“No idea.”
Irene walked resolutely over to the suitcase, grabbed it by the handle, and heaved it onto the desk.
“Whose is it?”
“Lovisa Lowander’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 Lowander’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 Lowander.”
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.
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,
