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 Lowander 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: “Lowander 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
“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
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. Lowander 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.”
