Night Rounds

Chapter 17

COLD RAIN TEEMED from the dark gray skies; it was a day when the curtains of downpour would never part.

Irene stared gloomily into her first cup of coffee of the day. The injury on the back of her head was throbbing and aching, but she still slept until six-thirty.

She felt sick as soon as she woke up. Her skull hurt, and her eyes felt filled with a shovel of sand. A badger also seemed to have crawled into her mouth and died. Judging by the smell of her breath, he’d been rotting for some time now. That’s what I get for not brushing my teeth before I went to bed, Irene condemned herself in no uncertain terms.

Krister was asleep beside her and didn’t notice as she slowly got up. After a brief shower and a quick application of makeup, Irene went downstairs to make breakfast. The twins managed to show up by seven. Katarina appeared to swallow the story that Jenny had fallen down the stairs. She started to chatter about anything else but the events of last night, just as Irene had expected.

Göteborgs-Posten had a huge headline on the first page: MILITANT VEGANS BURN TRUCK. Underneath that, a subhead: POLICE BELIEVE ARSONIST CAUGHT. Jenny quickly folded the paper with the first page inside.

AT THE STATION everyone’s spirits were down. The investigative group held a brief morning prayer. Andersson announced that the technicians had found a few new leads. One of the suitcases had long blond strands of hair. The strands were fresh. They hadn’t been permed or bleached, and they were about four inches long. It was possible that they might have come from a wig. Hair samples from all blond female suspects would be collected and tested. Fingerprints, fresh and clear, had been found on the inside edge of the second suitcase. Fredrik had been given the task of collecting the samples.

The Ghostbusters Group could pick up the suitcases if they wished. They did.

HANNU, TOMMY, AND Irene were given four paper bags filled with the contents of the suitcases. Irene took the time to look through both of the empty suitcases before they left the building. These two were larger than Lovisa Löwander’s had been. One was made of thick leather with reinforced corners. The monogram H.L. was on the edge. Obviously Hilding Löwander’s.

The other one was made of heavy yellow-gray cardboard. There were two wide leather ropes wrapped around it. A name tag with a yellowed celluloid window was attached to the handle. The name Tekla Olsson was faded but still legible, written in old-fashioned black-inked letters.

Svante Malm entered the laboratory. He pointed at the paper bags and said, “I wrote their initials on the outside.” The technician was as overworked as always and disappeared out the door as fast as he’d entered.

Two bags were marked H.L. and the other two T.O.

“So who shall we start with?” Tommy asked as he placed the bags on his desk.

“Tekla,” answered Irene and Hannu at the same time. They moved the two bags marked H.L. to the floor.

Methodically, Tommy started to unpack the things Tekla Olsson had left behind.

Uppermost was a knitted shawl in thin black wool. No moths had nibbled their way through it, which was understandable, since the unmistakable smell of mothballs spread through the room. Next Tommy unpacked a sturdy pair of walking shoes. They were made of brown leather and had low, thick heels. Also two pairs of underwear, rather large, in white cotton. Then a long white slip with embroidery around the neckline, and then a thin, armless nightdress in cotton satin and a pair of heavy black socks.

Irene held the clothes up next to her body. “She was almost as big and tall as I am.”

The next bag contained more interesting items: a number of envelopes and sheets of paper. At the bottom there were some thin books.

“Let’s divide the papers between us,” Tommy suggested.

The bag’s contents were quickly separated into three piles.

“I’m taking my share to my office,” Hannu said. He nodded and left carrying his share of papers under his arm.

AN HOUR LATER Hannu reappeared. Irene had finished going through her stack, and Tommy had only one more envelope to open and read.

“These can wait,” he said. “They’re mostly rent invoices anyway.” He set the envelope down again. “Who’ll start?”

“I can,” Irene said. She began to go through the papers in the order she’d looked at them. “I have an identification card made in the name of Tekla Viola Olsson. Born October eighteenth, 1911. On the line where the reason for wishing an identification card is given, someone has checked ‘New Employment.’ Maybe that’s when she started working at Löwander Hospital?”

“That’s correct. I have her proof of employment,” Hannu said.

Tommy said, “I have a number of letters from one of her friends. According to the return address, this is Anna Siwén. Her address is Rörstrandsgatan in Stockholm. Mostly she writes about her husband and her small child. In her last letter, judging by the date of October 1946, she seems to have had another child, a girl. Her first child had been a boy.

“I also have three letters from Anna Siwén. In the earliest letter, dated April 1943, she writes: ‘Mother’s difficult bout of pneumonia is almost past. She will make it this time, too.’ ” Tommy placed the letter he’d just read from back in the pile and took up another one. “The next one is a short letter, which says, ‘Mother much worse. She is asking for you. You must come home.’ ”

Tommy then picked up a third letter. He didn’t read it out loud but looked directly at his colleagues. “This is a long letter dated June first, 1943. The mother has died, and Anna writes about her deep sorrow and says things like, ‘We’ll make it through our grief together’ and ‘it’s hard to believe that our parents are gone.’ I believe that Anna is probably Tekla’s sister.”

“She had no relatives,” Hannu reminded them in his quiet way.

This was true, unless Anna Siwén and her entire family were gone before Tekla died. This didn’t seem probable.

“Siv Persson said that Tekla had a cousin. This cousin was supposed to come down to Göteborg and pick up this very suitcase but never came. Perhaps Anna was Tekla’s cousin?”

“If that’s so, they seem very close. Judging by these letters, you would assume Anna and Tekla had the same mother,” Tommy said.

“I have the death certificates of her parents,” Hannu said. He placed the yellowed sheets of paper next to each other on the table. Tekla’s mother had died three days after giving birth to her. Tekla had been the only child. Her father had passed away two years later. He was almost twenty years older than her mother.

“Two years old and already an orphan,” said Tommy. “Poor girl.”

“Do you think she was placed in an orphanage?” Irene wondered.

“I’ll track down Anna Siwén and her relatives,” Hannu said.

Irene and Tommy were grateful to hear that. They were confident that whoever was left in Anna Siwén’s family was as good as found.

“Tekla had good grades from the Sophia nursing school. Not as fantastic as Lovisa’s, but still fairly high. She received her nursing diploma in 1934.”

“Did they both attend Sophia at the same time?” Tommy asked.

“No. Tekla was seven or eight years younger than Lovisa. Since Lovisa moved back to Göteborg after she graduated to work in her father’s hospital, they couldn’t have met before Tekla started working at Löwander.”

“And by then Hilding and Lovisa were already married,” Tommy said thoughtfully.

“Yes, they’d been married for six years.”

Irene waved her hand over her stack of papers. “Most of the rest of these are Christmas cards and other greetings from friends. Probably fellow students from Sophia.”

Tommy nodded. “Same thing here. But I have two letters from a man as well. They’re love letters. Both are dated July 1942. No return address, but he signs his name as ‘Erik.’ ”

“I have Erik’s last letter,” Hannu said. He pulled a thin envelope from his pile. “He’s calling it off. He met someone else.”

“What is the date of the proof of employment at Löwander?” Irene asked eagerly.

“November first, 1942.”

“That explains how she ended up in Göteborg. The same old story. Unhappy love,” Irene stated.

Tommy thought a minute before he said, “Wonder where she lived.”

“At the hospital,” Hannu answered. He flipped through his papers and found the sheet he was looking for. “Appendix to the employment contract. The hospital provided her housing. One room. She had to share a kitchen and a bathroom with two other nurses. But there’s another employment contract, too.” He pulled out a thick white envelope from the bottom of his pile. “This is from 1944. Nurse Tekla achieved a new rank as head nurse. The hospital would provide a one-room apartment with kitchen and bathroom just for her.”

“Sounds like the apartment for the doctor on duty,” Irene said, surprised.

“Let’s have another chat with your doctor,” Tommy said.

“He’s not my doctor.” To her embarrassment, Irene felt a blush come to her cheeks. Perhaps she was already getting high blood pressure like Superintendent Andersson?

Tommy gave her a teasing look but changed the subject. “All her books are collections of poetry. We can put them aside and assume she liked poetry. Should we get something to eat before we go through Hilding’s bags or wait until afterward?”

“Tekla’s things took us two hours to go through, so I vote we eat first,” Irene said.

THEY ATE AN uninspiring potato-and-egg hash in the employee cafeteria. The red beets on the side seemed designed to remind them of a violent crime. They finished quickly and decided to take their cups of coffee back upstairs.

They sat down around the desk and found spots for their mugs. “Let’s pack up Tekla’s things before we open Hilding’s,” Irene said. They finished their coffee and then cleared everything away.

“Nice to see the surface again,” Tommy said. “It’s been weeks.”

He lifted one of Hilding’s bags and was just about to unpack it when Hannu said, “Could the two of you go through these bags on your own?”

Tommy looked at him, surprised. “Sure. What are you going to do?”

“Find Anna Siwén or her relatives. And Tekla’s death certificate.”

Hannu was already out the door. Tommy raised an eyebrow meaningfully toward Irene. Neither of them said anything; they weren’t about to contradict Hannu.

These bags contained no clothes, only books, envelopes, and files. The books were textbooks with titles such as Organic Chemistry, General Anatomy, and Dictionnaire Étymologique de la Langue Grecque. All the books were bound in dry brown leather.

“I refuse to read these books, and I’m sure it’s unnecessary. Let’s concentrate on the envelopes and files,” Irene said.

Just as they’d done with Tekla’s things, they separated the remaining contents of the bags into two piles. They sat down at their respective desks and began to read.

As they read, one or the other would exclaim out loud, but they’d promised not to interrupt each other until they were both finished.

IRENE LEANED BACK in her chair. She stretched her shoulders and spine; there was the sound of cracking. Then she contemplated the papers as ideas jelled in her mind and a theory formed.

Tommy slapped his papers with his palm. “Unbelievable! I think I’ve found something completely—”

“Wait. Me, too. But let’s take it systematically from the beginning.”

“Okay. I have his university transcript. Top grades. In those days his name was Hilding Svensson. Later he changed to Löwander, probably because it sounded more upper-class.”

“Maybe. On their marriage certificate, it’s noted that the couple would take the bride’s last name. Much less common in those days.”

“I have a letter from an old classmate or colleague. This letter congratulates Hilding on the event of his marriage, but at the same time it adds condolences on the death of his father-in-law.”

“So Lovisa inherited the hospital but it was Hilding who took it over.”

Irene thought about the wedding photo from 1936—tall, stylish Hilding Löwander, born Svensson, and doll-like Lovisa. Sweden in the 1930s was going through a major depression and hard times. Hilding, on the other hand, had acquired money, a powerful position, and social status via his marriage. He didn’t get a castle by marrying his princess, but he did get a hospital. A good catch for a hardworking, career-oriented doctor without a fortune of his own.

“Three of my files concern the restoration and renovation of Löwander Hospital. There are drawings of the plumbing system, the elevators, and the operating rooms. Hilding was a stickler for order and kept everything.”

“Which year did they start the renovation?” Irene asked.

“In the mid-fifties. The drawings date from ’56 and ’57.”

“So the actual renovation was probably ’58 or ’59.”

“Yep.”

Tommy picked up a thin blue cardboard file and waved it in the air. “This one has completely different stuff. Personal bills. It’s very interesting. Look at the index.”

He opened the first page and held it toward Irene. In confident handwriting were alphabetized entries: under A, “Automobile”; F, “Freemasons”; G, “General.” Under T, Hilding had written “Tekla.”

Tommy opened the T file and pointed to a bunch of receipts.

“During the entire fall of ’46, Hilding Löwander paid Tekla’s medical expenses. There’s seven of them here. And there’s one for a fourteen-day hospital stay from January first until January fifteenth, 1947.”

“This confirms my suspicions!” Irene found the file that had interested her. It was marked “Private” on its linen spine. It crackled as she opened it. “Rumors tell us that Lovisa Löwander wanted Tekla to leave the hospital. It was during the same time she became pregnant. My theory is that Tekla went into a deep depression. Hilding paid for her visits to the doctor and her hospital stay. We know that her depression culminated in her suicide two months later.”

Irene flipped the pages in her file folder to find what she was looking for. She nodded to herself. “I believe that Lovisa and Hilding thought they couldn’t have children. Nothing happened for years. Perhaps Lovisa was feeling worthless and wasn’t able to demand an end to Hilding and Tekla’s relationship. Maybe her pregnancy was what gave her the power to stand up for her principles. And here’s a piece of paper dated March fifth, 1956.”

“Read it out loud.”

“It’s a doctor’s evaluation. Dr. Ruben Goldblum. He writes, ‘Since Lovisa Löwander suffers from Turner syndrome, there are valid reasons to consider adoption. I have known the Löwanders for many years and can bear witness to their good character and reputation. Although Lovisa Löwander is over forty, this is no reason for avoiding adoption. She is unusually intelligent, hardworking, and healthy. Dr. Löwander is a well-respected doctor and a fine person besides. These two people would make excellent parents.”

“Soooo … they were considering adoption.”

“Yes.”

“What kind of doctor was this Goldblum?”

Irene held the sheet up to the light to help her read the blurred stamp. “It says ‘Doctor of Gynecology.’ ”

“All right. So what is Turner syndrome?”

“No idea.”

“Anything else?”

“Yes, there’s a rental contract for a studio apartment with kitchen on Drottninggatan. It’s made out to Lovisa Löwander for a four-month period from November ’46 to February ’47.”

“Did she have Sverker in Stockholm?”

“It appears so. I remember him saying that she had to have expert care during her entire pregnancy. It was quite complicated, he said.”

Irene flipped until she found some small, thin pieces of paper. “Here we have bank receipts. At the end of each month, Hilding put two hundred crowns into an account. The first deposit is the last day of August ’46 and they end on the last day of February ’47. He didn’t need to make a payment in March because Tekla had already hanged herself.”

“You think the money was for Tekla?”

“Yes, it’s the right period of time. Probably he was trying to deal with a bad conscience.”

“Did she ever have another job?”

“No idea. Maybe she was too depressed to work.”

They fell silent as they contemplated this new information. Finally Tommy said resolutely, “I have to know what kind of illness this Turner syndrome is. I’m going to call Agneta.”

He picked up the receiver and quickly dialed his wife’s work number at Alingsås Hospital. She was soon on the line. Tommy said, “Hi, darling, can you help me out? I need to know what Turner syndrome is.”

Tommy said nothing else but began to write in his notebook. Two times he lifted his eyebrows toward Irene, but he remained silent and continued writing, turning pages as he ran out of room. Irene wondered if he was in the midst of composing a medical dissertation.

Finally, after a long time, Tommy stopped writing. He put down his pen, thanked his wife for her help, and kissed into the receiver. Once he’d hung up, he looked Irene right in the eye and said, “Hold on to your hat. Lovisa Löwander never could have had children. She didn’t have working ovaries.”

Tommy sat down and began to read out loud from what he’d written in his notebook.

“ ‘Turner syndrome is a chromosomal disorder that only affects girls. Normally, boys have the chromosomes XY and girls have XX, but girls who have Turner syndrome have only one chromosome, and therefore it’s noted as XO. These girls are short and do not undergo puberty. They can be treated with female hormones in order to develop breasts and the like’—but I imagine that wasn’t a possibility during the twenties, when Lovisa was young. ‘Regardless, girls with Turner syndrome are always sterile.’ ”

“Sterile! But how—”

She was interrupted when Hannu knocked on the door and came in. He had a number of faxes in one hand.

“Hello. So what did you find out?” Tommy asked.

“Lots. Anna Siwén is deceased. I reached her son Jacob Siwén. He still lives in Stockholm.”

“Were Anna and Tekla related?” Irene asked.

“Yes, they were cousins. Tekla’s mother died when Tekla was born, so Anna’s parents took her in. Tekla’s father started to drink heavily after the death of his wife and was unable to care for a child. He died two years later and left Tekla some money.”

“Does Jacob Siwén remember Tekla at all?”

“Not well. He was six years old when she died. He says that he remembers one Christmas when a lady who cried all the time stayed with them. He believes this must have been Tekla. He had some letters Tekla had written to his mother that she’d saved. He faxed them to me. And I also found a photograph of Tekla in one of the envelopes.”

Hannu handed all the papers to Irene. The photograph was on top. Nicely printed on the back were the words “Tekla Olsson. Graduation from nursing school, June 1943.” Irene turned it over.

In spite of the fact that the photo was faded with age, Irene saw at once something that made her head spin. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Tekla is Sverker’s mother.”

Her two colleagues looked at her in surprise.

“How can you say that?” Tommy asked.

“Look at her eyes.”

Tommy grabbed the photo and looked it up and down. “How can you tell in this black-and-white picture? Cute face, though.”

The white cap with its black band was placed firmly on tightly pinned blond hair. Tekla’s face had regular features, and her laughing mouth revealed perfect teeth. Tekla Olsson had been quite a beauty. Although the photo was black and white, and somewhat yellowed at that, Irene imagined that her eyes were greenish blue, the color of clear seawater.

“Lord in heaven! I really believe Sverker knows nothing about any of this. And yet we are now certain that Lovisa was sterile and never could have had a child.”

Hannu regarded her, contemplating. “He should have known. Both his parents are deceased. It would have been on the death certificates if he were either their natural-born or adopted child.”

Tommy and Irene both looked at Hannu. Tommy was the one who said it first. “Do you think you could track down those death certificates?”

Hannu nodded and headed out the door.

Irene began to search through the file marked “Personal.” She was sure she’d glanced at something behind one of the tabs. There! She pulled out the sheet of paper.

The top of the yellow sheet stated “Delivery Record.”

“Look at this! A delivery record for Mrs. Lovisa Löwander. January second, 1947, at Sabbatsberg Hospital in Stockholm. There’s a lot of strange jargon—‘nulliparous’ … ‘pelvimetry carried out’ … ‘shows tendency to …’ Here! A male child was born without complications at 4:35 P.M. Weight at birth, seven pounds, six ounces.” Irene looked up from the sheet. “What’s this all about? We know that Lovisa couldn’t have children. Probably Tekla Olsson and Hilding Löwander are Sverker’s parents. How can there be a delivery record under Lovisa’s name?”

“Who wrote the record?”

“Let’s see.… Well, what do you know. Our friend the gynecologist who wrote the adoption certification. Here he is again: Dr. Ruben Goldblum.”

“The very good friend of Mr. and Mrs. Löwander.”

“He must have helped them create a fake delivery record.”

“Why?”

“No idea. Perhaps something to do with biological versus adoptive children.”

“Maybe. And remember, that recommendation for adoption was never sent. It’s still here.”

They both thought a minute.

“If Hilding was Sverker’s biological father, he wouldn’t have to adopt his own son,” Tommy said. “But Sverker could not have been Lovisa’s son. We know that. Therefore she must have adopted him. Right?”

Irene thought again and nodded. “Yes, I think you’re right. That’s what happened.”

“Know what I think? The whole arrangement with the fake delivery record and all that talk that Lovisa was under a specialist’s care was just an attempt to hide a scandal—that Hilding had gotten another woman pregnant.”

“Perhaps Lovisa had a deep need for a child—even an adopted one. There weren’t any alternatives in those days. Not like today, when a fertilized egg can be inserted into a sterile woman’s womb.”

“Yes, that’s done these days.”

“But not fifty years ago.”

“No.”

Hannu stuck his head into the doorway. “On the death certificate, Sverker is registered as Lovisa Löwander’s biological son.”

“Hannu, come take a look at this.”

Tommy held out the faked delivery record. Hannu read it without expression.

“That could have worked,” he said at last. “There were no central data registries then. An unwed mother could give her child up for adoption at birth, and the new parents could take the child at once. This must have happened in Stockholm. If the adoptive mother came back to Göteborg with papers that proved she’d given birth, there’s a good chance that the church registry would accept it.”

“Especially if the parents were upper-class and were considered respectable. And they must really have played the game well. I expect Lovisa wore a pillow under her clothes before she left Göteborg for Stockholm,” Irene said.

“Wait a moment! Tekla. The envelope with the rent receipts.” Tommy began to shuffle papers as he looked for the right envelope. He quickly pulled out the receipts. “Here! Seven rent receipts at one hundred crowns apiece. Under the name Tekla Olsson. No address, unfortunately.”

“Let’s take another look through these file folders and see if we can find a rental agreement,” Irene said.

She was only able to open to the index when the phone rang.

“Inspector Irene Huss.”

“It’s Siv Persson. Something’s happened!”

“What?!”

“The killer! The blonde! Yesterday evening. Right outside my … my door!” Siv Persson stammered.

“We’ll be right there. Don’t open the door for anyone but us, even if it’s someone you know.”

“I promise. Thank you for coming.”

Irene hung up and repeated the short conversation to the others. They decided to split up. Hannu and Tommy would go to Siv Persson, while Irene would stay to keep sifting through the papers and letters.

She hardly wanted to admit it even to herself, but she was intrigued, almost excited, to poke around among these relics of the dead. But would she turn up anything relevant? She’d have to trust her intuition, and she had a hunch these clues from the past were important. The need of the murderer to kill, on top of all these secrets, told her that.

Irene was unable to find a rental contract, so she went over the letters, which were much more interesting. There were nine of them. She arranged them according to their dates.

The first one was from July 19, 1945. A poem was quoted as a superscription above the greeting. Following the poem, the letter read:

Dearest Anna!

My vacation weeks are the last week of July and the first week of August. I will arrive at Stockholm Central Station on July 26. We can head straight to Ingarö as far as I’m concerned. It sounds absolutely wonderful that you’ve managed to rent a house on the island! I feel that I need to rest up. This year has been filled with work, and it’s much harder to be the house mother and head nurse than I thought it would be! But now I have a nice, comfortable apartment. What a difference from the tiny room I had before, where I had to share kitchen and bathroom.…

Irene quickly read the rest of the letter. Not one word about Hilding or Lovisa Löwander. She sped through the other letters as well. Same negative result. Not one word about love—or any other emotions, for that matter—just small stuff about happenings at work and in daily life.

The last letter was entirely different. It also began with a poem, but there were only a few lines below the quote. Irene felt strong emotion at the date: March 21, 1947. It must have been written a day or two before Tekla hanged herself.

Irene leaned back in her chair and tried to think. Why had Anna kept these letters of all letters? Did they contain some important information somehow? Tekla and Anna had grown up as sisters. Did they have a secret code?

She felt her brain slow to a stop. No use continuing. Time to go to the coffee machine and get another cup.

She’d just dropped the required two crowns into the machine when she heard a familiar voice.

“There you are. Any scoops for me today?”

Kurt Höök didn’t sound angry, just sarcastic. Extremely sarcastic, actually. Perhaps he was entitled, Irene told herself.

She turned around with an innocent smile on her lips. “Well, hello. Can I offer you a cup of coffee? Not as good as yours over at GT, but this will have to do.”

Höök shrugged and mumbled something that Irene took as a yes. She stuffed two more crowns into the machine and handed him a steaming-hot cup. She hadn’t thought of any strategy, just walked ahead as Höök followed her to her office. He stopped with raised eyebrows as he reached her door.

“Are you moving in or moving out?”

Irene laughed, but she could understand his quizzical expression. Files, folders, and paper were strewn everywhere. The paper bags containing Tekla’s and Hilding’s books and clothes stood on the floor.

“You won’t believe me. These things belonged to the ghost nurse. They fill two whole bags.”

“Somebody is putting you on. People here didn’t have paper bags back then. Especially not ones with a grocery-store logo on them.”

Amazing how this guy spotted things. He was right, of course. Irene hoped he wouldn’t ask about the suitcases.

“Where did you find all this stuff?” Kurt Höök asked. “And is this everything?”

Irene could almost sense his professional antennae go up. She was just about to give him a noncommittal answer when something occurred to her. Someone had broken into the suitcases recently. What had been taken from them?

She was jolted from her musings as Höök added, “And why are you wasting time sorting through it?”

Irene waved his questions away and pointed him to a chair. Her brain went into overdrive as it tried to churn out a story not too far from the truth. She made a tentative effort.

“As you know, we found Linda Svensson hanged in the hospital attic at almost the same place where the ghost nurse Tekla had hanged herself way back when.”

Irene took a large sip of coffee as she decided where to go next.

“In one corner of the attic, we found three old suitcases. They’d been recently broken into. One of them belonged to Tekla Olsson, and the other two belonged to Mr. and Mrs. Löwander—that is, Sverker’s parents. Now I’m sorting through them to see if anything here is important, especially since someone had broken the locks to get into them. Whoever it was must have been looking for something, but what?”

“If they found it, it would be long gone, Höök pointed out.

“True. Still, we have to sort through everything just in case there’s something we missed. Probably not, but you never know.…”

She let her sentence trail off for a reason. She took another long sip of coffee. Höök bent his long body over the desk and picked up the pile of faxes before she had a chance to stop him.

“What are these?”

“Old letters Tekla wrote to her foster sister in Stockholm.”

“Why in the world would you read these?”

Irene didn’t like his inquisitive stare and sharp questions. Why did she ever invite the most inquisitive journalist in all of Göteborg into her office? But here he was!

“We were tracking down Tekla’s sister, but, unfortunately, she’s deceased. We did find her son, and he was the one who faxed these to us.”

“Why would these letters be of interest?”

“Don’t know.”

Irene could tell how dumb she sounded but decided to maintain her tack. She watched Kurt Höök flip through the letters. Then he started to arrange them by date. Thoughtfully, he read through them and hummed to himself. Finally Irene couldn’t restrain herself and burst out, “Do you think they might be in a secret code?”

Höök gave her a sharp look. “What do you expect to find?”

She decided to tell the truth without revealing everything. “Details about an affair. We know that an unhappy love affair was behind Tekla’s suicide.”

Höök looked at the pile of papers with renewed interest. Still reading the letters, he said, as if it were just a passing thought, “And why would the reason behind an old suicide be of interest?”

“Honestly, we don’t know. However, we believe you found the truth in your article. The murderer was wearing an old-fashioned nurse’s uniform so that he would be taken for Nurse Tekla. We believe that Mama Bird saw him that night. We believe that’s why she was killed. Once your article was published, the murderer knew that Gunnela Hägg had seen him. We believe that the killer knew of her existence prior to the nurses’ murders, since he knew immediately she was the ‘anonymous neighborhood woman.’ ”

Höök’s face darkened, but his voice had a bit of belligerent guilt. “You can’t say that my article was the reason she was killed.”

“No, we’ll never know that for sure. These are our hypotheses.”

Silently, Höök read through the letters a second time. At length he shook his head and said, “No, there’s nothing in the text. It must be in the poems.”

“The poems?”

“Every one of her letters starts with a poetry quotation. Maybe this was a trick they used to convey something to each other they didn’t want to write down.”

“Maybe. But Anna didn’t use poetry in her letters.”

“But Tekla did in the letters that Anna saved,” Kurt Höök replied.

That thought hadn’t crossed Irene’s mind as she’d read. She’d only glanced at the poems.

Now she read them again, and with the recent revelations the poems seemed to fit into what Irene knew of Tekla’s life history.

The poem in the first letter, dated July 19, 1945, was a happy summer poem and contained no hidden message as far as Irene could tell. On the other hand, the second letter, dated August 25, appeared more somber:

As friendly evening stars burn

And send their rays down to the valley,

He looked at his servant,

See! He saw as the loved one sees.

WAS TEKLA TRYING to say that Hilding had declared his love for her? “His servant” seemed fairly belittling, but maybe that’s how Tekla saw her relationship to the much older head doctor.

The two poems following also did not appear to have any connection to a love story, but the poem of the fourth letter, dated December 10, 1945, made Irene’s jaw drop.

Take me.—Hold me.—Touch me softly.

Embrace me gently for a moment.

Weep awhile—such a sad truth.

Watch me sleep a moment with tenderness.

Do not leave me.—You want to stay,

Stay then until I myself must go.

Place your loving hand on my forehead.

Yet a little while longer we are two.

“This is not a love poem. It’s so … filled with pain and sorrow,” Irene said.

Höök nodded. “Certainly it was a painful love story, especially when you consider she killed herself.”

Of course Tekla’s illicit love affair gave her great pain. Having to give up her lover and then even her child would still be in the future here. This poem was simply about her pain in the relationship with Hilding. Irene didn’t mention this to Höök, but she had to give him credit for his intuition. Surely an invaluable quality in a journalist.

There seemed to be no connection to the love affair in the letters written between January and April 1946, as far as Irene could tell. On the other hand, the letter dated June 7, 1946, was as clear as a bell:

He came like a rushing wind.

What does the wind care for what is forbidden?

He kissed my cheek,

He kissed all the blood from my skin.

The kisses should have ended there:

He belonged to another, he was on loan

One evening only in the time of the lilacs

And in the month of golden chain.

“Well, that takes the cake! I know this poem. Hjalmar Gullberg. You can’t get any clearer than this. She regrets having an affair but finds she can’t resist him. ‘He comes like the wind …’ and she just toppled right over!” Kurt laughed.

“Hjalmar Gullberg. She had one of his poetry books, I remember.”

Irene went to the small pile of books. On the top was a poetry collection by Hjalmar Gullberg. She flipped through its pages until she found the poem. It took a second for her to realize that the quote had been changed.

“Look here. Tekla writes ‘He belonged to another, but in the book it says ‘You belonged to another.’ And she also writes ‘He kissed my cheek …’ while the book says ‘He kissed your cheek.…’ ”

“Well, there’s your code,” Kurt said calmly.

Irene could hardly restrain herself as she flipped to the next poem. The letter was dated November 30, 1946:

We women we are so close to the brown earth

We ask the cuckoo what he expects from spring

We throw our arms around the cold fir tree

We search the sundown for signs and comfort

Once I loved a man, he believed in nothing.…

He came one day with empty eyes

He left one day with forget written on his forehead

If my child does not live, it is his.…

It was a horrible poem, heavy with anger and a reproach to the callous, coldhearted father of her child. Probably well deserved.

The last poem, which headed the letter Tekla wrote just before her suicide, at first appeared to be totally innocuous, but Irene shivered as she realized how the few lines connected to Tekla’s death:

I intend to undertake a long journey

It will be some time before we meet again

This is not a hasty escape, this plan has been in my mind for a long time

Though I could not speak of it till now

She must have been declaring her intention to commit suicide. And she had taken a trip, if only to Göteborg.

Kurt Höök stood up and stretched his long body. “How about we have a Friday-night drink?” he asked.

Irene almost said yes, but then Hannu and Tommy appeared at the door. They threw questioning looks at Irene and Kurt.

“Sorry, we’re not done working yet,” Irene told Kurt in a light tone. “Thanks to you, we’ve solved the mystery of the letters.”

Kurt nodded, wished them all a good weekend, and disappeared down the hallway.

Tommy lifted an ironic eyebrow and did an imitation of Höök. “ ‘How about we have a Friday-night drink?’ Since when has he ever offered someone a drink? Watch out for the fourth estate, Irene. The mass media can do a number on a tiny little police officer.”

To her annoyance, Irene could feel that she was blushing. It was crazy how Tommy suddenly had so much to say about the men around her. He must think I’m going through a midlife crisis, Irene thought, and she started to laugh. That was the least of her problems!

“He was just helping me figure out if there was a secret code in these letters. How are things with Siv Persson?”

“We drove her to the airport and made sure she was on the evening flight to London. Her son lives there. I called him, too, and we all agreed that was the best plan. She was extremely relieved. These past twenty-four hours have been rough on her.”

Tommy told Irene about Siv Persson’s late-night encounter with the blonde. She couldn’t say if the person was a woman or a man dressed as one. Both Tommy and Hannu were convinced her story was true.

“We have to believe that this murderer is likely to kill again. Siv Persson is the last living witness,” Tommy concluded.

Irene turned to the letters and showed them how the poems that began them contained hidden messages.

Hannu nodded and said, “It’s as if she’s left word for us from the other side of the grave.”

IRENE’S HOUSE WAS filled with the tempting scent of good food. Only Sammie noticed as Irene came through the door, but he exhibited his usual joy. She could hear cheerful chatter and the clatter of utensils in the kitchen. Both girls were home and helping their father make dinner. It sounded very pleasant. Irene’s mouth was already watering as she followed the wonderful aromas into the kitchen. Filled with expectation, she heard her husband say happily, “Hello, sweetheart. Dinner’s almost ready. Go ahead, sit down, pour yourself some beer.”

Krister bent to take a bubbling casserole from the oven.

“We worked together on dinner tonight. And guess what. Papa’s going to go on a diet.” Jenny said, beaming.

“So what’s the menu you’ve created?”

“Endive gratin covered in cheddar cheese, served with boiled sugar peas and a tomato salad,” her daughter said with pride.

“And?”

“And what?”

“And what’s for dinner?”

Her whole family looked at her in surprise and answered in chorus:

“This is the dinner!”

Sadly, Irene anticipated lean times at the Huss household.