“There are two. Bengtsson, the security guard, has one. I have the other.”
“No one else has one?”
“No one.”
“Do you have yours with you now?”
“Yes.” The doctor stuck his hand into his pocket and took out a key ring. He snapped it open and looked through the keys before pulling one out. “It’s this one. This is the master key.”
He extended the key ring to Irene, who took it and examined it. It was a normal ASSA key with a large L engraved on one side.
“Do you always keep these keys with you?”
“Always.”
So all the master keys were accounted for. If it wasn’t one of these two men, who was it? Inadvertently, Irene thought, Only ghosts can move through locked doors.
She handed the key ring back. On impulse she asked, “What will you do after you close the hospital?”
“No need to worry about me. My patients will follow me to another clinic. Perhaps Källberg, I hope. I’m not sure where I’ll go, but it’ll work out somehow.”
“The other employees will lose their jobs,” Irene stated.
“Yes, they will. Unfortunately.”
“What will happen to the hospital building?”
“No idea. I’m going to put it up for sale as is.”
They could tell from his voice that he couldn’t care less what happened to the building. Irene and Tommy exchanged glances. They silently agreed there was nothing much more they could find out right now.
Just as they were getting up to go, Irene’s cell phone rang. Irene took it from her pocket. “Irene Huss.”
“Hi, Mama.” It was Jenny’s voice on the other end. “Your hairstylist just called. She was really mad you missed your appointment. She said you’d have to pay for it anyway.”
“Damn.”
SUPERINTENDENT ANDERSSON LOOKED glum. Questioning the hospital employees had not yielded any leads. No one had noticed any change in either Marianne or Linda in the days leading up to the murders. Both had been acting normally. Only Nurse Ellen hadn’t been reinterviewed; she’d been sick and hadn’t been in. Andersson sighed and rubbed his bald head.
His investigators were starting to trickle in. Birgitta and Hannu were the first ones back. Birgitta said, “I’ve gone through three interrogations with that swine Schölenhielm. He’s out of his mind!”
Andersson tried to think. Who was Schölenhielm and how did he fit in at Löwander Hospital? Maybe he was the security guard? No, that guy was called Bengtsson.… He gave up. “Who is Schölenhielm?”
“The guy who beat his Polish girlfriend to death last Saturday. Maria Jacobinski.”
“What? What are you doing with that case? You’re supposed to be dealing with this Löwander problem.”
“Who else was available? Irene had to take over the shift for Hans Borg Saturday night because you forgot to have it covered.”
That last sentence came out a bit more spitefully than she intended, and, observing the shifting color of her boss’s face, she hurried to continue.
“I took over the case on Sunday. It’s clear-cut. The forensics team faxed the preliminary report yesterday. She was beaten all over, and her body had massive signs of earlier beatings as well. Two fingers had been broken, and from appearances they healed without treatment. The back of her skull was beaten in—that was the killing blow. During my first interrogation, the used-car salesman insisted that he’d lost his memory. I would rule it a massive hangover. But today he had a completely new story.”
In spite of himself, Andersson was curious. “Let’s hear it.” By now most of the group had arrived and was listening.
“He says that the Polish mafia forced their way into his apartment that evening and forced him to drink an entire quart of Grant’s. Then they beat his girlfriend to death. There was nothing he could do, since the alcohol had incapacitated him. He was helpless as he watched them kill his girlfriend.”
Jonny snorted. “Well, that’s a new spin on an old story. What was his name again?”
“Sten Schölenhielm. He took the name twenty years ago. He was born Sten Svensson. Probably thought that a name that sounds vaguely noble would be good for business.”
“All right, let’s ignore the salesman and his Polish whore for now. Birgitta, see if you can find someone to take over that investigation. Maybe Tomas Molander—What’s wrong now?”
Birgitta’s back was as straight as a board as she leaned over the table and stared into Andersson’s eyes. She said in an ice-cold voice, “How would you know?”
“How? What?”
“How do you know she was a whore?”
Andersson stared at Birgitta in surprise. “Everybody knows that’s what they’re all like.”
“All like what?”
“They hang around in bars picking up tourists. Find a rich foreigner and get off the street and away from their miserable lives.”
“And they’re all like that?”
“Well, maybe not all, but most of them.”
“And you know for a fact that Maria Jacobinski was a whore?”
“Yes … no … but she had to be.”
Birgitta and Andersson glared at each other like two roosters ready to fight. The air seemed to vibrate between them. Irene understood what was behind it. It had nothing to do with Andersson’s thoughtless comment regarding Maria Jacobinski. Birgitta still felt bad about Hans Borg, and Andersson had not backed her up. Birgitta wanted Hans Borg’s head on a platter. And Andersson couldn’t understand Birgitta’s reaction. He felt he’d made a smooth move as an administrator and solved the problem by exchanging Borg for Hannu Rauhala. No gossip and no leaks to the media about sexual harassment inside the police force.
Irene also knew that Birgitta would never win this fight. Perhaps she realized this herself, as she rounded off her harangue. “Most of those women are lured here by promises of marriage only to find they’re sex slaves in a foreign country. The cost of returning is just too high. And even if they manage to return, they end up having to take up the life anyway. Even if Maria Jacobinski had been a streetwalker back in Poland, that’s no reason for denying her justice here.”
“I never said she wouldn’t get justice.” Andersson bristled, outraged. His glare let Birgitta know she’d gone too far. “Forget about Tomas Molander. You’re still on this investigation.” He nodded toward the door.
Birgitta looked at him, not comprehending.
“Go and deal with your used-car salesman and Polish lady.”
Teeth clenched, Birgitta stood up and collected her papers. Without looking at anyone and with her back still straight, she walked right out the door.
An unpleasant silence filled the room until Jonny broke it by saying, “What a bitch!”
Jonny and Andersson exchanged a look of male camaraderie. Irene bit the inside of her cheek to keep herself from speaking up. Like Birgitta, she knew that this was a fight she could not win.
“Back to Löwander Hospital,” said Andersson. “We haven’t gotten the final pathology reports on either the bird lady or Linda. Stridner promised we’d have both reports early tomorrow morning. We’ll go over them during morning prayer at seven-thirty.” A few members of the group nodded. “Stridner could tell me, however, that Linda was strangled and then hung up on the ceiling beam by the doubled flag line.”
“Why was she strung up?” asked Hannu.
“Maybe so it would seem like suicide?” Jonny suggested.
“No, he left the rope used for the strangulation embedded in her neck,” Hannu said.
The group pondered this for a minute until Irene said, “I believe Hannu has raised a good point. The intention was not to make it appear like a suicide. The murderer had something else to say. Otherwise it would have been enough just to strangle her and throw her behind the door of the locked attic.”