Authors: Helene Tursten
“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?”