Detective Inspector Huss - By Helene Tursten & Steven T. Murray Page 0,75

he would be allowed to die at home on Fjällgatan. But it didn’t work. Sometimes he’s completely incontinent and can’t hold his urine or excrement. We couldn’t handle things at home. Both of us were thankful that he was allowed to come here. We thought that he’d only have to come in for a few days to be rehydrated a little. But he can no longer keep food or fluids down. He has to be on an IV all the time. That’s not something I can take care of. Thank the good Lord that the national health-care system is still functioning!”

They went in through the glass doors to the ward. As they approached the door marked STAFF, Mona slowed, smiled wanly, and whispered, “He’s in the first room on the left, just past the staff room.”

Mona quickened her step and opened a door a few meters down the hall.

Irene could hear hard-rock music streaming out the door. She recognized the sound; the glam-rock band Kiss, playing “Heaven on Fire.” She entered the staff room and found two nurses, dressed in blue scrubs. One of them was young and blond. When he stood up Irene saw that he was close to two meters tall. His female colleague was middle aged and plump. She said in a friendly voice, “Hello. Are you looking for someone?”

“Well, yes. I’m a friend of Mona Söder. We’re visiting Jonas. Mona hasn’t arrived yet, has she? Isn’t she always here in the evenings?”

Good grief! Why was she lying? But she knew she wanted to help exclude Mona from the von Knecht case.

The nurse nodded and smiled. “Every evening. Why do you ask?”

Irene managed an apologetic and helpless smile. “I tried to call her Tuesday evening. Here. But no one answered Jonas’s phone. I got the direct number from Mona. So that’s why I thought maybe she wasn’t here last Tuesday?. . .”

“Oh yes, she was here. We were working Tuesday night. Maybe she pulled out the jack if Jonas was sleeping.”

“Yes, maybe that’s what happened. I just wanted to mention that Jonas’s phone might not be working right . . . But I suppose it’s fine. Sorry to disturb you.”

With an apologetic smile Irene backed out into the corridor. The nurses gave her a friendly nod, turned back to each other, and continued their interrupted conversation.

It was as easy as that. She was without doubt a natural-born liar. Once you start down that path, you might as well keep following it. She quickly slunk out through the glass doors and went over to a pay phone she had seen near the elevator. She fed in some coins and took out the crumpled note with the number of Swedish Data. Maybe there wouldn’t be anyone at the switchboard on a Friday evening just before six o’clock?

“Swedish Data, good afternoon.”

Irene sighed with relief before she spoke.

“Good evening, I’m looking for Personnel Director Mona Söder.”

“She’s gone for the day.”

“Will she be in on Monday?”

“Just a moment . . . No, she has three weeks’ vacation.”

“Oh, that’s too bad! I was looking for her on Tuesday, but didn’t get hold of her. Was she off that day too?”

“Off? No, you must be mistaken. She was here all day on Tuesday. She hasn’t had any time off all week. May I tell her who is calling?”

“Birgitta Andersson. I’ll call her again in three weeks. It’s not urgent. Have a nice weekend!”

SHE OPENED the door to Jonas’s room. The volume of the music had been turned down. She recognized this artist and song too: Freddie Mercury, “Mr. Bad Guy.” Impulsively she said to Jonas, “This isn’t really one of his best songs. Or albums either, for that matter.”

He seemed not to hear, but after a moment he opened his eyelids a bit. “No, this album was never a big hit,” he replied weakly. He coughed violently, and his whole torso shook.

Irene had steeled herself for the sight of Jonas. She was afraid she would see a trembling skeleton, stinking of his own excrement, bald, and covered with pustules and sores. But he was a handsome man. Thin, but indisputably like the pictures she had seen of Richard von Knecht as a young man. His dark blond hair was cropped short. He had opened his eyes now, and she could see that they were a bright, intense blue, despite the spiderweb of morphine overlaying his consciousness. He fixed his gaze on her and the smile he gave her was amazingly alert.

“You must be Irene.