MW01 - Strange Bird

by Anna Jansson

  Why was Sandra Hägg so eager to find out where Hans Moberg’s supplies of medication came from? Why was it so important that he come to her home, even though she had a migraine? If she even had a migraine; no one could verify that. Did she even send the message herself? The computer was on and she had logged in. Hans Moberg’s fingerprints were on the mouse and keyboard, but no messages had been deleted.

  Maria browsed through the pile of papers next to Sandra’s computer. Medical journal articles about infectious diseases, and a couple of articles about the anti-theft marking of the new passports that would soon be issued. One article, with the headline “You’ll be your own key,” detailed how one day fingerprints would be used instead of access cards.

  Maria opened the door to the balcony and stepped outside. She took a few deep breaths of the sea air. From the balcony she could see the windmills on the edge of the cliff, the old yellow prison building with its wall, the harbor area, and, far to the south, the peak of Högklint as a sharp contrast to the gray-blue sea.

  Her thoughts were occupied with the unreported break-in at Vigoris Health Center. Why did Sandra break into the clinic and what did she take with her in the plastic bag? Vaccine? Why, and for whom?

  It wasn’t until Sandra’s neighbor Ingrid was right next to her that Maria noticed that she was not alone. The older woman’s white hair was freshly washed and looked like a downy dandelion, ready to fly away if you blew on it.

  “Hello! The weather’s going to be nice.” Ingrid Svensson shaded her eyes with her hand and leaned over the balcony railing. “I was thinking about something. Those children who were selling peppermint candies. Have you located them? You know, I think it’s really irresponsible of parents to let children run around that late at night. In my day you ate dinner together at six o’clock and then it was time for the children to go to bed.”

  “No. It’s been hard. We’ve tried to contact every third-grade teacher in Visby. But the schools are closed now and we haven’t been able to reach them all. Some have gone on vacation. Did you find out something about them?”

  “Yes, an acquaintance of Henriksson on the second floor—we play Bingo with him on Thursdays—says they go to the Solberg School. He’s known their teacher since she was a little girl. Her name is Birgitta Lundström.” Ingrid Svensson gave a satisfied smile.

  Maria picked up her cell phone and tried Hartman. He would assign someone to call on her at once. It was high priority. For Hans Moberg, in particular, it was very important to find out whether the children had seen anyone else go down the stairs that fateful evening.

  Still thinking about what Sandra might have taken from the clinic in the break-in, Maria returned to the apartment. The break-in had occurred at ten o’clock. By midnight she was dead. Maria stopped in the hall, as if she were Sandra just coming home with the plastic bag in her hand. Presumably she thought the break-in had been undetected. The cleaning lady did not think Sandra noticed her.

  Why did she break a window at the clinic when she could just as easily have gone in through the outside door? She only needed to use her access card. The outside door was open until ten o’clock and from there she only needed to take the corridor over to the vaccination department, where the staff room was also located. It would have been simple for her to say that she left a magazine or her lunchbox behind if she was caught. As long as there wasn’t another alarm system—one that Sandra knew about? Could that be the case?

  Maria looked around the hall. She imagined that she was standing there with the plastic bag in her hand when she heard a sound on the stairs. Then she would have locked the door. Maria looked around for a place in the hall to hide the plastic bag. There was a drawer in the small dresser under the hall mirror. It was empty. It was too easy and too close to the door. She continued into the living room. Was Sandra afraid that someone might have followed her anyway? Perhaps the murderer was ringing the doorbell at that moment. Or maybe it wasn’t that way at all. Maybe she was waiting for someone, someone to whom she intended to give a warm reception with wine and good food and perhaps a massage. Why else was the massage bench out? Maria went closer and removed the blankets and sheets and the buckwheat pillow that the technicians had cut open and emptied. If Sandra had quickly wanted to hide something before she opened the door, what would she have done? Maria felt the cushion around the massage bench. It was properly fastened, nailed and glued to the wooden frame. The head support could be pulled out, but there was nothing hidden in the holes from the wooden dowels that held it in place and the pillow itself was intact. Maria let her hands glide along the board to the arm support on the sides. Suddenly she felt a spot where it was possible to get her fingers between the cushion and the wooden structure. She got her bag and put on her latex gloves. There in the soft stuffing she felt something cool and cylindrical against her hand. She worked the arm support loose and continued to dig into the batting—soon she had a syringe in her hand. It was filled with a clear fluid and on the syringe was a text in Cyrillic letters.

  It resembled the syringe used to give Maria her vaccination earlier in the week. She wished she had studied it more closely then instead of looking away. Maria took the syringe out of its plastic packaging and found that the needle could not be loosened.

  Hans Moberg said that he tore apart the apartment, but did he cause all the damage himself? Perhaps it was this syringe someone was looking for. But why? What did it contain that was so dangerous?

  Just then she heard steps on the stairwell and someone stopped at the door. Still playing the role of Sandra, Maria put the syringe back in the arm support and replaced it. A key was inserted in the lock of the outside door and adrenaline rushed through her body. Obviously. The person who murdered Sandra Hägg had a key to the apartment and then left a copy on the cord so that anyone could get it. No one would wonder how the murderer could open the door without breaking in.

  The idea of Sandra lying in bed waiting for an unknown man to enter the apartment with a key fastened to a cord was completely absurd—especially once you’d taken a look at Hans Moberg.

  Now the key was turning in the lock. In the middle of the room was a sofa; Maria crouched behind it. She heard the door being opened.

  Chapter 37

  With her face pressed to the floor Maria could see a pair of brown gym shoes moving across the parquet. Without making a sound, she tried to angle her head to see who it was but it was impossible. She heard a drawer being opened and closed again, and saw the shoes and a pair of denim-covered legs advancing into the room where she was cowering. Did the plant cover the space between the couch and the wall? She tried to control her breathing. Her heart was racing. If he went up to the bookshelves, she would be discovered. She should not have come here alone.

  The sound of footsteps moved toward the kitchen. More drawers were pulled out and cupboard doors opened and shut again. She heard him swear. He turned on the radio. It was harder to hear where he was. Hard rock at high volume. If she screamed now it would barely be heard. It sounded like he was going into the bedroom. More drawers were pulled out and doors slammed. What was he looking for? She had to see who it was. Maria carefully moved into a crouching position and peeked out from behind the plant. At that moment, a sinewy hand picked up the fruit bowl on the table in front of her.

  “What the hell!” Lennie staggered backward. “What the hell. I thought I was alone in here. You scared the shit out of me!”

  “What are you doing here?”

  “Getting my things before the vultures in Sandra’s family get their claws on them. I’ve picked up my guitar strings and my metronome and music, and if you move I’ll be able to get my electric guitar.”

  “So you still have a key to the apartment.”

  “Yeah, I watered the plants and brought in the mail for her when she was in Turkey with Jessika in May. She asked for it back, but it never happened, I wanted to keep it. Hoped in some sick way that she would take me back. We only had two keys, no spare.”
/>   “Who else might have a key?”

  “Nobody. Can I check the one you have?” asked Lennie. “It’s not new anyway. The metal in the newer ones isn’t as yellow.”

  “And Sandra only had two keys, one of which you have and the one I got in with is the other. It was in her jacket pocket. Are you sure there were only two? Whose key was on the cord?” Maria weighed the key in her hand. “Has the lock been changed since the previous owner?”

  “No. There was no reason.”

  When Maria arrived at Vigoris Health Center, accompanied by Tomas Hartman, the parking lot was full. After circling for ten minutes there was still no vacant spot. Cars were parked far out on the lawn facing every which way and bicycles and motorcycles left between them in an unorganized mess. On the drive there was a line and a crowd of people in the entryway. The mood was aggressive.

  “There are no more appointments for vaccinations this week. Please go home and schedule a time by phone or try your own health center. We cannot make any new appointments right now.” The young nurse was trying to sound friendly and factual, but her voice was shaking slightly and her face was a bright shade of red.

  “I don’t intend to leave here until I’ve been vaccinated. I demand to get the help I’ve been promised. I’ve been paying taxes my whole life.” A gray-haired man, skinny and muscular like a marathon runner, was holding firmly onto one of the pillars at the entry to the lobby. Maria could not help thinking of the tree-huggers who defended the elms in Kungsträdgården, or environmental activists who chain themselves to machinery to draw attention to important issues. “I’m not leaving.”

  Several others chimed in and the mood darkened, becoming increasingly threatening.

  “I have heart disease and I should be first on the priority list according to the politicians. That list is worth no more than a handful of toilet paper. Who gets medicine? Just the people who have contacts and those who can pay. We should take matters into our own hands.” The old lady was so agitated that she lost her breath and started hissing.

  “Bring out the medicine, damn it!” the marathon runner shouted.

  “Now let’s calm down.” The nurse looked like she was about to burst into tears. “If you don’t disperse we’re going to call the police.”

  “But people are afraid! Can I speak with your boss?” Yet another man stepped out of the crowd. He had a heavy red beard and a bald head. He wore his leather jacket unbuttoned with no shirt; around his neck was a sturdy silver chain. He forced his way up to the information counter, took hold of the nurse, and pulled her out onto the floor. “We’re serious. Where’s your boss?”

  “The boss! The boss! The boss!” several people chanted in chorus. They clapped their hands in rhythm and stamped their feet. In a moment Viktoria Hammar was in the doorway.

  “What’s all this about?” If she was afraid, nothing in her posture revealed it; her voice was calm and well-articulated.

  “Everyone is going to get medication and everyone is going to be vaccinated. If you follow the instructions you’ve been given it will proceed quickly and smoothly. At Vigoris we see paying clients. Those who are given a prescription by their doctors fill them at the pharmacy and are scheduled for vaccination at their respective health center. If you follow that procedure the work flows quickly and everyone gets help.”

  “The hell it does. There’s no medicine at the pharmacy. They’ve run out, and there aren’t any more appointments at the health centers. This is war, damn it! My friends are in the car. I want them vaccinated. Now!” The red-bearded man went up and stood in front of Viktoria at his full height. But she remained standing, apparently unmoved.

  “It may be slow to start, but I promise that everyone will get help. Shipments of medicine are arriving daily and as soon as a priority arrangement has been agreed on by the county council, everyone will get medicine and vaccination in an orderly manner. Police and healthcare personnel and those who work in technical administration have already received vaccination. Soon the order for those in risk groups will be ready. It’s not easy to decide who should have priority—whether individuals with cardiovascular diseases or cancer should have priority over those with neurological diseases.

  “If you would please leave your names and telephone numbers at reception, we will contact you as soon as we have more appointments or cancellations. If you stay here in a crowd you risk getting infected.”

  Not without some admiration, Maria saw how Viktoria Hammar managed to calm the crowd and persuade them to leave the premises. She remained standing, her posture erect, until the marathon man finally sauntered out last of all, casting a hateful look that showed that he was not satisfied with how the situation had developed.

  “Chickenshit Swedes. You obey orders even if your superiors ask you to eat your own shit. If this had happened where I’m from …” They heard no more before the door shut.

  “And what can I help you with?” asked Viktoria in such an easy tone that Maria completely lost her power of speech.

  “We would like to exchange a few words with your husband. Is Reine Hammar here?” asked Hartman.

  “Yes, but he’s very busy. As you just saw we have a workload that defies all calculations. I estimate he can see a patient every five minutes, and so the time you take up affects the patients. Is that clear?”

  “We’re investigating the murder of Sandra Hägg. As her employer I’d assume it’s important to you to find out what happened to her.”

  Maria wanted to add that while she understood it was chaotic, a functioning legal system is even more important during a crisis.

  “Where is Dr. Hammar?” Maria’s stern tone surprised even herself, but Viktoria’s emotional pressure was so obvious and so unpleasant that she couldn’t control her irritation. An alternative would be for Reine to work an extra fifteen or thirty minutes in the service of humanity.

  With a look of endless suffering Reine Hammar sat down in the armchair behind his desk and invited them to sit down. After a long bout of throat-clearing he turned away and coughed into his sleeve.

  “Maximum fifteen minutes, I can’t give you more than that.”

  “We’ll try to be brief and we’ve chosen to meet you here and not at the station so as not to take up your time unnecessarily. Out of respect for your patients.” Hartman’s expression was unfathomable as he turned on the tape recorder and took down the necessary information. “We’d like to know where you were between ten o’clock and midnight on July 4.”

  “What do you mean? I’m sure you know I was in quarantine?”

  “According to reports, you were away from the sanitarium that night. Your help was needed for an acute case, but you’d gone out. Where were you?”

  “What is this? Is Jonathan Eriksson a hall monitor now? If that’s the case, it’s a matter between me and the disciplinary board, not the police.”

  “It is a police matter and I want you to answer my question: where were you?” Hartman leaned forward and Reine recoiled, clasped his hands behind his neck, and rocked in the chair.

  “Then you have to tell me why you want to know.” Reine cleared his throat and grunted several times. Maria was increasingly convinced that these were nervous tics.

  “Sandra Hägg was murdered that night. You know that. And we want to know where you were.”

  “I needed to get a little air. I took a walk. That’s not illegal, is it?” Reine stared at the wall behind them as if he could see there what had happened the night of the murder. He blinked as if he had something in his eye, took off his glasses, and rubbed his nose. A light redness spread over his face.

  “Can anyone verify that? Did you see anyone?”

  “Depends on what you mean by see. Well, in a way. Does anyone have to find out about this or can we keep it low-key … well, you know.” He cleared his throat again.

  “Who did you meet? If someone can give you an alibi it’s in your own interest.” Hartman’s patience was about to run out. “If you’re in a hurry
to get back to your patients, it’s best if you answer now.”

  “It was a nurse. We … were in her room in the building at the facility. Lena is her name. I don’t remember what her last name is.”

  “We’ll be checking that out. One more thing. You had antibodies to bird flu before the vaccine was distributed. Why is that?”

  “What? Now I don’t understand. It must be a mistake. And what do the police have to do with that? Test results are confidential. Where did you get that information?”

  “Actually, test results are not confidential when the crime being investigated is punishable by two years of prison or more. This is about murder, Reine Hammar. The murder of three individuals, each with a connection to the vaccine against bird flu. What evidence was Sandra trying find? We’re in the process of analyzing the contents of the syringe Sandra took with her from the clinic when she broke in. Would you like to tell us what this is all about?”

  Reine Hammar shook his head. If his surprise was pretend, it was very skillfully done.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about!”

  “We’ll come back to this. One more thing before we go: do you have a key to Sandra Hägg’s apartment?”

  “No, absolutely not, and the only flu I’ve been vaccinated against is the usual variety. The whole clinic was vaccinated last November. I don’t know what the hell antibodies you’re talking about!”