Free Night Rounds by Helene Tursten Page A

Have you contacted Alm?”
    “No, he’s still in surgery.”
    “All right. Call him and get him over here as soon as he’s finished.”
    “Right.”
    Niklas stood up and tried to look regretful. “As you’ve heard, I have to go.”
    Irene felt as if she were caught in an episode of General Hospital without understanding a word. She found it tiresome. Was it truly necessary for Niklas to leave, or was it just an excuse?
    “Really serious?”
    Niklas stopped. “A punctured lung is life-threatening for such a sick patient. Please excuse me.…”
    Irene was not about to let him go that easily. “When do you get home?”
    It looked for a second as if he was debating whether to tell the truth. Finally he shrugged and said, “Right before six.”
    “Is Andreas also home then?”
    “Yes, he’s returning from a seminar this afternoon.”
    Irene thought quickly. “Here’s what we’ll do. Have your dinner in peace and quiet, and I will come by at seven-thirty.”
    “Is this really necessary?”
    “Yes, it is. We are looking for a murderer.”
    He flinched at that last word but said nothing. He sized Irene up as he held the door open for her, a gentlemanly gesture you don’t often see anymore , she thought.
    BACK DOWN IN the grand entrance, people were having coffee at the tiny café tables. Irene found an empty table and sat down. A cup of coffee and a sandwich would be perfect right now. She hung her jacket on the back of one of the chairs and walked to the counter to place her order. She glanced at the convenience store and the newspaper headlines on display.
    At first she thought it was a joke, but as she reread the banner, she realized that the Göteborg Times headline really did read, WITNESS SAYS: GHOST KILLED NIGHT-SHIFT NURSE .

Chapter 7
    C HIEF I NSPECTOR A NDERSSON hated going to Pathology. Even more, he hated talking to pathology professor Yvonne Stridner. Most of all, he abhorred entering the autopsy room, but this was the only way to get a quick response.
    When Andersson asked for the professor, the security guard pointed up the stairs with a burly, body-built arm. The chief inspector was relieved that Stridner was in her office and not in the middle of an autopsy. He tapped on her closed door.
    Beeeep! A red light next to the text occupied lit up. A yellow light, indicating please wait, was beside it, as well as a green one stating come in. Even though he’d spent time driving here, Andersson was glad to accept the red light and the yellow. He sat down on the uncomfortable wooden chair against the wall. He could clearly hear the professor’s voice: “… the worst oral examination I’ve ever heard! You must study and be thoroughly prepared, even for an oral examination. It’s incredible stupidity to believe you’d pass just because you gabbled on and on. You have to know what you’re talking about. Obviously you haven’t studied. Or else you haven’t understood what you were studying. The latter would be even worse. The former is fixable: Go home and study properly and I will give you another examination in three weeks with every question you failed. And that exam will be written.”
    The door was thrown open, and a girl with short black hair rushed out, crying. The chief inspector stayed frozen to his chair. His emotions contained an element of terror as he heard Stridner’s voice.
    “So there you are, Andersson, taking up space.”
    Andersson looked like a student who’d just been caught sneaking around to steal the answers to an upcoming test.
    “Uhhh.…” he said lamely.
    “What do you want?”
    “Marianne Svärd … have you finished the autopsy?”
    “Of course. Come inside,” she ordered.
    Stridner turned around, and he followed her into the office. She sat down in the comfortable chair before her computer. A visitor’s chair with a worn-out red Naugahyde seat stood on the other side of her desk. It was hard and lumpy, surely on purpose. You were not supposed to feel