to the wall beside her door. Someone was hoping that she’d open it.
Her heart leaped, and her ears hummed.
Her pulse had calmed somewhat when she noticed that the lid of the mail slot was slowly opening. There was a slight creak. To her horror, Siv realized that the killer could probably see her ankles and her feet. She quickly moved back. Slowly, the lid closed again. Hasty footsteps away from the door clicked toward the stairs. At first Siv Persson stood paralyzed, but once she heard the footsteps in the stairwell, she rushed to the peephole.
She caught a glimpse of a black hat with its brim turned down. Underneath the hat she could see blond hair.
COLD RAIN TEEMED from the dark gray skies; it was a day when the curtains of downpour would never part.
Irene stared gloomily into her first cup of coffee of the day. The injury on the back of her head was throbbing and aching, but she still slept until six-thirty.
She felt sick as soon as she woke up. Her skull hurt, and her eyes felt filled with a shovel of sand. A badger also seemed to have crawled into her mouth and died. Judging by the smell of her breath, he’d been rotting for some time now. That’s what I get for not brushing my teeth before I went to bed, Irene condemned herself in no uncertain terms.
Krister was asleep beside her and didn’t notice as she slowly got up. After a brief shower and a quick application of makeup, Irene went downstairs to make breakfast. The twins managed to show up by seven. Katarina appeared to swallow the story that Jenny had fallen down the stairs. She started to chatter about anything else but the events of last night, just as Irene had expected.
Goteborgs-Posten had a huge headline on the first page: MILITANT VEGANS BURN TRUCK. Underneath that, a subhead: POLICE BELIEVE ARSONIST CAUGHT. Jenny quickly folded the paper with the first page inside.
AT THE STATION everyone’s spirits were down. The investigative group held a brief morning prayer. Andersson announced that the technicians had found a few new leads. One of the suitcases had long blond strands of hair. The strands were fresh. They hadn’t been permed or bleached, and they were about four inches long. It was possible that they might have come from a wig. Hair samples from all blond female suspects would be collected and tested. Fingerprints, fresh and clear, had been found on the inside edge of the second suitcase. Fredrik had been given the task of collecting the samples.
The Ghostbusters Group could pick up the suitcases if they wished. They did.
HANNU, TOMMY, AND Irene were given four paper bags filled with the contents of the suitcases. Irene took the time to look through both of the empty suitcases before they left the building. These two were larger than Lovisa Lowander’s had been. One was made of thick leather with reinforced corners. The monogram H.L. was on the edge. Obviously Hilding Lowander’s.
The other one was made of heavy yellow-gray cardboard. There were two wide leather ropes wrapped around it. A name tag with a yellowed celluloid window was attached to the handle. The name Tekla Olsson was faded but still legible, written in old-fashioned black-inked letters.
Svante Malm entered the laboratory. He pointed at the paper bags and said, “I wrote their initials on the outside.” The technician was as overworked as always and disappeared out the door as fast as he’d entered.
Two bags were marked H.L. and the other two T.O.
“So who shall we start with?” Tommy asked as he placed the bags on his desk.
“Tekla,” answered Irene and Hannu at the same time. They moved the two bags marked H.L. to the floor.
Methodically, Tommy started to unpack the things Tekla Olsson had left behind.
Uppermost was a knitted shawl in thin black wool. No moths had nibbled their way through it, which was understandable, since the unmistakable smell of mothballs spread through the room. Next Tommy unpacked a sturdy pair of walking shoes. They were made of brown leather and had low, thick heels. Also two pairs of underwear, rather large, in white cotton. Then a long white slip with embroidery around the neckline, and then a thin, armless nightdress in cotton satin and a pair of heavy black socks.
Irene held the clothes up next to her body. “She was almost as big and tall as I am.”
The next bag contained more interesting items: a number of envelopes and sheets of paper. At the bottom there were some thin books.
“Let’s divide the papers between us,” Tommy suggested.
The bag’s contents were quickly separated into three piles.
“I’m taking my share to my office,” Hannu said. He nodded and left carrying his share of papers under his arm.
AN HOUR LATER Hannu reappeared. Irene had finished going through her stack, and Tommy had only one more envelope to open and read.
“These can wait,” he said. “They’re mostly rent invoices anyway.” He set the envelope down again. “Who’ll start?”
“I can,” Irene said. She began to go through the papers in the order she’d looked at them. “I have an identification card made in the name of Tekla Viola Olsson. Born October eighteenth, 1911. On the line where the reason for wishing an identification card is given, someone has checked ‘New Employment.’ Maybe that’s when she started working at Lowander Hospital?”
“That’s correct. I have her proof of employment,” Hannu said.
Tommy said, “I have a number of letters from one of her friends. According to the return address, this is Anna Siwen. Her address is Rorstrandsgatan in Stockholm. Mostly she writes about her husband and her small child. In her last letter, judging by the date of October 1946, she seems to have had another child, a girl. Her first child had been a boy.
“I also have three letters from Anna Siwen. In the earliest letter, dated April 1943, she writes: ‘Mother’s difficult bout of pneumonia is almost past. She will make it this time, too.’ ” Tommy placed the letter he’d just read from back in the pile and took up another one. “The next one is a short letter, which says, ‘Mother much worse. She is asking for you. You must come home.’ ”
Tommy then picked up a third letter. He didn’t read it out loud but looked directly at his colleagues. “This is a long letter dated June first, 1943. The mother has died, and Anna writes about her deep sorrow and says things like, ‘We’ll make it through our grief together’ and ‘it’s hard to believe that our parents are gone.’ I believe that Anna is probably Tekla’s sister.”
“She had no relatives,” Hannu reminded them in his quiet way.
This was true, unless Anna Siwen and her entire family were gone before Tekla died. This didn’t seem probable.
“Siv Persson said that Tekla had a cousin. This cousin was supposed to come down to Goteborg and pick up this very suitcase but never came. Perhaps Anna was Tekla’s cousin?”
“If that’s so, they seem very close. Judging by these letters, you would assume Anna and Tekla had the same mother,” Tommy said.
“I have the death certificates of her parents,” Hannu said. He placed the yellowed sheets of paper next to each other on the table. Tekla’s mother had died three days after giving birth to her. Tekla had been the only child. Her father had passed away two years later. He was almost twenty years older than her mother.
“Two years old and already an orphan,” said Tommy. “Poor girl.”
“Do you think she was placed in an orphanage?” Irene wondered.
