The Nurse and the Knife

By László Lackner

Everyone in Hungary remembers the most heinous murder of the 70s, of which the victim was a striking nurse from a small rural town hospital. In whose interest would it be to brutally stab a not especially financially able hospital nurse? It is logical to look among the young lady’s relationships with men first. In fact, several suspects belong to that circle. Just the same, the investigation stood still for a long period of time, and it became increasingly more apparent that light will never be shed upon the motivation and the identity of the killer. But the ready-to-retire inspector, who is a dedicated fisherman, finally stumbles upon a clue no one counted on.

• Language: English
• Publisher: S.Back agency for hungarian literature
• Release date: Dec 17, 2011
• ISBN: 9783943434149

László Lackner

László Lackner was born in 1943 in Lenti (Hungary). He has been publishing for the past thirty years. His novels could be read in the most prestigious journals; he also published five pieces of literature, one of which is this crime novel The Nurse and the Knife His books were especially successful during the fall of the communist regime, and his novels about the exciting events playing out during the revolution in 1956. He appeared in literary anthologies, in the past few years he has been writing theatrical works. He won literary awards in two contests.

Book preview

THE NURSE AND THE KNIFE

A crime novel based upon a true story

~~~~~

László Lackner

Original title: Ne lépj az ablakhoz!

Translated from the Hungarian by Teresa Patterson

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copyright László Lackner 1990

published by S.Back agency for hungarian literature at Smashwords

Cover design:

László Lackner and S. Back

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Table of Contents

1st Chapter

2nd Chapter

3rd Chapter

4th Chapter

5th Chapter

6th Chapter

7th Chapter

8th Chapter

9th Chapter

10th Chapter

11th Chapter

12th Chapter

13th Chapter

14th Chapter

15th Chapter

16th Chapter

17th Chapter

18th Chapter

19th Chapter

20th Chapter

21st Chapter

22nd Chapter

23st Chapter

24th Chapter

25th Chapter

26th Chapter

About the Author

The Nurse and the Knife

Once upon a time, about fifty years ago, the building that houses the city’s police department had been a peaceful, cobweb filled home and school for nuns. With its devout past, could it be anything else? It’s cracked façade and high walls bear witness to many layers of paint but the deeply set windows let the sunshine gush into the rooms.

Deputy inspector Lukas – alias Gramps – was sitting in his first floor office which was tucked away carefully at the quiet end of a corridor. At the moment he was gutting the latest fishing magazine while his streaming thoughts – like trickling water - were building idyllic pictures of his upcoming retirement. Then the heavy lock on the door cracked and a well groomed head protruded:

Well, Gramps, we have an easy, routine job for you.

The brazen voice – that hid a certain amount of floating insecurity - belonged to inspector Bertalan, his boss. Bertalan’s started out under Gramps’ supervision as a budding detective blossom, but he later hoofed through several prestigious schools and of course college, leaving Gramps behind faster than crows leave the harvested fields. He became Gramps’ boss, but the oldster didn’t mind; he held Bertalan in high esteem and thought him smart and very apt, with whom one ripe old, ready for retirement detective could still put on airs if he so desired. The two of them had always gotten along just fine. This relationship did not change even though their rolls changed drastically.

„And what would that be, Tom?" – Gramps scrambled out from behind the screen of the wrinkled fishing magazine; telling him in a dull, floating tone of voice, making the inspector feel that he’ll become a hateful, grumpy old man if he had to exchange the late afternoon exciting fantasy fishing for raiding some ordinary bars or go on a hopeless retreat with flippant whores.

Inspector Bertalan walked into the room and stopped spread legged in front of the oldster’s disheveled desk.

Gramps! They wasted a nurse at the dormitory – he blurted out then he quickly added –It looks like smooth case.

Hearing the news electrified Gramps in an instant. He grabbed his old, beat up pipe and placed it between his lips, taking a long drag without lighting it.

Murder? – He looked up from behind the frame of his eyeglasses, straight into his boss’ eyes with such bewilderment, such an innocent face, as if he had been just woken up from a deep, afternoon slumber. –No one had gotten killed in three years; I was hoping to sail in quiet waters until my retirement.

The inspector went into a clumsy explanation, as if he needed to force the oldster to work.

The girl was young, very pretty and of course single. In cases like these you always said: ‘Look for the male!’ I think there is a nasty lover’s conflict in the background. It’s obvious.

The oldster went to search for yet another road of escape and way out with another question:

What about the county?

They are investigating two murder attempts. On top of that, several detectives are on vacation – said Bertalan and spread his arms as if to say: we have no choice, we are alone in this. –You’ll get help, just get going.

He then walked around the table, planted himself behind Gramps’ chair, and looked at the open magazine. From the bottom left corner of the magazine the oldster smiled back at him from a tiny, underexposed photo; a sixteen kilo carp rested on his chest. The fish had a resigned look on its face.

The inspector grinned with an adolescent, brazen face and slapped the oldster’s shoulder:

It’s a lousy shot, Gramps. You are not this dark of a figure. But this carcass is a beauty. Where did you buy it?

Gramps, as if he didn’t hear the first part of the question, slammed the wrinkled page with a grandfatherly passion:

„Mezner is an imbecile; he can take gorgeous pictures of a three-week old burnt-to-charcoal cadaver; it is so life-like, you expect it to sit up. I ask him for a favor once and he screws it up. – He then suddenly became quiet and changed the subject. –Who did you send on the scene?"

Sardi and his group…

„And Mezner" – continued the oldster, as if he were registering calamity. Then he folded up his magazine with the precision of an attentive and neat housewife. He caressed the cover, knowing that in the near future he won’t have time to lose himself in the relaxing words, spirit lifting pictures. He shoved the magazine in the bottom of the drawer and stood up:

Please send your secretary over to the construction site. Have her tell Joe Beres, I am not going fishing today.

Only today? – Bertalan said teasing him.

Gramps straightened his back with a stern look, but somewhere deep inside he exploded with a grin:

Have you ever been kicked in the groin, inspector?

Bertalan went to him, gave him a friendly hug and squeezed the oldster’s shoulder:

All right, Gramps, we still understand each other. I’ll relay your message. I’ll also call your wife, don’t worry.

Gramps stepped away from him.

I didn’t ask you to do that.

He gathered himself and stopped for a moment, much like someone embarking on a long voyage looks back at the ones he left behind. His eyes became vibrant; all tiredness left him, even the fish swam away to a distant, turbulent river. Finally, a real assignment! In his mind he saw a vision of a demon-like, dark silhouette, a vague, flowing picture. The fishing could wait; but the offender is running headlong into the distance and must be caught quickly.

Well, I’ve left he said to his boss and waved good bye with his fingers.

OK, Gramps, I’ll check up on you later. – The other nodded and winked reassuringly.

To the Table of Contents

~2~

The nurse’s dormitory is a prominently ugly, two story yellow building, and standing in the park behind the hospital. It had been built in the thirties. Since then it served as a police station, whorehouse, apartment building and a boy’s school. In the sixties it was given to the hospital. Presently it is the home of many young nurses and doctors working at the hospital.

The first person Gramps ran into upon entering the building was the custodian. He started jabbering immediately without hesitation and without being asked:

With all due respect, I was alarmed by the night porter. He asked me to go with him immediately; one of the girls got stabbed. By the time I made it to the first floor they already alerted the paramedics. Marika’s wounds – that was her name, Marika Orkai – were bandaged by the nurses and there was a doctor present too. There were stab wounds all over the poor girl, on her face, on her back and God only knows where else… The poor thing lay in a huge pool of blood. I gasped when I saw it, I thought I’ll faint right there and then.

All right – Gramps was getting impatient –I’m not interested in your mental state. Just tell me in essence what happened.

„Then the ambulance arrived and they quickly took her away. We looked outside to see if anyone was there. I locked the door, thinking the murdered might still be inside."

Really smart – moaned Gramps disapprovingly as they reached the end of the first floor’s corridor.

There was a large, drying pool of blood in front of the last door.

This is where the poor soul lay… – muttered the custodian. His face was pale as he blinked at the detective.

The door was ajar. There was a lot of coming and going, talking and the sounds of a camera coming from the room.

„Your colleagues" – pointed the custodian into the room as he nervously wiped the perspiration off his forehead. Gramps noticed that the man’s shirt was soaking wet under his white coat.

The horror of it made me ill – he explained. His forehead turned blood red and the redness ran all the way down to his chin. –I have never even seen stuff like this in the movies. Small wonder I feel ill all the time.

„Pull yourself together! – said Gramps and raised his voice. –Talk!" – Gramps thought that perhaps he can shock the story out of the man. The thought that he may have a dark, hidden secret also crossed his mind. It was just a feeling, but over the years it had been proven many times that intuition was an indispensable tool to a detective.

Gramps just now looked at the short, but well fed man. Although it was hard to guess the correct age of his type, Gramps thought he might be between forty and fifty years of age. The wrinkles on his face did not succeed in covering up the scars of the small pox he must have had at one time. He kept his eyes downcast or looked aside as if he was ashamed of his ugliness. He had protruding, thick lips; an unmistakable and telltale sign of his possibly exaggerated carnality.

Please, I can’t tell you anything else – he managed to say finally –I am overwhelmed.

‘And he has freckles as well’ – discovered Gramps as he observed the drenched forehead and the man’s thick, bull-like neck. Then he said:

I am listening. Please go ahead, in detail if I may ask.

This is where she lay – repeated the custodian, showing the section of the corridor with a wide motion of his hand –I have never seen so much blood… I mean human blood. It splattered everywhere. She wore a white terry-cloth dressing gown, nothing else. Her naked body was almost completely exposed because the dressing gown wasn’t tied... there was blood all over her tights…on her breast too, her skin was white as wax…

The oldster tried to memorize every word, but