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It was her job to arrive first, switch on the lights, make the coffee, and get everything up and running for the day. She was supposed to be there on the dot of seven, an hour before the other two nurses, Yrsa and Elísabet, came in. They were both more experienced than her, in fact the older woman, Yrsa, had several decades of experience under her belt and couldn't have much time left before she retired. Like Tinna, she had begun her career at the sanatorium, but, unlike Tinna, she was clearly intending to finish it there too. Of course, Yrsa would have had to deal with far more challenging duties when she was young, as the hospital had still been full of TB patients back then. Tinna liked to think of herself as a level-headed person, but even she sometimes had the fancy that the ghosts of the departed still roamed the empty corridors. She had never actually been aware of anything herself, but, all the same, she often felt uneasy in the building, especially when she was alone.

The surrounding mountains were shrouded in cloud today, the waters of Eyjafjördur grey, as she drove out of town through the teeming rain, her wipers swishing, past the little airport and on up the valley until eventually she reached the hospital turn-off. The white buildings loomed up, standing in splendid isolation on their hillside above the river, overshadowed by a garden of mature pines in this otherwise bare landscape. The main block was an austere, three-storey edifice, its long rows of windows dark and empty these days. More than ever, it reminded Tinna of an old sanatorium in a horror movie.

She dashed through the rain from the car to the entrance, eager to get under cover. In her relief at being inside it took her a moment or two to realize that the door hadn't been locked, as it usually was. Had someone forgotten to close up yesterday evening? The lights in the hall were on too. That was strange.

It was probably Yrsa's fault. Just as well, since that meant she wouldn't be able to take it out on anyone else. In spite of her quiet, unassuming demeanour, Yrsa could be surprisingly quick to fly off the handle when something happened to displease her. Tinna had recently seen her give Elísabet a vicious tongue-lashing for a minor mistake, though Elísabet had been working there far longer than Tinna. It seemed that Tinna was still in Yrsa's good books, for what it was worth, though they were very far from what you might call friends. In fact, Tinna knew next to nothing about Yrsa beyond the fact that she had worked as a nurse for many years. They never discussed anything that you might call personal. Yrsa had never asked Tinna about her family or her interests, and certainly hadn't revealed anything about her own. The older woman tended to be taciturn and unforthcoming. She went around with a dour face, as though she'd been forced to watch too much suffering over the years, which was no doubt true. Tinna pictured her: small, always dressed in a starched white uniform, her short silver-grey hair framing a square face, her eyes distant, as though her thoughts were wandering among old memories, dwelling on all the patients who had lost the battle with the merciless disease. If there was one thing Tinna was determined to avoid, it was being stuck here for her entire working life like Yrsa. As far as she was concerned, this job was no more than a springboard; in future she wanted to specialize in more demanding work at a larger hospital.

Tinna headed up the staircase, walking slowly to begin with, conscious of every echoing footstep, uncomfortably aware that she was totally alone in this wing of the building. She was always a little spooked in the morning. She quickened her pace slightly, as she normally did when approaching the upper landing, and the echoes grew louder, more overwhelming, seeming to reverberate all around her. Tinna breathed easier once she was upstairs. Her new yellow coat was soaking wet, and she took it off carefully, anxious to avoid getting rainwater all over the floor, but a small puddle formed under the pegs anyway. Still, what did it matter when you could bet that it would be her job to wipe it up?

The door to Yrsa's office was standing ajar. That too was unusual, and again Tinna felt a prickle of discomfort. It occurred to her with a jolt that she might not be alone after all. Perhaps Yrsa had come in at the crack of dawn and that's why the front door had been unlocked and the door to her office was open.

Tinna called out, though not very loudly: 'Yrsa, are you in already?'

She didn't move but stood quite still by the row of pegs, watching the water dripping from her yellow coat on to the tiles. She expected Yrsa to answer with her usual brusqueness, then order her to bring a coffee, adding, 'And don't hang about.' But the only sound she could hear was the quiet, muffled plinking of the drops as they landed on the tiles, a sure sign that Yrsa was not on the premises.

Tinna decided to double-check anyway. She was still feeling unsettled, some primitive instinct warning her that something was wrong. She walked over to Yrsa's office and hovered for a moment or two outside her door before pushing it fully open.

Her immediate reaction was surprise, just for a split second, before this gave way to fear.

Tinna saw at once that Yrsa was dead and realized in the same instant that there had been nothing natural about her demise. In spite of this, she went over and cautiously pressed her fingers to Yrsa's neck to check for any signs of life. There was no pulse.