Night Rounds (7 page)

“I just don’t get that kind of thing at all.” Andersson shook his head. “Two guys living together? And one of them once married to a really cute girl to boot.”

“A cute girl who’s now dead,” Jonny pointed out.

“Exactly.” The superintendent thought a moment. “Tommy, go with Irene. It’s better if there are two of you.”

“Will do.”

“Fine. The pair of you will take care of our little pansies, ha! Hmmm.” Andersson cut his laughter short when he saw that only Jonny was laughing with him. He quickly turned to Irene. “Was that everything?”

“No. I went to the GT home office and had a chat with Kurt Höök.” Irene repeated her conversation with the journalist. Everyone else in the room had already read the article, and it had led to speculation about possible leaks. Here was the answer. As the icing on the cake, Irene played the tape she’d made of the conversation with Mama Bird. When she turned off the tape recorder, Jonny snorted.

“You’re terrible at re-creating conversations. But regardless, that is one crazy old lady. No reason to pay any attention to her.”

Irene nodded, ignoring his criticism of her dramatic-reenactment skills. “Of course, she’s mentally ill. But listen between the lines. She knows about Nurse Tekla and the story going around the hospital. She may have gotten the wrong date for Tekla’s death, but she knew it was a suicide. And she mentions that the building went dark. She must have been near the hospital when the power went out and the murder took place.”

Andersson’s face flushed with excitement from cheeks to ears, and he slid forward on his chair. “You’re absolutely right. We have to track down this … Mama Bird. You and Tommy get on it right away tomorrow morning.”

“Aye-aye.” Irene made a joking salute to her boss, but he’d already turned his attention to Tommy.

“So what did you do today?”

“I was supposed to help Birgitta interview Pontus Olofsson, but since he was gone for the day, I decided to help Hans and Fredrik canvass the neighborhood. We went to all the apartment buildings and single-family houses around Löwander Hospital. No one had seen or heard anything on the night in question. One person walking his dog around eleven-thirty
P.M
. said that the dog went crazy while they were walking through the park behind the hospital. The park there stretches all the way to a stream at its south side. On the west it meets the edge of a forest. That’s where the dog owner was walking his dog. The dog suddenly began to growl in the direction of the grove. The man couldn’t see anyone but felt uncomfortable, so they left right away.”

If the murderer hid in the grove of trees at the edge of the forest.… If Mama Bird also was in the vicinity.… They would have to find her. But where should they start to look for her? Maybe in the park.…

Irene’s thoughts were interrupted by her pager.

“Come get your pizza,” said one of the men from the front desk.

Irene and Tommy got up to get the food. In the elevator Irene said, “This evening we’re going to talk to Andreas Svärd and Niklas Alexandersson. Then tomorrow morning we’ll have to search for Mama Bird. We’ll have to go to Löwander Hospital and see if there’s anything in the grove, if someone was perhaps waiting there. Perhaps she’s homeless? Höök said she smelled awful.”

Tommy nodded in agreement. “Seems reasonable.”

“There’s a lot of pressure on us right now, especially about Linda Svensson’s disappearance.”

“The two must be connected somehow. Marianne had Linda’s day planner in her pocket.” Tommy was thinking out loud. “And, for a night nurse, no flashlight? Very strange.”

And worrisome, Irene thought. Very worrisome. Yes indeed, why did Marianne, the night-shift nurse, have Linda’s day planner but no flashlight in her pocket?

THE POLICE OFFICERS
had eaten their pizza and worked out their assignments for the following day when Irene and Tommy headed out to interview Marianne Svärd’s ex-husband.

Finding the address was not easy. Many of the stone buildings near Linnégatan had been torn down in the 1980s when a changing water table had rotted their support pilings. Architects attempting to re-create a turn-of-the-century atmosphere had not always been successful, but now pleasant pubs, small boutiques, and proximity to the large forest of Slottsskogen had made this area extremely popular. House prices and rents were sky-high.

They finally located the address; A. S
VÄRD
and N. A
LEXANDERSSON
were on the nameplate by the entrance. Irene called on the intercom and heard Niklas’s sour voice. “I’m opening,” he said crossly.

The front door buzzed and let the police officers into an airy hallway. The light gray marble floor and warm, champagne-colored walls with their iris-blue borders were very attractive. The elevator was the same champagne tone as the walls, so as to not disturb the aesthetics.

The elevator swished silently to the top floor. Just as Irene was about to press the doorbell, the door was yanked open. The angry twist to Niklas’s mouth took away from his handsomeness. “Is this really necessary?”

Irene replied mildly, “And a good evening to you, too, sir. Yes, our errand is really necessary, since Marianne has been murdered.”

Niklas jerked at her last word but said nothing else. He still wore the sour expression as he led them through the entry hall over a rug that was soft underfoot. He motioned them toward a large, cozy living room. The furniture and the artwork gave the room an upscale feeling. A man was sitting on the silver-gray sofa. He stood and offered his hand.

“Hi. I’m Andreas Svärd.”

“Hello. I’m Criminal Inspector Irene Huss.”

“Tommy Persson here. I’m also a criminal inspector.”

“Welcome. Please sit down.” Andreas Svärd was a pleasant contrast to Niklas. He treated them as welcome guests. As Irene sank into one of the plush leather armchairs, she observed the lawyer before them. Andreas Svärd was six feet tall and slender. He had thick blond hair and a fairly ordinary face. Irene knew he was thirty-three years old, but he appeared younger. He wore a light gray silk shirt, chinos in a darker gray, and a wine-colored lamb’s-wool sweater—casual but obviously expensive. To her surprise, Irene could tell that he’d been crying.

“I understand why you’re here. This has been a real shock for me … what happened to Marianne, that is. In spite of how our relationship ended, we were actually still close.”

Andreas Svärd turned his face away. Irene looked at Niklas, who glowered even more. Andreas appeared to be mourning, but Niklas just seemed angry.

Irene cleared her throat. “When was the last time you saw Marianne?”

Andreas cast a sidelong glance at Niklas before he answered. “We had lunch two weeks ago.”

Niklas seemed even angrier, so Irene turned to him. “What about you?”

“I haven’t seen her since last Christmas,” he growled.

“How was that?”

“She came to dinner here.”

It was obvious that he wasn’t the one who’d invited her. Irene turned back to Andreas. “Did you get together often?”

“Not that much.”

“How often?”

Andreas looked nervously at Niklas but seemed determined to tell the truth. “About once a month.”

“Why did you meet?”

The lawyer seemed truly surprised by her question. “We’ve known each other all our lives. We grew up together on the same street. Over the last year, we’d sometimes have lunch together.”

“At which restaurant did you last have lunch?”

“The fish restaurant Fiskekrogen.”

Niklas could not contain himself any longer. Half suppressing a swear word, he swiveled on his heels and stalked from the room. Andreas looked after him thoughtfully but said nothing. It seemed he was willing to tell the truth even if it enraged Niklas. At any rate, now it would be easier to interview Andreas, one-on-one. “Would it be possible for you to come down to the police station tomorrow afternoon?”

“Sure, but not till after four.”

“That’ll work for me, too.”

The police officers stood up and shook hands. Irene noticed Andreas’s hands were unusually small and well formed.

In the apartment’s hallway they saw no sign of Niklas. Irene did not raise her voice as she said, “Niklas, I need to talk to you.”

A door opened, and Niklas stuck his head out. “What do you want?”

“We need to talk to you some more. I would like you to come down to the police station tomorrow. What time can I expect you?”

“I work until four-thirty. I can’t get there until five, but five-thirty is more likely.”

Tommy let his eyes wander to the artwork in the hallway. He pointed to a framed poster. “Is that you?”

Irene turned to look at the poster.
Drag Show Fever
was written in Gothic letters. A slim, long-legged woman wearing fishnet stockings and impossibly high stilettos climbed a staircase, a black G-string cutting between her two firm buttocks. The back of her sequined top was low, and her long hair flowed over her shoulders. Her head was slightly turned away, but even through the woman’s false eyelashes and makeup, Irene was able to recognize the cool, amber-eyed gaze. Surprised, she turned to Niklas and exclaimed, “It is you!”

His smile was both amused and vicious. “Shocked again?”

“No, not this time either. But what’s the poster for?”

“I was a drag-queen dancer. A poor nursing student who needed some extra cash to fill in the gaps left by his student loans.”

“Are you still dancing?”

“No.”

Niklas opened the front door to let them out.

Chapter 8

AT SEVEN-THIRTY IN
the morning, Irene and Tommy began their workday at the edge of the forest grove on the far side of Löwander Hospital’s park. Since it was a long time before full daylight, they decided to wait half an hour. The park was large and overgrown, so it would take some time to comb through it, even though the trees were bare of leaves. During the night the temperature had risen to around freezing. The sky was dark gray, which could mean either snow or sleet.

They began their search near the small grove of fir trees. There were many footprints in the thin layer of frost, but also paw prints both large and small. This was clearly a favorite spot to take dogs for walks. Where the grove ended, deciduous trees took over. Most of them had been planted more than a century ago, when the park was first founded. Right behind the hospital itself were big clumps of lilac and golden chain. As the two of them examined the densest bushes more closely, they could see that once upon a time this had been a lilac arbor. Decades of neglect had made it as thick as rain-forest vegetation. Deep among the branches, they could make out a hut.

Irene and Tommy searched for a way in and found an opening almost completely hidden by overgrowth, which appeared to be the former entrance to the arbor and from which they could clearly see the hospital’s employee back door.

They stood in the middle of the thicket. The lilac bushes grew several meters high and concealed almost totally the tiny, green-painted hut. It seemed to be surprisingly new, with a ramp leading up to the wide door. Tommy approached it and tried the handle. With a protesting creak, the door opened. Tommy went inside but came out just as quickly.

“Goddamn it. We’ve found her hidey-hole.”

Irene looked inside. A stench assaulted her nose. Its source was clear. Right by the door was a plastic bucket filled with urine and excrement. The hut was apparently a gardening shed: shovels, rakes, and other gardening tools were lined up neatly against the wall. In the middle of the floor stood a riding lawn mower. There was not much space around it, but here was where Mama Bird had made her home.

At the back of the room, she’d heaped newspapers and flattened cardboard boxes. On top of that was an old sleeping bag covered with a bloom of mildew. She had a plastic bag stuffed with newspapers and rags as her pillow. Irene felt a lump grow in her throat when she realized that Mama Bird had actually made up her bed with a bedcover. On the lower end of the sleeping bag, she’d spread a grimy baby blanket. Once upon a time, the tiny hopping lambs on it must have been pink.

Irene peered into the large plastic bag at the head of the bed. “Here’s the rest of the bread she got yesterday from the pizza joint.”

Examining Mama Bird’s home was a quick job. They stepped outside into the much more pleasant fresh air.

“It looks like she didn’t sleep here last night. She got the bread the day before yesterday,” Irene said. “I imagine she’ll be coming back.”

“Do you think she has a number of hiding places?”

“Possibly. I wonder if anyone at the hospital knows that someone is living here?”

“No idea. We’ll have to ask them later. Now let’s go back to the grove.”

Even though it was lighter now, they still had to use their flashlights to see in the darkness beneath the fir trees. Farther in, the trees grew close together, and it was difficult to make their way between them. They found condoms, empty containers, and dog shit. Beer cans, empty cigarette packs, candy wrappers, potato-chip bags—city people have great faith in nature’s ability to break down waste.

Half an hour later, they’d gone over the whole area. Irene was sweating and disappointed. Tommy plucked pine needles out of her hair and pointed to his own forehead. “Check this out. I was so focused on looking at the ground that I banged my head on a branch.”

Irene stared at him, thinking about what he’d just said. “If we could hardly see in broad daylight, how about someone in the middle of the night?”

“Anyone hiding here wouldn’t have to go in very far.”

“Maybe we should be smarter, then. Concentrate near the hospital and not go too deeply into the woods. And we need to look at the branches, too. Something might have caught in them.”

They did another round through the grove. A few minutes later, Tommy called out.

“Irene! Come here!”

She made her way through the tangle toward Tommy. Without a word he pointed up at a stout fir, about a half meter over the ground. There were some dark fibers hanging on its outer branches.

He pulled a plastic bag from his pocket, slipped it up his arm, and took hold of the branch. He broke it above the fibers and enclosed it in the bag, textile fragments and all, then carefully pocketed it. They continued searching but found nothing more beyond further evidence that many people had come here with their dogs. Maybe the forensic technicians could have found something more, but they weren’t here. An ice-cold rain was starting to fall.

“Nothing more here,” Tommy said. “Let’s go inside and ask if anyone knows about Mama Bird’s nest.”

Irene agreed that it was hopeless to continue the search. The rain poured down, making the prospect of shelter tempting. Their boots squelched as they rounded the hospital toward the front just in time to catch a glimpse of Superintendent Andersson disappearing through the grand entrance.

THE WOMAN AT
the reception desk looked up from her keyboard, and Irene nudged Tommy. He was good at handling middle-aged women.

“Hi. Do you mind if I bother you for a moment?” Tommy asked in a friendly manner. He looked into her eyes with his kind, puppy-dog gaze.

The receptionist patted her age-inappropriate blond hair, straightened her glasses, and let a pleasant smile appear on her well-reddened lips. “Sure. But I do have a great deal of work to do.”

“I wonder if you’ve seen an elderly lady around the hospital grounds. She looks like she’s probably homeless.”

“A homeless person? Here at Löwander Hospital? Don’t be silly. What would a person like that be doing around here? They usually keep to Brunn Park.”

“You haven’t heard any talk?”

“No.”

“Is there anyone else here who might know about her?”

“Our security guard, Folke Bengtsson, usually knows everything that goes on around here.”

“Where can we find him?”

“One floor down. His room is on the left at the bottom of the stairs.” The phone rang, and the receptionist picked it up, answering with professional warmth: “Löwander Hospital. How may I help you?”

They headed down to Folke Bengtsson’s domain. The security guard was not in, but his door was unlocked, so they went inside. The room was fairly large, with a basement window set high up. When Irene stood on her toes, she could catch a glimpse of the lilac arbor. In silent accord they began to explore the room.

There were a number of Track & Field World Cup posters on the walls. Tommy pointed at a large tool bag hanging near the door. They gave it a quick search but couldn’t find any large wire cutters. On the shelves various things were jumbled together: cardboard boxes with lightbulbs, plumber’s snakes, rolls of steel wire, and a carton labeled
Flags
. There was an old brown lamp on the desk, as well as a coffeemaker. Irene pulled the desk drawers open. She found only a tin of snuff, some invoices and order forms, pens, and two well-thumbed sports magazines. The upper drawer was locked, and she couldn’t budge it. She was just about to try to force the lock when Tommy signaled to her to stop. They heard heavy footsteps coming down the basement stairs. Irene stepped away from the desk, turning her back to it, and pretended to be looking out the basement window. She said loudly, “You can just about see the tops of the trees in the park.”

“It’s not like they were generous with the view,” they heard a bass voice from the door.

Irene whirled around and tried to appear surprised. “Hi! We were looking for you.” She smiled and held out her hand. “Criminal Inspector Irene Huss. I saw you early Tuesday morning, but we didn’t have a chance to talk.”

“Hi, I’m Folke Bengtsson. Lots of other officers were talking to me.”

They all shook hands. Without even asking, Bengtsson took the glass carafe from the coffeemaker and disappeared into the hallway. They heard him fill it with water from a tap. The security guard was back in an instant and began to measure pleasant-smelling ground coffee into the paper filter. Without his knowing it, Folke Bengtsson was rising in Irene’s esteem. A guy who started the coffee machine right away must be a good guy, at least in her opinion. Her coffee gene was already crying out for a cup.

Folke Bengtsson was about sixty years old, bald and stocky. He reminded Irene of a hefty tree stump. Irene, who kept herself in shape, could tell that this man was still active in some kind of sport, so she began her interrogation with a question. “These posters from the world championship are really great. I was dumb enough to get rid of mine.”

“I took vacation and was able to watch almost the whole thing,” Bengtsson said contentedly.

“Are you active?”

“Not any longer. I coach several young guys, but these days I just lift some weights.”

Judging from the biceps under his blue plaid flannel shirt, Bengtsson lifted a great many weights. He handed plastic mugs filled with coffee to Tommy and Irene, keeping a porcelain mug with the text
I’m the Boss
in English for himself. He took the large key ring from his belt and opened the desk’s top drawer. Irene craned her neck to see what was inside: a packet of cookies and a number of other keys. Bengtsson took out the cookies and shut the drawer.

Irene thanked him for the cookie, drawing the aroma of fresh-brewed coffee into her nostrils. “Excuse me, Folke, for changing the subject. I do have to ask you about keys,” she said. “The murderer must have had keys to the hospital. There is no trace of forced entry anywhere in the building, and I’m wondering about master keys. How many are there?”

“Two. I have one and Dr. Löwander has one.”

“What kinds of keys do the other employees have?”

“One to the outer doors. It’s the same key for the front and back doors, and it also works for the employee changing room here in the basement. Then they have a separate key for their department.”

“So the employees of the care ward would have keys to the care ward and surgery employees for the surgery department?”

“That’s right.”

“But you keep extra keys for everything in that drawer?”

“Yes, but I’m the only one who has a key to this room, and I lock it when I go home for the day. This desk drawer is always locked, and I’m the only one with a key.” Bengtsson appeared satisfied with his mastery of the key situation.

“But this room wasn’t locked when we got here.”

“No, it’s open during the day.”

“But the top drawer is always locked.”

“Always.”

“Where do you keep the master key?”

“Here.” The security guard pulled the key ring out of his pocket and showed how it was attached to his belt. “And here’s the key to the top drawer.”

Irene saw that she wasn’t going to get any more information about keys, so she decided to change the subject and ask about Mama Bird.

“Are you aware that there’s a lady living in the toolshed?”

Bengtsson stiffened. He looked down into his steaming coffee mug and mumbled, “Hmm, there is?”

He was truly a terrible liar.

“Didn’t you see yesterday’s GT? Didn’t you read about the woman who had seen old Tekla haunt the place on the night of the murder?”

“Well … yes … I saw it. Where did they find out about that?”

“The journalist who wrote the article had interviewed Mama Bird.”

Bengtsson looked up from his mug, surprised. “An interview? In her state?”

“So you know her?”

The security guard sighed, defeated. “Yes, I know her. Or at least I’m aware of her. I found her right before Christmas.”

“Found?”

“Yes, she was wrapped up in a garbage bag and had huddled against the basement heating exhaust, on the other side of the electrical room’s wall. At first I thought that someone had dumped garbage on the property, and I was furious. I walked over to get it and drag it to the garbage room when I realized that there was a human being inside.”

“Did you bring her into the building?”

“No. She stank to high heaven. It made you want to throw up. And she was totally off her rocker. I couldn’t get a word of sense out of her.”

“So you decided to let her sleep in the toolshed.”

Bengtsson nodded, resigned. “What else was I supposed to do? The hospital was closing for Christmas. She obviously had no home of her own. I unlocked the garden shed for her. She seemed to be very happy. Sometimes I hang a plastic bag with sandwiches on the door handle, and they’re gone the next morning. Though I have to say that I once saw her crumbling them into bits so she could feed the birds.”

“Where did you see her do that?”

“Here in the park.”

“Does anyone else know about Mama Bird?”

Folke Bengtsson shrugged his massive shoulders. “Don’t know. Maybe.”

“Do you know her real name?”

“No idea. She only babbled about being Mama Bird. But really, I haven’t talked to her much since that first morning.”

“Does she stay in the shed during the day?”

“No, she’s always gone in the morning. I arrive at six-thirty
A.M
. I never catch a glimpse of her then.”

“Have you looked inside the toolshed?”

The guard swallowed and nodded. “Yes, it’s pretty damned awful.… But she can stay through the winter. After that I’ll throw her out and lock the door again. I’ll deep-clean the shed and then repaint it thoroughly. No one will ever have to know that she lived there.”

It was obvious he was pleading with them not to tell. He seemed to feel sympathy for the homeless woman.

“Do you know where we can find Mama Bird during the day?”

“No idea. But.…” He hesitated, thought awhile, then said doubtfully, “One Saturday morning a few weeks ago, I saw her in Drottning Square. She came out of the shopping center with a big plastic bag in each hand, singing to herself as she walked by.”