded rushed. Irene took a step back and turned toward the doorway as Bengtsson appeared. He was out of breath and seemed agitated.
“Finally! Somebody who will listen,” he exclaimed.
He headed straight for the desk and opened the cardboard box. Triumphantly, he pulled out a roll of white rope.
“Look! What did I say?”
“Excuse us, Folke, but what did you say?”
Bengtsson looked from Irene to Tommy uncertainly. “But … I thought they sent you here to check it out.”
“Check what out?”
“The rope! The flag rope!” Bengtsson exploded.
“What about it?”
“Someone has cut off a huge length of the rope. I went up to the attic, but the police wouldn’t let me look. I said I had to see, but they still wouldn’t let me in.”
“Why did you need to see Linda?”
“Not Linda! The rope. The rope she hung from. I believe it’s a piece of this.”
He held out the coil to Irene, who took it with surprise. The rope was strong but soft and supple. Perfect for strangling someone. She didn’t remember what the rope around Linda’s neck looked like, but she needed to check it out immediately.
“You’re probably correct. We’ll go right away and see.”
“I’ll go. You two talk,” Tommy said. He took the rope and headed out the door.
Bengtsson dried his face with a reasonably clean handkerchief that he pulled from one of the many pockets in his blue overalls. He blew his nose while he was at it. Then he smiled weakly at Irene. “Want a cup of coffee?”
“Thanks, I would.” What a saint! It was certainly past time to have a cup, Irene thought.
“Make yourself at home.” Bengtsson pointed at the rickety rib-backed chair and went to fill the coffeepot.
As the water began to percolate and the room filled with the blessed aroma of brewing coffee, Bengtsson searched for mugs and cookies. He exhibited a restlessness he hadn’t last time they were here. He put his white mug with the English I’m the Boss on the table, sank down into his desk chair, and pulled out his handkerchief again, repeating the face-wiping procedure.
“You have to understand.… This morning a policeman came with the wire cutters, which they’d found in the stream. Near the dead … Mama Bird. Who for the love of Christ would ever kill that poor woman?” He kept dabbing at his forehead. “The wire cutters belong to the hospital. I’m absolutely sure of it. Earlier I was searching down here for something that Marianne’s killer could have used to sabotage the reserve generator. Then I wasn’t able to find the wire cutters. They were missing from the toolbox.” Bengtsson pointed indignantly at the toolbox on a nearby shelf.
“So they’ve been missing since Marianne was murdered,” Irene concluded.
“Right.”
Bengtsson got up to pour the coffee. “Last night I couldn’t sleep. All sorts of thoughts were tumbling through my head—you know, Marianne’s murder … the bird lady—and I thought it was nasty that the killer had been in here, in my room, and found himself a weapon.”
Bengtsson stopped when he heard noise at the door. It was Tommy returning.
“You were right,” Tommy said, his face grave. “It’s the same rope.”
Bengtsson nodded grimly, as if he’d been sure the whole time. He poured coffee into another mug for Tommy and took up his tale again.
“This morning I overslept, which is unusual. When I arrived at the building, I ran right into a German shepherd in the hallway. I asked the officer with the dog what they were up to, and the guy said they were looking for Linda. It was such a shock. That she’d still be in the building. Then I heard all the commotion in the surgical ward.…”
“Did you know Linda well?”