Night Rounds

by Helene Tursten

  “Death certificate for Tekla Viola Olsson. One son. Father unknown.” Hannu held out the sheet of paper.

  Tekla Olsson, born October 8, 1911, Katarina Parish. Death by suicide March 28, 1947. One son, born January 2, 1947, Bromma Parish.

  Tommy flipped through his desk calendar. “January second. That’s the name day for Sverker.”

  “Tekla is buried in Stockholm,” Hannu informed them.

  Tommy sighed. “Let’s hope she can finally rest in peace.”

  HURTLING AROUND THE corner, brakes screeching, Irene turned in to the asphalt driveway.

  “Answering an alarm, are we?” Tommy said.

  Irene didn’t reply. Maybe her driving was a bit careless.

  They rang the doorbell, then had to wait a long time before the door was opened by a small, chubby girl. Irene was confused at first and wondered if they’d come to the wrong house. The girl stared sulkily at them from behind her thick blond bangs and didn’t say a word.

  “Hi,” Tommy said in a friendly voice. “Is your mommy or daddy at home?”

  “Mama’s home,” the girl said shortly.

  The girl’s gaze went from Tommy to Irene. The girl, who had to be Sverker and Carina’s daughter, had inherited the same sea-green eyes as her father and grandmother had. Other than that she didn’t resemble either. Irene remembered that the girl’s name was Emma and that she was eleven. Emma turned her head and yelled toward the interior of the house. “Mama!”

  They had to wait for a minute or so longer before Carina Löwander came to the door. Irene heard Tommy’s quick intake of breath. She had to admit that Carina was striking. Her blond hair was swept up in a ponytail high on her head. She was wearing a short, baby blue aerobics outfit with a deep décolletage. The knitted leg warmers matched her outfit, and to accentuate her small waistline she wore a black knitted belt. The decorative thong was also black. Carina’s tanned skin glistened. Maybe she’d oiled it; a slight scent of coconut wafted in the air. To her chagrin Irene noticed that Carina did not smell of sweat.

  “Hi. Excuse my outfit. On days when I’m not working at the gym, I work out at home. Please come in.”

  Carina gave them a friendly smile as Irene and Tommy hung their coats on a heavily lacquered black hat rack.

  Tommy cleared his throat. “We’d like to talk to you about what you found in those suitcases.”

  “I understand. How stupid of me not to tell you earlier. On the other hand, it was a while back, and I had no idea that they’d have anything to do with … what happened to Linda.”

  She turned and led them into the house.

  Irene noticed how Tommy was staring at the black thong sliding between Carina’s butt cheeks. She walked vigorously as well as beautifully. That woman doesn’t have a single ounce of fat on her body, only muscles! Irene thought with envy. Irene kept in shape, but she never went that far, working every single muscle to make sure it appeared as beautiful as possible. She also didn’t understand the sick desire. Fitness center indeed! There was something indecent about the whole thing.

  Carina led them down the stairs to the basement. Once upon a time, it’d probably been a den, but Carina had fashioned it into a home gym. As far as Irene could tell, the room had everything piece of equipment needed. There were even mirrors on the walls.

  Carina walked through the gym and opened a door on the other side. “This is my personal office. Here you’ll be able to see exactly what I took from Hilding’s suitcase.”

  Irene and Tommy stepped inside the surprisingly spacious room. Underneath the large basement windows, there was a desk pushed against the wall. On it stood a computer, a fax machine, and a telephone. Three storage shelves from IKEA stood along the side wall. The rest of the wall space was covered by posters of male and female bodybuilders. On the kitchen table in the middle of the room were a number of carefully rolled papers. Carina turned on the ceiling lamp and bent over the table, going through the rolls until she found what she was looking for.

  “Here they are. The original architectural drawings of Löwander Hospital.”

  The paper was faded from age. The year 1884 was written in the bottom-right-hand corner. There was no doubt these were the original drawings.

  Irene noted that the area where both Tekla and Linda had been found dead was designated “Attic Storage Space.” The modern-day operating rooms were over four rooms marked “Nurse Apartments.” At the end of the hallway, there was a shared kitchen and bathroom area. On the other side of the hallway, there was a room for a doctor on call, a house mother’s office, and the apartment now meant for the on-call doctor. This apartment had been named “House Mother’s Apartment.”

  Inside her head Irene imagined Hilding Löwander carefully opening the door from the on-call room and glancing around to see if the coast was clear before he hastily crossed the hall to Tekla’s apartment.

  The plans for the care wards were identical to the present layout, except for a room identified as the “Operation Room,” which had been transformed into the ICU room.

  The stairway and the patient elevator were not on the drawings, of course, since they weren’t added until seventy-five years later.

  The basement had a kitchen as well as the usual basement storage areas. Irene was reminded of something she’d barely considered. Where did the food for the patients come from now? Did they have a contract with a restaurant to send in food? Or did the patients diet so they’d look slim as well as younger after getting their faces expensively lifted?

  “Why did you need these old drawings anyway?” Irene asked.

  Without speaking, Carina lifted another roll of paper and spread it over the older drawing. She had chalked the hospital’s outer contours and drawn in the additional stairway and elevator. She’d marked all the load-bearing walls correctly. There the resemblances to the old Löwander Hospital came to an end. Where the present operating rooms existed, “Massage and Relaxation Room” was marked. The on-call apartment and two offices were marked “Employees.” The third office and the attic were “Storage.”

  The care wards had been changed to one large gymnasium, or “Aerobics Room” as Carina had written on her drawing. The ICU and one of the care wards had become “Weight Training.” The first floor had “Reception,” “Cafeteria,” “Mani-Pedi,” and “Hair Salon.”

  The basement was similar to the present configuration. There was an employee changing room, a furnace room, a power room, and the usual basement storage, but where the security guard’s room had been was now marked “Changing Room—men” with showers, hot tub, and a sauna. A similar space was set up on the other side of the basement for women.

  Tommy lifted his gaze from the drawing and looked at Irene. Then he asked, “When did you take these drawings from Hilding’s suitcase?”

  Her brow wrinkled as she thought back. “It must have been sometime between Christmas and New Year’s Eve. I had my vacation until St. Knut’s Day on January thirteenth.”

  “How did you know where the drawings were?”

  Carina shrugged impatiently. “I didn’t. It was a wild guess that turned out to be right.” She walked over to her desk chair and sat down. Before she started to talk, she fixed her gaze on one of the bodybuilder posters showing a woman glistening with oil. “Here’s what happened. All this fall Sverker complained that he couldn’t see a way to keep the hospital profitable. It needed too much money to maintain as a hospital. He would have had to fix the roof, the pipes, and who knows what else. He wanted to sell the building. Then I got the idea of converting it into a fitness center. A calm, rural atmosphere in the middle of the city. Perfect for stress-filled city folks who don’t have time to get away to a spa for a few days to relax. I believe in my concept. It’s modern. More and more people are realizing the importance of taking care of their bodies. If people took care of themselves, there wouldn’t be a need for so many hospitals.”

  “What did Sverker think about it?”

  Carina didn’t answer for
a second. Then she replied, “He hasn’t made up his mind yet, but I believe he was coming around.”

  “Tell us why you had to break into the suitcases,” Irene said.

  “I’d been thinking about my concept all through December, and on Christmas Eve I told Sverker about my thoughts regarding the future of the Löwander Hospital building. I asked him if he had any of the original drawings, but he said he didn’t. He said that they’d probably burned up in the house fire. Then he thought that they might be somewhere in the hospital. He loaned me his key, and I was able to search the hospital in peace, since it was closed for Christmas and New Year’s.”

  “So when were you at the hospital searching for the drawings and when did you find the suitcases?” Irene asked.

  “I went over there for the first time the day after Christmas, and I found the suitcases on the following day. There weren’t any keys for them, so I had to break them open.”

  “How did you break open the locks?”

  “With a screwdriver.”

  “Where did you get it?”

  “I had it with me.”

  “From home?”

  “No, I have a tool chest in the car.”

  “Did you see a nurse’s uniform in any of the suitcases?”

  Carina thought for a long time before answering. “There were a great deal of old clothes in the largest suitcase. Maybe a nurse’s uniform was among them. I don’t know. That’s not what I was after.”

  “You were after the drawings. And you found them.”

  “That’s right.”

  “What did you do with the suitcases once you’d found the drawings?”

  Carina looked surprised. “Nothing. I left them right where I found them. The locks were broken, though, of course.”

  “You didn’t wipe down the suitcases or the locks after you were finished?”

  “No, why would I do that? I wasn’t doing anything wrong. The suitcases belonged to my husband’s family.”

  She had a point. If she hadn’t wiped down the suitcases, someone else must have done so. Probably the murderer when he removed the nurse’s uniform for his masquerade.

  He? Why were they always calling the murderer a he? Irene thought about Superintendent Andersson’s earlier comment, that strangulation was not a “female” method. The killer could be female. Irene took a close look at Carina and her glistening muscles. Yes, indeed, Carina was certainly strong enough to strangle someone. All the victims had been small women. Yet Carina had no motive. She had plans for her future, and it looked as if everything was going her way. She’d have no reason to kill Marianne Svärd, Gunnela Hägg, or Linda Svensson. She had all the reason in the world not to have Löwander Hospital connected to murder and scandal if she planned to open an exclusive fitness center there.

  “I believe that we have enough for today. Where can we find your husband?”

  “He gave me a phone call a moment ago. He’s playing squash with Konrad Hendriksson at Landala Sporthall. They’ve had a standing appointment there for years.”

  “When will he be home?”

  Carina appeared apologetic. “Probably not before nine this evening. They usually go to the sauna and then have a beer together afterward. Sverker needs to get back into his daily routine. This has been an extremely difficult time for him.”

  “Would you tell him that we’re going to show up at the hospital at eight A.M. tomorrow? If he prefers that we come here instead, he can call Tommy or me before seven-thirty.”

  She handed her card to Carina, who set it down without looking at it. She graciously stood up and led them back through the home gym and up the stairs to the hallway.

  As Carina was shutting the door behind them, Irene heard her yell toward the interior of the house. “Emma! Won’t you come downstairs and exercise with me? You really need it!”

  As an answer, Irene heard the volume on the Backstreet Boys CD crank up.

  “IF YOU THINK Sverker Löwander looks like Pierce Brosnan, I have to tell you that Carina looks like Sharon Stone,” Irene said.

  Tommy nodded. “Not a bad comparison, actually. Poor little Emma. She doesn’t look like either of her parents.”

  “With those eyes she’ll be just fine,” Irene said.

  Tommy just smiled.

  AT HOME IRENE smelled freshly baked bread, and she drew the wonderful aroma into her nostrils. Sammie came thundering toward her and tried to convince her that he’d been all on his lonesome for hours, but his wet paws betrayed him.

  “You’ll have to wait until after dinner,” Irene said as she burrowed the cold tip of her nose into Sammie’s warm fur.

  With high expectations, she went into the kitchen.

  Jenny was bustling around with the flush of the hot kitchen on her cheeks. She had baking sheets filled with dinner rolls.

  “Hi. I’m making graham rolls,” she said happily.

  Krister was at the stove, stirring a pot. There were no cutlets or freshly rolled meatballs anywhere Irene could see. With trepidation she went over to her husband and kissed him on the neck before she asked, “What’s for dinner?”

  Smiling broadly, Krister turned to look at her. “Russian beet soup. I’ve made real smetana.”

  Irene tried to comfort herself by thinking that the graham dinner rolls were bound to be at least as tasty as they were filling.

  Chapter 19

  SVERKER LÖWANDER MIGHT have felt mentally recharged after his squash match, but he didn’t look all that physically refreshed. Tommy and Irene had arrived at exactly 8:00 A.M., and they were now sitting in his office at Löwander Hospital.

  “Carina said you’d visited her yesterday. Sorry I wasn’t home. I’ve started to get back to exercising again. I feel I really need it. Time to return to my routines.” Sverker’s voice faded, and he looked down at his hands, which were folded and resting on his desk.

  “We just have a few follow-up questions for you,” Tommy said.

  “That’s fine.”

  Tommy wore his most innocent look; Irene knew that he was going to cut to the chase. “Why did Linda have your cell-phone number in her day planner?”

  It was obvious that Löwander didn’t expect the question but was doing his best to maintain an impassive expression. “I’ve already explained that.”

  “It would be better if you explained it again,” Tommy said in a friendly but unyielding manner.

  “It happened last fall. I was at a seminar at Hotel Gothia, and I gave Linda my cell phone because one of my patients wasn’t doing well. She was working that day.”

  “Wouldn’t it have been more logical for her to jot it down in the department’s phone book?” Tommy objected.

  Löwander shrugged. “Maybe so. But she didn’t.”

  “You never saw where she wrote it down?”

  “No.”

  “We have traced a phone call from your cell phone to Linda Svensson the evening of February tenth. It was recorded at six thirty-five P.M.”

  Sverker Löwander rubbed both eyes hard before he replied. “I’d forgotten that completely. Things were crazy after we found Marianne. And then when Linda.… I’d forgotten that.” He took a deep breath before he continued. “It concerned the snafu with Nils Peterzén’s medical paperwork. It wasn’t there the morning of his surgery. I was searching for it and asked Linda about it in case she’d seen it somewhere on the ward. It was in the secretary’s office. I was able to glance through it as I headed up to operate. Of course I should have read it more thoroughly. His vitals weren’t good. He should have been seen by a lung specialist before we operated. His blood results and oxygen rate hadn’t been included in the charts.…” He sighed heavily. Then he turned his hypnotic green eyes toward Irene and said, his voice pleading, “Nils Peterzén seemed to be in good shape. He was optimistic and in an upbeat mood. He even joked on the way to surgery. He didn’t want to put off the operation.”

  Sverker fell silent and looked morosely at the two officers. “After he took a turn for
the worse that evening, we got the acute readings regarding his blood gases. Of course they were abysmal. I was worried and wanted to know what the original levels had been. I couldn’t find the record anywhere. Nurse Ellen had the evening shift, but she hadn’t seen his chart that day. Then I called Nurse Linda, but she hadn’t seen those values on Peterzén either.”

  “So she was home when you called.”

  “Yes.”

  “How did she seem to you?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Was she happy? Tense? Worried?”

  Sverker looked doubtful as he answered. “I didn’t notice anything unusual. She seemed her normal self. But I had other things on my mind.”

  “So you’re worried that the reason Nils Peterzén died was really your own carelessness.”

  Löwander sank lower into his chair and nodded reluctantly.

  “Do you remember when Carina began to talk about her idea for the fitness center?” Tommy asked.

  Sverker looked surprised. “Yes, last Christmas. Why?”

  “Did you lend her your master key so that she could search for the architectural plans of the hospital?”

  “Yes.”

  “When did she return them?”

  Löwander wrinkled his brow as he thought. “Don’t know for sure. Sometime before New Year’s Eve. I came here, too, to look through the building before we headed off to Thailand on vacation. We celebrated my fiftieth birthday in Phuket.”

  “When did you leave?”

  “On New Year’s Eve. We returned on January thirteenth.”

  “Did you want to avoid a big party with family and friends?” Irene asked.

  Sverker smiled. “No, they all came over the following weekend. You can’t escape a fiftieth birthday.”

  “Did you go into the attic when you searched the building before your trip?” Tommy asked.

  “No, there wasn’t any reason to go there. Nothing to see.”

  “So there was no indication anyone got into the hospital building while it was closed?”