to the technicians yesterday evening. They’ve already gone over the entire basement, the elevator, the stairway up to the ICU, and the entire ICU ward. We’re going through the entire place one more time, every nook and cranny in this entire building, anywhere someone could hide a body.”
Andersson surveyed his people. No matter how used to death they were, confronting it always lead to sorrow and depression. He sucked in another lungful of air. “We’ve gotten a master key from Bengtsson, the security guard. For our benefit he’s also made available separate keys for each floor. Fredrik and Jonny will take the basement. The dog unit is also going to start in the basement and move on up. Birgitta and Hannu will go through the polyclinic and the entrance level. I’ll take the care ward and the ICU, which is probably the least likely place she’ll be found. If she’s even here. Irene and Tommy will check surgery and the other rooms on the top floor.”
Each team took its specific keys and scattered throughout the hospital building.
Irene and Tommy left Andersson at the care ward and continued up to the top floor. Outside the surgical ward, they saw a young nurse trying to edge a gurney in through the doors. Tommy rushed forward and politely held the door open for her.
“Thanks,” she said. “The automatic door isn’t working. These old wires and fuses break down regularly.” She smiled with sparkling energy at Tommy. Once she’d pushed the gurney inside, she turned in the doorway and asked, “Why are you here so early in the morning?”
Tommy inclined his head. “We’re going through the entire hospital with a fine-toothed comb. Didn’t you read the paper this morning?”
The nurse shook her head, surprised.
“Well, a murdered woman was found yesterday underneath the bridge at the back of the hospital’s park.”
“Good Lord! Terrible! Is it … was it … Linda?”
“No, a homeless woman. We’ve found out she sometimes slept out there in the garden shed. Had you heard any rumors about that?”
“No. I didn’t even know that there was a shed. Not until the fire there, at least.”
“Who told you about the fire?”
“Folke Bengtsson. He knows everything that goes on here.”
“And you never heard a thing about the homeless woman?”
“No.” The nurse’s voice showed her distraction. She expertly slid the gurney against the wall to leave just enough room so another could pass. The hallway was certainly narrow. On the left were two operating rooms and on the right storage rooms and an office. The hallway gave the impression of being crowded and overstuffed.
“If you want to look around the operating rooms, you’ll have to change clothes. If you’re just going to stay in the hallway, please put on foot coverings,” the nurse said. “Actually, right now would be the best time for you to look around. Surgery is scheduled in an hour.”
The police officers peered in through the doorways of the operating rooms and saw immediately that there was no room to stash a body there. Just bare walls, operating tables, operating lamps overhead, anesthetic machines, and a few rolling tables and footstools. The only way to get rid of a body in this room would be to dismember it and mingle the pieces with the rest of the surgical waste.
The surgical ward was equally cramped; it would be just as impossible to hide a body (or pieces thereof) anywhere in it.
They walked the full length of the surgical ward’s hall. As soon as they exited, they stripped off the blue plastic foot coverings to throw them in a waste basket.
Directly ahead was Administration. Irene peered into the elevator stopped on that level. It was small, with a maximum capacity of four people. It would be impossible to roll a gurney or a bed into it. To transfer a patient, then, the larger elevator at the back of the building would have to be used.
Tommy opened the first door, marked SECRETARY. Two desks were pushed together to face each other in the tiny room. A computer, surrounded by heaps of paperwork, stood on each desk. One entire wall was taken up by racks of folders with different-colored spines.
The next room had an imposing bronze plaque that proclaimed doctors’ offices, but the room itself was not much larger than Tommy and Irene’s office at the police station, perhaps even smaller. Here there were also two desks, two computers, and a shelf with folders and books. In one corner was a low armchair and next to it a floor lamp.
The bathroom beside it was minimal. One would either have to back up into it to sit or decide ahead of time to stand up to pee.
The cleaning closet was unlocked; this made Irene’s pulse quicken for a moment. Perhaps a body would fit inside. But it held just cleaning supplies piled together in the small space.
“So the only room left is the on-call apartment,” Tommy said, without much hope in his voice.
They unlocked that room and stepped inside. Just as Irene was about to switch on the light, she stopped. Heavy snoring vibrated throughout the room from the bedroom adjacent to the office. She motioned to Tommy to follow her as she sneaked toward the bedroom. She stretched her hand around the doorway and flipped the switch for the ceiling light.
The snoring stopped immediately. With an inarticulate sound, the person in the bed sat up. Sleepily, Sverker Lowander blinked at the police officers.
“Who … who are you? Oh, yes, the police.… Good Lord, what time is it?”
He looked just as disheveled as he sounded. His unwashed hair was sticking out in all directions.
“Quarter to eight,” Irene answered.
“I have to get to the operating room in fifteen minutes!”
Lowander leaped out of bed. Irene was surprised to note that he was sleeping with his jeans and socks on. His upper body was bare, and his muscled chest, with just the right amount of hair, showed that he worked out to keep in such good shape for his age. There was not a spare ounce of fat on him. Irene found him fairly attractive. In spite of the fact that he was sleeping when they’d entered the room, he did not look rested at all. Just the opposite—he looked as if he hadn’t slept in days. Irene hoped that the scheduled operations weren’t complicated, for the sake of the patients.
Tommy cleared his throat. “Why are you sleeping here? Were you on call last night?”
Sverker Lowander stopped halfway in the middle of putting on his T-shirt. He lowered his arms and looked directly at Tommy.
“No, I wasn’t on call. It might look odd, but … I was working on some calculations last night, and suddenly I was so exhausted I thought I would faint. It was four A.M. I don’t even remember going to lie down, but obviously I must have.”
Now both police officers noticed that the desk in here was covered with paper and notebooks as well as an old-fashioned adding machine. Long loops of paper tape printed with numbers hung from the table all the way to the floor.
“Did you figure it out?” Tommy asked dryly.
“No. No matter which way I run the numbers, it’s still too expensive. I’m in a hurry right now. Can we continue this after lunch? I have no operations in the afternoon.”
“That works for us. Let’s say one P.M.?”
“Fine.” Lowander was already running toward the operating room.
Together Irene and Tommy walked over to the desk and began to lift each sheet of paper carefully. Most of them seemed to be bids from various contractors. One was for roofing and another for drainage and pipe systems.
Tommy waved his hand over the mess. “Looks like old Lowander Hospital needs a big transfusion of cash. I wonder whether Sverker Lowander is suited to all this. Maybe there’s a system here we can’t see.”
Irene glanced at the paperwork on the table critically. “Hardly.”
They left the disorder of the desk. In the doorway of the on-call department, Irene turned to look back. “Do you wonder whether Lowander ever sleeps at home?”
“Couldn’t prove it to me. We’re always finding him sleeping here.”
“LET’S FIND ANDERSSON and see if anyone else has stumbled across anything,” Tommy said.
They were waiting by the small elevator when the door to the operating room was flung open and the young nurse peered out.
