“Was that the only time you asked about Nurse Tekla?”
“Yes. He didn’t like to talk about her. My father was a down-to-earth, practical man. He had no respect for ghost stories and that kind of thing.”
“An old rumor says that your father and Nurse Tekla had a relationship. Have you heard anything about that?”
“Not at all. That’s ridiculous. Papa and some old nurse!”
“She was only thirty-five, and your father was fifty,” Irene countered calmly.
“No, it doesn’t fit. She hanged herself in the spring of ’47. I was just a few months old then. Mama and Papa had given up hope of ever having children, so I was the miracle child. Mama was already fairly old, and she had to be under the supervision of specialists during her entire pregnancy. Would Papa do something while …? No! It’s just not possible.”
Irene decided to change the subject.
“Your mother passed away when you were fairly young?”
“That’s right. She had an aneurysm. What does this have to do with the murder investigation?”
“We don’t know yet. We’re trying to find out. As we said, many of our leads point backward in time.”
“Damned strange.”
“That’s what we think, too. So we’re not letting go of this line of investigation until we’re sure it won’t have relevance in the present. The only people who have seen the murderer are Siv Persson and Gunnela Hägg, the homeless woman in the garden shed, who was killed. You didn’t know of her existence, you said.”
“No. I’ve already told you that.”
Nodding toward the heap of paper, Tommy said, “Have you found a way to save the hospital?”
“No, it can’t be done. I’ve decided to close it at the end of the summer. I’ll be informing my employees next week.”
Irene felt some sympathy for him, but still, how much of this failure could be laid at his door? A good doctor, yes, but the administrator of a hospital? He couldn’t blame circumstances entirely. Perhaps he was too weak and indecisive. Handsome but hopeless, she thought sarcastically as she contemplated the defeated figure in front of her.
AFTER TAKING IN a bowl of soup in the police cafeteria, Irene and Tommy headed up to their department. They’d begun to sort through their impressions of the Löwander couple when Hannu Rauhala appeared, holding a large, old-fashioned suitcase of brown leather.
“Hi. Here’s the arson investigation’s results.”
He set the suitcase down and pulled out a thick envelope from the waistband of his jeans. Irene decided that Hannu must be clairvoyant. Although neither she nor Tommy had mentioned it, Hannu had tracked down all the papers pertinent to the investigation of the mansion fire. Since they already knew the result of the investigation, they decided to take a look inside the leather suitcase.
“So this is from the attic?” Irene asked.
“Yes, the lab’s finished with it. We’ll get the other two tomorrow. Apparently they contained traces of something,” Hannu replied.
“What kind of traces?”
“No idea.”
Irene walked resolutely over to the suitcase, grabbed it by the handle, and heaved it onto the desk.
“Whose is it?”
“Lovisa Löwander’s. Says so on the inside.”
The suitcase was unlocked, but the metalwork of the hinges was rusted shut. Finally it creaked open, and Irene lifted the lid.
On top lay a dark blue dress uniform belonging to a Sophia nursing graduate. Between the yellowing halves of the collar, the flower-shaped, four-edged silver brooch was proudly pinned.
Irene could hardly believe her eyes. Once over her initial surprise, she cautiously lifted the dress. It was exactly like the uniform Siv Persson had modeled for them, but in a much smaller, even a child’s, size.
“Yet another nurse’s uniform. But didn’t Siv Persson mention that Lovisa had been a graduate of the Sophia nursing school?”
“It’s rather small,” said Hannu.
“She must have been under five feet. Unbelievably short and thin.”
Underneath the uniform they found a nurse’s cap and apron so small that they had to belong to the same person who wore the dress. They began to take the other contents carefully from the suitcase and array them on the desk. In addition to the pieces of the uniform, there was a pair of black dress pumps. Irene estimated that they couldn’t be larger than size four.
Beneath the clothes were some framed photographs wrapped in yellowed silk paper. The first one must have been Hilding and Lovisa Löwander’s wedding photo. The stamp of the studio could be seen at the bottom-right-hand corner. The year 1936 was written in black ink. The handwriting was elegant.
In many ways the bridal couple was a remarkable sight. Hilding stood ramrod straight, his right hand tucked into his tuxedo lapel, his left hand resting on the bride’s right shoulder. This man knew how to wear a tuxedo. He was tall and stylish and had a self-confident smile on his face. He looked straight into the camera. His bearing, his features, and his thick hair shared a family resemblance with those of his son. Irene peered closer to see if Sverker’s sea-green eyes had also been inherited from his father. It didn’t appear so. It was hard to say, since photograph had been tinted, but Hilding’s eyes seemed to be a kind of grayish blue.
Irene turned her attention to Lovisa. The tiny bride barely reached her husband’s chest. She also stared directly into the camera, but her hands were grasping her bridal bouquet tightly. The bouquet was oversize and bursting with roses and cornflowers. Or more likely the bride was so undersize that the bouquet was in fact normal. She was wearing a lace veil, and her dress had a high collar and long sleeves. It was heavy white silk.
For a long time, the three police officers studied the photograph without saying a word. Finally Tommy said, “She’s hardly more than four and a half feet tall.”
“She looks like a little girl,” Hannu said.
Irene did the math quickly in her head. “Lovisa was actually thirty-three years old when she married Hilding. They were married for eleven years before Sverker was born.”
“It must have been difficult for her to bear children,” Tommy commented. He knew what he was talking about, since he’d attended the births of his three children.
Irene was surprised that Sverker had not inherited the brown eyes of his mother. Her face was cute, but fairly average. Her dark hair was curly under her veil. Sverker seemed to completely take after his father.
The other two photographs showed Sverker as a child. Both were framed in silver. In the first one, Sverker was a newborn, and in the other he was about three years old. The latter was a studio photograph. Sverker held a teddy bear and was laughing at the photographer. Happiness glittered in those large, sea-green eyes.
The last silk paper bundle revealed itself to be Lovisa’s record from the Sophia nursing school. Her highest grades were in bedside manner and pharmacology. All the other grades were nearly as high. Lovisa had been a good student. Irene couldn’t help giggling at one of the teacher’s comments: “Although she is small, Lovisa wears her uniform beautifully.” Irene hoped Lovisa had taken it as a compliment.
There were some books at the bottom of the suitcase. They were all textbooks from Lovisa’s training. After that the suitcase was empty.
“Why did they let you take this suitcase?” Irene asked Hannu.
“The locks had been broken, but the contents weren’t disturbed,” Hannu replied.
“So the technicians think that someone was digging around in the others?”
Hannu shrugged. “Apparently.”
They carefully put all the articles back into the suitcase. Irene looked at her male co-workers and said, “We should wait for the technician’s reports on the other suitcases before we return this one to Sverker Löwander.”
Hannu nodded his agreement.
IRENE SPENT THE rest of the afternoon writing her reports and studying the results of the investigation into the fire at the
doctor’s mansion.
The fire had burned rapidly, taking the old wooden building down to its foundation. If the fire had been set, the arsonist had luck on his side to have it destroyed so completely.
Chapter 16
FOR ONCE IRENE arrived home before the twins. On Thursdays they didn’t come home until six in the evening, because they both had basketball practice right after school. Irene found a wonderfully aromatic chicken stew in the refrigerator, which Krister had made the night before. She only had to use her culinary skills to put the rice up to boil.
Still, she had to check one thing before the girls came home. She took the stairs two at a time to Jenny’s room. The poster roll was still under the bed. Not that it made things easier, but it could be a starting point for a discussion.
And maybe it would have been, if Jenny and Katarina hadn’t come in through the front door at that moment.
“Things are going down. They call it ‘direct action.’ These are great guys who know what they stand for. Not meek weaklings who are all talk and no fight. And they’re feminists, too. They think women and men are equal. That kind of stuff.”
Jenny’s voice was crystal clear to Irene as she stood there in her daughter’s bedroom. Without knowing exactly why, she swiftly crossed the hall to her own room. Sammie made a tumult downstairs greeting the twins, and it overrode the girls’ voices. Irene quietly pulled her door almost shut, leaving a small crack in order to listen and look out.
“How nice of them,” Katarina said sarcastically. “And if we weren’t, would we even be protected under their animal-rights legislation? Or would we be of less value than a hamster?”
“God, you’re so mean. It’s great that they’re on our side.”
“On our side. As long as we agree with them, sure. Just try stating your own opinion and they’d kick you out quicker than you could say jackrabbit.”
“No they wouldn’t. I can say what I believe. There’s a lot of girls in our group. We can say what we want. And it’s not a problem, because we all agree anyway.”
Angry stomping on the stairs followed Jenny up to her room. Irene heard her messing around for a while, before she stomped back down. From the kitchen came the familiar sound of the refrigerator door opening.
“Did you drink all the apple juice?” howled Jenny.
“There was just a little bit left.”
“How damned considerate. You know I don’t drink milk.”
“Fucking ex-cuse me.”
The tone as well as the language were so horrendous that Irene fantasized going downstairs to tell them to wash their mouths out with soap so their tongues wouldn’t turn black and fall off. Then she heard Jenny say, “You’re just mad that I’m actually doing something to change the world. This evening we’re going to—”
Jenny stopped talking, and Irene froze.
“So what’s your big plan?” Katarina scoffed.
“Direct action.”
A moment of silence. Finally Katarina said, “What do you have there?”
“None of your business.”
“You’re an idiot.”
Irene peeked down the stairs and saw Katarina head toward the bathroom door in a rage. Katarina slammed the door and locked it dramatically. At the counter, Jenny was drinking a glass of water, the poster roll jammed up under her left arm. She held a tomato sandwich in the other hand. She had her jacket on. Then she headed for the door, opened it, and left.
The second the door closed behind Jenny, Irene shot down the stairs. Without making a sound, she pulled on her jacked and slipped out after her daughter.
It was dark and below freezing outside. Irene saw Jenny in the light of a street lamp and realized she was heading for the bus stop. Irene whirled back toward the garage and got into her car. She drove slowly toward the bus stop and parked the car in the darkness between two streetlights a short distance away. As she turned off the motor, she saw Jenny appear by the bus shelter. A few minutes later, the bus arrived, and Jenny climbed aboard. Irene followed at a distance.
Jenny got off the bus at the Frölunda Square stop. She started to walk toward one of the apartment buildings. Irene was distracted as she parked the car and paid the fee. She lost sight of Jenny. She knew only the building Jenny had entered, but not which entrance she’d used.
Irene cursed her own idiocy. What would it matter if she’d gotten a parking ticket? Now she had to sit and wait, since there was nothing else she could do. As she waited, she took out her cell phone and called Katarina.
“Hi, sweetheart. I’m going to be a little late this evening. There’s chicken stew in the fridge. Could you boil some rice and throw together a salad? … Oh, so you already had a sandwich, I see.… But maybe you’ll want some dinner once I get home.… All right. I understand. Could you at least take Sammie out for his walk before you head over to Anna’s? … Okay, thanks. Be home by ten. School tomorrow. Bye, now.”
Irene hung up and prepared to wait for Jenny to reappear. She waited a long time.
Her car was freezing cold, and it was almost nine in the evening when she saw her daughter again. Jenny was not alone. She was in the middle of a gang of six people; it was hard to say whether they were girls or boys. All of them wore hoodies that shadowed their faces. The young people headed over to an old Volvo 240. It was hard to tell its true color under the predominant color of rust. It was a real clunker. Irene had almost wanted to go see if its inspection was current when she’d first caught sight of it. One of the taller people, who Irene assumed was a boy, opened the trunk. He searched for something, then pulled it out and handed it to Jenny. Jenny took off her jacket in spite of the cold weather to put on this new article of clothing. Irene had a chill down her spine when she saw that it was a hoodie, too. Jenny pulled the string on the hood so that little could be seen of her face. Now she looked like all the others.
The whole gang hopped into the car. It protested loudly at being started, but finally it began to move. The thick exhaust made it impossible for the kids to see Irene following them. She could have been only five yards behind them and they wouldn’t have seen her through the smoke. Nevertheless, she kept her distance.
The car turned onto Radiovägen and headed toward the suburb of Mölndal. Irene had no difficulty following them, since the Volvo could hardly go more than forty-five miles an hour. Its engine sounded like an old sewing machine set at zigzag.
They passed the Radiomot and kept going until, to Irene’s surprise, the car signaled a left turn. The car drove up Viktor Hasselblads Gata. Irene dropped back a little more, since there was not much traffic here at this hour. The rusty clunker slowed even further and began to creep along the road. What were they up to? Irene’s worst suspicions were confirmed when the car turned off onto a small side street. She hit the gas and went on past. She was able to see the neon sign reading NISSE’S MEAT AND DELI.
Irene switched off her headlights as she turned down a neighboring side street. She got out of the car as quietly as possible and closed the door carefully. She decided to head back via the roads behind the industry buildings along Viktor Hasselblads Gata. It would have been much easier to walk down the main street, but she was sure the gang would have assigned someone to keep watch.
It wasn’t easy to find her way among the confusion of side streets. Finally she was able to recognize the back side of the neon sign for Nisse’s Deli. A high fence surrounded the large parking lot behind the building, but at the corner there was a clump of bushes that would provide a good hiding place.
Irene peeked out between the branches. All she could make out were three parked refrigerator trucks. The back of the building and the loading dock near it were brightly lit. She figured that the distance between the dock and the trucks was about five yards. Everything appeared calm and silent, except for a repeated metallic snipping sound. Someone was cutting through the chain-link fence. Then she saw five dark silhouettes moving into the lot next to the trucks. She’d been right. One of them was standing w
atch.
Slowly, she moved closer to the fence. She had a good guess where the hole had been made and gingerly felt along the fence until she found the cut-open space. She passed through carefully and took cover in the darkness at the side of the building.
The group of shadowy figures was gathered just out of range of the light near the front of the closest truck. The tallest one lifted his arm over his head and measured a blow with the heavy pliers. The memory of a different set of wire cutters sprang into Irene’s head.
She fished out her cell phone, and at the same time as she heard the shattering of glass, she called emergency services, 112. As the wick of the gasoline bomb caught fire, she reached someone on the other end.
“Firebombing of a refrigerator truck. Militant vegans. Högsbo industrial area, Viktor Hasselblads Gata. Nisse’s Meat and Deli. The activists are driving an old, rusty Volvo 240. License number N—”
She was so concentrated on the fire breaking out that she didn’t notice someone creeping up behind her. Just before everything went dark, she thought she heard Jenny’s horrified scream: “Mama!”
IRENE CAME TO a few moments later. She heard running footsteps across the asphalt and the slamming of a car door. In spite of her ambivalent prayer to the contrary, the car’s motor started right up. Her skull throbbed, and she felt extremely nauseous. With great difficulty she lifted her head to look around. She saw a flamenco dance of flames before her eyes and felt the heat on her face. When the world finally stopped spinning, she saw that the truck was burning. It took her a few more seconds before she heard the sobbing. Irene slowly turned to look behind her and saw a huddled figure she intuitively knew was Jenny. She began to crawl toward her daughter. She didn’t dare stand. She feared she’d pass out if she did.
Jenny didn’t appear to be hurt, although she was down on the ground. Her entire body was shaking from sobs. Or perhaps from the cold. To her surprise, Irene realized that Jenny wasn’t wearing any coat, not even the awful hoodie. Which Irene was glad to see. But now she had on only a T-shirt. Her skin was ice-cold when Irene reached her and stroked her arm with a shaking hand. “There, there, sweetheart,” she said. “Come on, let’s get out of here before my cronies get here.”
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