“I’ll track down Anna Siwen and her relatives,” Hannu said.
Irene and Tommy were grateful to hear that. They were confident that whoever was left in Anna Siwen’s family was as good as found.
“Tekla had good grades from the Sophia nursing school. Not as fantastic as Lovisa’s, but still fairly high. She received her nursing diploma in 1934.”
“Did they both attend Sophia at the same time?” Tommy asked.
“No. Tekla was seven or eight years younger than Lovisa. Since Lovisa moved back to Goteborg after she graduated to work in her father’s hospital, they couldn’t have met before Tekla started working at Lowander.”
“And by then Hilding and Lovisa were already married,” Tommy said thoughtfully.
“Yes, they’d been married for six years.”
Irene waved her hand over her stack of papers. “Most of the rest of these are Christmas cards and other greetings from friends. Probably fellow students from Sophia.”
Tommy nodded. “Same thing here. But I have two letters from a man as well. They’re love letters. Both are dated July 1942. No return address, but he signs his name as ‘Erik.’ ”
“I have Erik’s last letter,” Hannu said. He pulled a thin envelope from his pile. “He’s calling it off. He met someone else.”
“What is the date of the proof of employment at Lowander?” Irene asked eagerly.
“November first, 1942.”
“That explains how she ended up in Goteborg. The same old story. Unhappy love,” Irene stated.
Tommy thought a minute before he said, “Wonder where she lived.”
“At the hospital,” Hannu answered. He flipped through his papers and found the sheet he was looking for. “Appendix to the employment contract. The hospital provided her housing. One room. She had to share a kitchen and a bathroom with two other nurses. But there’s another employment contract, too.” He pulled out a thick white envelope from the bottom of his pile. “This is from 1944. Nurse Tekla achieved a new rank as head nurse. The hospital would provide a one-room apartment with kitchen and bathroom just for her.”
“Sounds like the apartment for the doctor on duty,” Irene said, surprised.
“Let’s have another chat with your doctor,” Tommy said.
“He’s not my doctor.” To her embarrassment, Irene felt a blush come to her cheeks. Perhaps she was already getting high blood pressure like Superintendent Andersson?
Tommy gave her a teasing look but changed the subject. “All her books are collections of poetry. We can put them aside and assume she liked poetry. Should we get something to eat before we go through Hilding’s bags or wait until afterward?”
“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 Siwen 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 Etymologique 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 Lowander, 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 Lowander, 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 Lowander 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 Lowander 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 Lowander 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 Lowander suffers from Turner syndrome, there are valid reasons to consider adoption. I have known the Lowanders for many years and can bear witness to their good character and reputation. Although Lovisa Lowander is over forty, this is no reason for avoiding adoption. She is unusually intelligent, hardworking, and healthy. Dr. Lowander is a well-respected doctor and a fine person besides. These two people would make excellent parents.”
