Detective Inspector Huss: A Huss Investigation set in Sweden, Vol. 1 by Helen Tursten

wanted to see their new grandchild. But they went back to Provence on Monday.”
    “Did Richard von Knecht seem the same as usual?”
    Tosse thought for a long time before he replied. “Yes, he was the same as ever. Happy and in high spirits. He loved parties. It was a great party. The only ones who didn’t seem to have a good time were Henrik and his wife. Maybe they thought we were a bunch of old fogies.”
    “And Sylvia von Knecht?”
    “Exactly the same. But she’s a little . . . special.”
    He fell silent. Before Irene could come up with another question, he extended his hand and shook hers in another viselike grip.
    “Well, now I have to get back to my patient. Catch the killer; nobody should have to be the victim of a murder. Not even Richard,” he snapped.
    Irene didn’t have time to ask him to explain his last remark in more detail before he disappeared. Irene massaged her right palm and fin-gers. Dentists have strong hands.
    The lovely Mia showed her to the door. From down the hall she could hear the speedy whine of the drill.
     
    OUTSIDE, THE drizzle had changed to a cold breeze with an occasional drifting snowflake.
    A windy Göteborg, cold and raw with the temperature around freezing, feels just as cold as minus twenty Celsius in Kiruna up in Lapland. If not colder. Irene tucked her chin down into the top of her jacket.
    She was going to be a little late for her meeting with Sylvia von Knecht, but all in all she was satisfied with her ability to keep to her schedule today.
    It was a quarter past three when she walked through the glass doors to Ward Five at the hospital. The corridor was deserted. The walls were painted a dirty yellow color and the floor was gray linoleum. A sign that said NURSES’ STATION was visible up ahead. She went over and found a nurse in her fifties dressed in white sitting behind a counter. She was absentmindedly staring at a monitor.
    Irene cleared her throat. “Excuse me. Where can I find Sylvia von Knecht? Detective Inspector Irene Huss.”
    The nurse started, turned to Irene, and gave her an annoyed look. She snapped, “Yes, I’m wondering that myself. Where is Sylvia von Knecht? And all our other patients.”
    Had there been a mass exodus from the psych ward? Or was this one of the patients who had put on a white smock and seated herself at the computer?
    The woman turned back to the screen. “This is the problem! I managed to knock my coffee cup onto the keyboard. Thank God there wasn’t any coffee left in it, but the entire current patient list disappeared. All I can find is the one for April nineteen ninety-three! God knows what key I hit. Maybe several. Darn it! The Countess is in two one,” she said all in one breath.
    After a confused moment Irene understood that she had received an answer to her question. “The Countess” must be Sylvia von Knecht. “Two one” must mean room two, first bed.
    She knocked lightly on the door marked with a scratched and barely legible “2” before she stepped inside. In the bed near the door lay an elderly, emaciated woman gazing vacantly at the ceiling. Her yellowish skin seemed to be stretched tight over her skull with no musculature in between. She had no teeth and her lips had caved in, so her mouth appeared to be a straight line. Without blinking even once, she lay staring up at absolutely nothing. A tube was stuck in one nostril. It was taped to her cheek so it wouldn’t fall out.
    In the corner by the window sat Sylvia von Knecht. No lamp was lit. A gray afternoon fog had begun to creep in from the sea, lending the room an unnatural murk. The only bright thing in the room was Sylvia’s hair, which was thick, shoulder length, and platinum blond. She looked like an ethereal elf, seated, dressed in a dark suit and white silk blouse. Her hands were clasped on her knee. The small, fragile woman sat absolutely still and looked at Irene.
    “Are you the one who’s the cop?” she asked.
    Her voice sounded pleasant with