out she was found in the attic of this building at that time. She’d committed suicide. Hanged herself.”
The room was quiet. Irene realized that the superintendent had no idea how to interpret Nurse Siv’s story. She looked as if she truly believed she’d seen the long-dead Nurse Tekla during the night. In order to break the silence, Irene asked, “How did you find this photograph?”
“Gertrud found it. The old medicine cabinets were going to be discarded, and she and a colleague were supposed to clean out all the expired medicine. She found the picture stuffed behind an extra shelf at the bottom of one cabinet. They had no idea what to do with it, so they put it back when the renovation was over. It became one of the nurses’ secrets. The picture has been there all these years, and every new nurse gets to see it when she starts working here. Naturally, everybody has heard of the hospital ghost. And whenever it’s discussed, we take out this old photo.”
“Why? To prove that the stories are true?”
“The stories are absolutely true! Nurse Gertrud was the person who cut Tekla down. She’d been hanging in the attic for a few days before someone noticed the smell.”
“And you really believe she haunts this place?”
“Lots of folks have seen her over the years,” Siv protested. “I’ve heard her before, but I’ve never seen her. Until last night.”
She glanced at the superintendent, and Irene hurried to ask, “What do you mean when you said you heard her?”
Nurse Siv answered slowly. “Sometimes there are rustling noises by the sinks in the disinfection room, even though nobody is there. Sometimes you hear her skirts swish in the hallway. Once I felt an ice-cold breeze pass right next to me. Most people here avoid this hallway between midnight and one in the morning.”
“What about you? What do you do at that hour?”
“We usually go to my office and have a cup of coffee and something to eat.”
“You and the ICU nurse?”
“That’s right.”
“Are you the only two people working here at that time?”
“Yes, we are.”
“But after twelve A.M. you could be joined by Nurse Tekla, you say?”
“Between twelve and one. She never appears after one.”
Andersson said, “So she’s a classic ghost who observes the witching hour. In that case what happens during the summer when it’s still light? Does she come between one and two then?”
Nurse Siv realized he was making fun of her and clamped her mouth shut.
To steer the interview in another direction, Irene asked, “How long had Marianne Svard worked at this hospital?”
At first it seemed that Nurse Siv would not answer, but after a moment she blew her nose with a tissue she’d been holding in her hand and said, “Just about two years.”
“What did you think of her?”
Nurse Siv took her time answering. “She was extremely good at her job. She was able to deal with all these new machines. I’m not, but I’m going to retire soon.”
“How was she as a person?”
“She was sweet and pleasant. Helpful.”
“Did you two get to know each other well?”
The nurse shook her head. “No, but she was easy to talk to. Just when we got on something personal, like family and such, she didn’t share anything.”
“Was she married?”
“No, divorced.”
“Did she have children?”
“No.”
Irene couldn’t think of any more questions. The tiny gray nurse appeared to sink deeper into her poncho, her face tired and stressed. Even the chief inspector noticed this and started to feel sympathy.
“Shall I ask someone to drive you home?” he asked in his friendliest voice.
“No, thanks. I live just around the corner.”
IT BECAME CLEAR to Irene Huss rather quickly that none of the hospital patients could have committed any crime. All four of the female patients had been awakened by the respirator alarm. Woozy from pain and sleep medications, they’d fallen asleep again right away. Two of the women had bandaged chests. The other two had large bandages wrapped around their heads; small, see-through corrugated plastic tubes full of blood threaded through their dressings.
The two male patients had not awakened at all that night.
The day nurse, Ellen Karlsson, was a steady, friendly middle-aged woman. Her salt-and-pepper hair was cut into a pageboy, with bangs over her brown eyes. “How horrible. Poor little Marianne … unbelievable. Who in the world would ever want to kill her?” she exclaimed, holding back tears.
Irene Huss was ready to cut in with a question. “That’s exactly what we’re trying to figure out. Do you have any idea who might have done it?”
“None at all. She always seemed so pleasant, though I can’t say I knew her really well, since we’re on different shifts. I’m on days, and she worked nights. And of course we’re in different departments. Maybe you could ask Anna-Karin. She’s the ICU nurse on the day shift. They know … they knew each other a bit better.”
The two women stood up and left the office together. Irene was struck by how quiet the hospital hallway was, unlike any hospital she’d ever been in. She asked, “Why are there so few patients here?”
“Today most operations are done at the polyclinic. Mostly to save on expenses. This hospital is completely private, as you know. When I started working here twenty-three years ago, we had two care wards and four surgeons. In those days the wards and the ICU were always full, and we worked through the weekends as well. Nowadays the hospital is closed on the weekends, and there are just two nurses on the day shift and two at night to cover both the ward and the ICU. Even the staff in surgery and receiving is down to half the previous number.”
“Why so many layoffs?” Irene asked, surprised.
“To save money. We do the complicated surgeries at the beginning of the week. Wednesdays and Thursdays we just do polyclinic operations. On Fridays we run only the reception desk and follow-up visits.”
“How many patients can you handle at a time?”
“Twenty in the ward and two in the ICU, with ten of the beds dedicated to day patients. The ward closest to ICU is a recovery ward for the polyclinic patients.”
“So the patients wake up there and rest a few hours before they’re sent home?”
“Exactly.”
“What do you do if something comes up and the patient can’t go home before the weekend?”
“We have an agreement with one of the private hospitals downtown. Kallberg Hospital. We send our patients there if we have to.”
“So Lowander Hospital is never open during the weekends?”
“That’s correct.”
They’d reached the large double doors between the departments. Nurse Ellen pulled one door open, and they went into the next area.
Two beds flanked the minimal reception desk. In one lay the body of Mr. Peterzen. On the nightstand next to it, a candle had been lit, and its flame smoothed a gentle light across his peaceful face. His hands were crossed
