“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.”
“You’re giving up?”
Löwander nodded tiredly.
Irene cleared her throat. “I have a practical question. How many master keys are there for this hospital? The door to the attic, where we found Linda, was locked, and there were no signs of forced entry on the door or on the lock. Just as with Marianne’s murder.”