Night Rounds (23 page)

“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.

Chapter 18

S
ATURDAY FLEW BY
in a blur of long-overdue tasks. Clipping Sammie’s coat was chore number one, certainly high time by now, since he was beyond shaggy. He hated every minute of it, but once it was over, he pranced about and showed off.
Must feel great to be rid of half a paper bag’s worth of excess coat
, Irene thought. She hadn’t clipped him too severely, since winter wasn’t over yet.

Afterward the entire family pitched in with the cleaning, laundry, ironing, and weekly shopping.

To Irene’s great relief, Saturday’s dinner included meat: a wonderfully aromatic pork-chop stew with the last frozen chanterelles and lingonberries from their fall harvest. Krister had purchased a red Chianti slightly flavored with black currant. Jenny happily microwaved the leftovers from yesterday’s vegetarian dinner, while Katarina opted for the pork. Both girls had soda.

Krister lifted his glass, cleared his throat, and said, “Skoal, my girls. To my new life!”

Irene’s expression probably revealed her questions about his resolve, but she lifted her glass anyway.

“Jenny and I talked through things yesterday afternoon,” Krister continued. “Vegetarian food is trendy, and I’ve had a number of customers asking for more vegetarian dishes. And I need to lose at least forty pounds.” He grabbed his big belly and hoisted it up. He had really gained weight the past few years. He turned to Irene and asked, “Sweetie, did you notice any difference in flavor in this dish?”

“No, it’s really good.”

Krister appeared content. “Great. Instead of heavy cream, I used half-and-half. It’s the first time I’ve tried it. My old kitchen chef used to say, ‘Real ingredients should never be compromised. Real butter and real cream, boys.’ But the real deal has its disadvantages.” Again he grabbed his belly and jiggled it.

“Perhaps you should also take up jogging,” Irene said thoughtfully.

“Are you crazy? Do you want me to have a heart attack? Jogging is not my style. But I’ve promised myself that I would take Sammie on a one-mile walk every day, in all weather. And every Sunday I’m going to do laps at the Frölunda community pool.”

Irene could hardly believe her ears. They never had much in common when it came to exercise. Irene enjoyed jujitsu and jogging on her own. Not to mention handball and weight lifting, though she’d quit handball after the twins were born. Something had to give. At least weight training was part of her job and she was paid for those hours.

“Jenny and I decided that we’d be eating vegetarian three times a week and the other days would be fish or meat. What do you say?”

“Can you really lose weight that way?”

“Yes indeed. If you don’t add too much cream and are easy on the oils. Jenny doesn’t eat dishes with cream, so her food will have even fewer calories.”

“But I do have to keep eating sunflower seeds and nuts to get the energy I need,” Jenny added.

Katarina shrugged. “Fine by me.”

Irene was still inwardly convinced that hard times had certainly come for the normal eater at the table.

• • •

IRENE WOKE UP
on Sunday morning feeling that she’d had a restless night. She should have been well rested; it was already after 8:00
A.M
. But one question had been gnawing away at her subconscious: What had been taken from Hilding’s and Tekla’s suitcases?

Irene took Sammie on a quick walk so he could pee before she jogged away by herself. She took a shorter route today, only five kilometers. That was enough. Maybe she’d keep Krister and Sammie company on their walk later. Before then she hoped to solve this riddle that wouldn’t leave her in peace.

Back home she took a shower and prepared breakfast. Krister came down, and they drank their coffee and decided who’d read which part of the newspaper. Once they’d finished breakfast, Irene said, “I’m going to head down to the station. We didn’t finish everything last Friday, and there’s something important I want to get done before tomorrow morning.”

Krister nodded. “Fine. I’m going to go swim in half an hour. Drop me off at the pool on your way in, and then I’ll take the bus home.”

PILES OF PAPER
were strewn over Irene’s desk, just as she’d left them. Carefully and thoughtfully, she began to repack Tekla’s things into the paper bags, trying to pin down what might be missing.

First she replaced the poetry books, then the papers and letters. After that she started repacking the clothes. The brown shoes, the shawl, the underwear, the nightgown.… What had been taken? What ought to be here?

Irene sat down in her chair and pondered, until suddenly it came to her.

When Tekla was found in the attic, she was wearing her daily uniform, according to Siv Persson. Her daily uniform was a light blue dress, a hat, and an apron. Where was her dress uniform? It should be among her things. It wasn’t there because the murderer had taken it to wear on the night of the murders. The uniform cap and black shoes had probably been in the suitcase as well.

So what would be missing from Hilding’s suitcase? Irene started to unpack all the folders, files, and books and flip through them, but it was hard to tell if any particular piece of paper was missing. She replaced them neatly.

Then she drove home and took her dog and her husband on a walk.

THE MORNING MEETING
had a typical Monday atmosphere; most of the officers were blinking and trying to jump-start their brain cells with coffee. As usual, only Fredrik Stridh appeared energetic.
The man is a living advertisement for vitamin-packed fruit juice
, Irene thought sourly. She should feel rested, but she’d had a late night. Krister had extra energy from all his exercise, and to cap off his first day of his new life they’d spent the night burning it off with passionate lovemaking. It wouldn’t surprise Irene if Krister needed a few days to recover, but it had been a wonderful.…

She was jerked back into the present by Fredrik’s engaging voice: “… if no one else has anything against it. I have fingerprints and hair from Doris Peterzén and Birgitta Löwander. I wasn’t able to get Carina Löwander’s prints until last Friday evening. She asked me why we needed anything from her. I told her that we’d found a number of clues at the scene of the crime. ‘Which crime scene?’ she asked. ‘You mean by the suitcases?’ I asked her if she knew anything about the old suitcases. ‘Sure I do,’ she said. ‘I didn’t have the keys, so I broke them open.’ Apparently she was looking for the architectural drawings of the building, because she was planning a renovation.”

“For a fitness center,” Irene added. “So when did she break into them?”

“Last Christmas.”

“Did she find the drawings?”

Fredrik looked a little sheepish. “I didn’t think to ask her.”

Irene thought for a minute. Now they knew who’d broken into the suitcases and they also knew what had been taken from Hilding’s suitcase. No drawings in it now. Did Carina take Tekla’s clothes, too? Not necessarily, but there was certainly reason enough to go for another chat with Carina Löwander.

As if he were reading her thoughts, Superintendent Andersson said, “We should keep a close eye on this Carina. Though I must admit I find it hard to believe that a woman would kill three others. Women don’t usually strangle people.”

“What does a typical female murderer do?” Birgitta had to ask.

“Well … poison or a small-caliber pistol.…” Andersson attempted.

Irene could think of at least ten murders during the past few years where the killer had been female and both knives and heavy objects had been the murder weapons of choice. No point in saying anything, though, as this discussion would lead nowhere. On the other hand, she wanted to be the one to check up on Carina Löwander as soon as possible.

“But why would Carina Löwander kill them?” Tommy said. “It doesn’t fit. One night nurse, one day nurse, and a homeless woman. Why? What did her plans for a fitness center have to do with the killing of these particular three women? None of them would have been able to stop her plans for the hospital.”

Obviously, beautiful Carina had impressed Tommy, since he was so quick to defend her.
Perhaps he’s also approaching his midlife crisis
? Irene thought snidely. But he did have a point.

A secretary knocked on the door and stuck her head in. “Telephone for Irene Huss. Superintendent Danielsson from Västra Frölunda.”

Irene nodded and stood up to go to the phone. She had a suspicion she knew what the call was about, but she picked up the receiver calmly. “Irene Huss.”

“Hi, Danielsson in Frölunda here. You reported your cell phone missing last Thursday night. Correct?”

“That’s correct.”

“We were investigating an arson near Högsbo Industrial Area that night. You probably heard about the refrigerator truck that was fire bombed.”

“I read about it in the paper.”

“We’d gotten a tip right before the arson broke out. We traced the call. It was made from your phone.”

Irene did her best to sound surprised. “Why … what are you saying? That’s strange.… Can you tell if the phone’s been used for other calls?”

“No. Nothing else.”

“Have you found my phone?”

“No. Do you have any idea who might have taken it?”

“No. It disappeared from my bag when I was grocery shopping near Frölunda Square. I didn’t notice it was gone until later that evening. Then I called right away to report it missing.”

“I see. Well, in any event it was put to good use.” In a pleasant tone, Danielsson added, “By the way, do you have any children who might be vegetarian?”

“No. My husband is a chef, and he’d go crazy if anyone in the family turned vegetarian on him.” Irene also spoke pleasantly and added a light laugh to the end of her statement even as she felt her heart salsa up into her throat.

“Never mind. It was just a thought. Thanks for your time.”

“Bye and thanks.”

Her hand was shaking as she replaced the receiver in the cradle.

• • •

THE FIRST THING
she did when she returned to the conference room was ask, “Has anyone checked Linda Svensson’s phone calls yet?”

“Yes. There was a call from her mother and one from a young nurse working in ICU. The one with spiky blond hair. Anna-Karin something … Anna-Karin Arvidsson.” Jonny’s face lit up as he remembered the nurse’s name.

Anna-Karin again. Irene had not had time to follow up with her questioning of Anna-Karin, in spite of her intentions to do so earlier. The young nurse hadn’t mentioned that she’d called Linda that evening. Anna-Karin was priority number two after Carina.

Jonny continued. “We also found a cell-phone number. That call came at six-thirty. We’ve traced it to Sverker Löwander. When we talked to him before, he said he didn’t remember calling her. But then he did remember he’d called Linda about some missing paperwork. She didn’t know where it was. Löwander said he found the papers later that evening.”

That was interesting. Neither Anna-Karin nor Sverker had mentioned that they’d been in contact with Linda only hours before the murder. They’d remembered after being told that the calls had been traced. Linda’s day planner also contained Sverker’s cell-phone number. Priority number three.

“We have to get to the bottom of this,” said the superintendent. “We have to assume that Linda was lured back to Löwander Hospital. But why would it be so important that she’d have to bike over there in the middle of the night?”

“We never found Marianne’s flashlight either,” Irene commented. “The killer must have taken it.”

“And why kill the bird lady, Gunnela Hägg? Nobody should have cared that she was telling ghost stories,” Fredrik said.

“Too many questions. Now get me some answers,” barked the superintendent.

“Tommy and I can go to meet with Carina and Sverker Löwander,” Irene said. “We’ve talked to them quite a bit already.”

• • •

THE LÖWANDERS PROVED
hard to reach. Sverker was in the middle of surgery at Källberg Hospital. “It was an absolutely necessary operation, which Dr. Löwander decided to perform at Källberg now that Löwander is closed on Wednesdays,” the nurse told Irene.

Carina Löwander was busy giving a lecture on ergonomics for secretaries, Irene was told. The seminar would be going on all day.

Irene and Tommy decided to catch the Löwanders at home that evening.

Tommy leaned back in his chair. He stretched his arms behind his head and looked curiously at Irene. “So,” he said. “You’ve decided the killer took Tekla’s dress uniform from the suitcase. And we found a letter that seems to confirm the truth in the rumor of a love affair between Tekla Olsson and Hilding Löwander. But you didn’t mention in the meeting that Tekla was Sverker’s real mother.”

Irene sighed. “I really don’t know how we should handle this. It’s not directly connected to the murder. Sverker doesn’t know anything about Hilding’s betrayal of Lovisa. He believes that they are his parents. If a fifty-year-old man finds out that the real woman behind the ghost myth is his mother … how do you think he’d handle it?”

“That’s a tough one. Poor, sensitive little Sverker has to be protected from all possible emotional crises, especially now when he has a bankrupt hospital to deal with, not to mention these horrible murders.”

Sarcasm coming from Tommy was so unusual that Irene looked at him in surprise. Then she became angry.

“It’s not like that.”

“Isn’t it? Then what is it like?”

Irene opened her mouth, but no answer came. She closed her mouth again and thought. What was it like? Really? She swallowed her irritation and said, “It’s just … like pulling a chair out from under someone. Losing an identity. He feels secure as Hilding and Lovisa’s son.”

“But it’s a lie. A lie behind his whole life.”

Irene didn’t have an answer to that. Tommy was right. She was still not going to be the person to tell Sverker the truth about his background.

To change the subject, she said, “I need to have another chat with Anna-Karin Arvidsson. Since surgery is temporarily suspended, she can’t hide behind being too busy. She’ll have to speak to us. She never mentioned her phone call to Linda. I’d like to ask her about that. And much more besides.”