“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.”