Night Rounds

was Andersson. Stridner has just called from Pathology. Linda was definitely murdered.”

They completed the drive in silence.

SVERKER LOWANDER WAS as pale as a corpse. Irene was starting to wonder if he had already gone over the edge. His hair had still not been washed, and he smelled strongly of sweat. He looked like a man who had lost his whole world. Which he probably has, Irene thought. In spite of his worn appearance, she still found him extremely attractive. Obviously some people have it and some people don’t. Unfair.

“Sit down,” Lowander said, skipping any small talk. Tommy sat down on the bed, and Irene pulled out the desk chair. They were all sitting exactly where they’d been that morning. Only one thing had changed: Now the police knew that Linda Svensson had been murdered.

“I want to ask you about Linda,” Irene began.

Lowander looked nauseated. After drawing a few deep breaths, he said, “Excuse me, but all of this has been … just too much.”

“I understand. First the economic difficulties and now the murders. Not exactly the kind of advertising a private hospital would want,” Irene said.

“No hospital in the world would want any of this.” Lowander sighed.

“Returning to Linda. When did you see her last?”

“Monday the tenth. I saw her briefly during the morning rounds. I swung by the nurses’ station to look for some misplaced paperwork. It was supposed to have been sent up to the operating room.”

“Which paperwork?”

“What’s that got to do—Nils Peterzen’s medical consultation. His heart and lungs weren’t in the best shape. There wasn’t much time to read through it before surgery.”

“How did Linda appear the last time you saw her?”

“Appear? The usual for a Monday morning with a full operation schedule. Stressed. Not more than average, though. She was her usual self.”

“Did she say anything to you?”

Lowander’s forehead wrinkled in thought. For a brief moment, he showed his fifty years. “We said hi and complained about the cold.… I asked where the paperwork was, and she helped me look for it. She was the one who realized that it was probably still down at the secretary’s desk.”

“Did you see her later that day?”

Lowander shook his head. “I spent the rest of the afternoon and the evening in the ICU. Peterzen was in bad shape. I might have caught a glimpse of her around five when she was leaving for the day. But I couldn’t say for sure if it was that specific Monday or the Monday before.… I’m so tired. I’m totally exhausted.” Lowander covered his face with his hands.

“What is your opinion of Linda as a person?” Tommy asked.

“Happy and pleasant. A good nurse.”

“Have you ever seen any indications that she might have a problem?”

“What kind of problem?”

“Maybe a drug addiction or something similar?”

The doctor shook his head emphatically. No, absolutely not. Marianne Svard didn’t take drugs either. I didn’t know Marianne as well as I did Linda, because Marianne worked the night shift. But I’m absolutely sure neither of them had a drug problem.”

“We’ve received some information from the pathologist. Linda Svensson did not commit suicide. She, too, was murdered.”

At that, Lowander vomited so quickly that he barely had time to lean forward. Not much came up, just fluid from an empty stomach. “Excuse me,” he said.

He stood on shaky legs and headed for the bathroom. They heard the sound of the faucet, and he returned with a bit of toilet paper to wipe up the vomit on the rug. He headed back to the bathroom.

When he returned again, the first thing he did was open the window, for which they were all grateful, as the sour stench of gall had permeated the room. He sat back down in the armchair but no longer appeared so hopeless. There was an air of caution about him that had not been there before.

In a formal tone, he said, “Please excuse my behavior.”

Tommy smiled in his friendly way. “We understand you’re not feeling well.”

Our plastic surgeon, Kurt Bunzler, told me last week, right before he went on vacation, he was going to retire this June. Today our anesthesiologist, Konrad Henriksson, turned in his resignation. He’s found a new position at Kallberg Hospital.”

“So they’re looking ahead.”

“That they are.”

“Will it be difficult to find replacements?”

“Not just difficult. Impossible. Who wants to sign on to a sinking ship?”

“And you have the same problem finding nurses?”

“Of course. It’s been hard the past few years. We had the luck to find a few good nurses, although they were young when they started here.”

“Linda, Marianne, and Anna-Karin, you mean.”

“Right.”

Of those three, only one is still alive, Irene thought. She mentally made a note to talk to Anna-Karin as soon as she could.

“If you can’t find replacements, what are you going to do?”

Lowander sighed. “I made up my mind this afternoon. I’m going to close the hospital this summer.”

“You’re giving up?”

Lowander nodded tiredly.

Irene cleared her throat. “I have a practical question. How many master keys are there for this hospital? The door to the attic, where we found Linda, was locked, and there were no signs of forced entry on the door or on the lock. Just as with Marianne’s murder.”

“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 Kallberg, 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