CHIEF INSPECTOR ANDERSSON hated going to Pathology. Even more, he hated talking to pathology professor Yvonne Stridner. Most of all, he abhorred entering the autopsy room, but this was the only way to get a quick response.
When Andersson asked for the professor, the security guard pointed up the stairs with a burly, body-built arm. The chief inspector was relieved that Stridner was in her office and not in the middle of an autopsy. He tapped on her closed door.
Beeeep! A red light next to the text occupied lit up. A yellow light, indicating please wait, was beside it, as well as a green one stating come in. Even though he’d spent time driving here, Andersson was glad to accept the red light and the yellow. He sat down on the uncomfortable wooden chair against the wall. He could clearly hear the professor’s voice: “… the worst oral examination I’ve ever heard! You must study and be thoroughly prepared, even for an oral examination. It’s incredible stupidity to believe you’d pass just because you gabbled on and on. You have to know what you’re talking about. Obviously you haven’t studied. Or else you haven’t understood what you were studying. The latter would be even worse. The former is fixable: Go home and study properly and I will give you another examination in three weeks with every question you failed. And that exam will be written.”
The door was thrown open, and a girl with short black hair rushed out, crying. The chief inspector stayed frozen to his chair. His emotions contained an element of terror as he heard Stridner’s voice.
“So there you are, Andersson, taking up space.”
Andersson looked like a student who’d just been caught sneaking around to steal the answers to an upcoming test.
“Uhhh.…” he said lamely.
“What do you want?”
“Marianne Svard … have you finished the autopsy?”
“Of course. Come inside,” she ordered.
Stridner turned around, and he followed her into the office. She sat down in the comfortable chair before her computer. A visitor’s chair with a worn-out red Naugahyde seat stood on the other side of her desk. It was hard and lumpy, surely on purpose. You were not supposed to feel comfortable in the presence of the professor.
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 Svard.” 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 Svard. 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 Svard 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
NIGHT NURSE KILLED BY GHOST? a headline screamed. The byline attributed the article to Kurt Hook, the permanent reporter on the crime beat for GT.
A photo of Lowander Hospital’s facade 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 facade last night? The chief of medicine refuses to comment.” A photo insert of Sverker Lowander, 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.
