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white Toyota Camry he’d had for years. “You see this dent?” he asked, rather gruffly. When she said she did, he asked, “Do you think women won’t date me because of the dent?”
    â€œWell, if they don’t date you because of the dent, you don’t want to date them,” she answered, and Stefan looked at her, considered her response, and laughed. That afternoon, he gave her a tour of the lab, then out to dinner with his tight group of friends. First impressions can shape relationships, but Annika’s of Stefan would be a passing one, as she sized him up as rather a crusty older man. At forty-three, his hair was prematurely greying, and he’d developed a slight stoop,perhaps from leaning over computers and microscopes, which made him look somewhat older than his years.

    Stefan
    (Courtesy of Annika Lindqvist)
    When she returned to Dallas two years later, after her graduation, Annika joined Stefan, working for him in his lab, renting an apartment near his in The Village. As a housewarming gift, one afternoon he gave her all of his pots, pans, and kitchen utensils. “I never cook,” he announced, and before long she realized it was true. When she visited his apartment with friends, she found his cupboards and refrigerator bare, except for a carton of eggs and one small pot to boil them in.
    As she looked around, she noticed a cabinet filled with prescription medicines, ones Stefan had stockpiled for years. As she grew to know him she’d realize that Stefan was something of a hypochondriac, continually asking his doctors for medicines but rarely taking them. Still, with a master’s degree in pharmacy, he had a respect for pills and rarely if ever threw any out.
    Seamlessly, Annika entered Stefan’s life, working at the lab, joining his friends on their evening forays into Dallas nightlife. There were Sunday afternoons spent leisurely brunching at the Intercontinental Hotel, drinking mimosas and listening to jazz, and Friday evening happy hours at a local Mexican restaurant with a large outdoor deck and goblet-size margaritas.
    Working with Stefan, Annika judged him to be rationaland highly analytical. Discussing possibilities, at work or over drinks, his mind filled with ideas not only for their research but for that of others at UTSW. Yet less than organized, at times he found focusing difficult, something Annika did exceptionally well. Quickly, they became a team, she implementing and organizing his ideas, while he moved forward on the research’s bigger picture, investigating the effects of high blood pressure during pregnancy and the molecular mechanisms involved in premature births.
    Over the years, Stefan grew to rely on Annika at work, and she realized that, but still her feelings were hurt the day she called in sick and he pushed to know when she’d be back, saying not that she needed to take care of herself but that he had work waiting for her. When she returned, however, coworkers surrounded her, asking about her health. “Stefan was so worried,” more than one told her. “He was talking about getting a doctor for you.”
    A long with the others, Stan Rich lived in The Village and became a member of Stefan’s circle of friends, going out many evenings. Rich was raised in Northern Europe, and he and Stefan had much in common. Like Mark Bouril, when Rich had first noticed Stefan at the complex, he had a scowl on his face, one Rich later recognized meant his new friend was deep in thought.
    In the bars and restaurants, they laughed and joked, happy to be together. At times, Stefan suggested an evening at a north Dallas club, where he sashayed on the floor, deep into the tango or the flamenco. There one night, he spoke Russian to a woman while they danced. When she asked him what he did, Stefan stared at her, his face blank, and said, “I’m working for the KGB.”
    Shocked, the woman dropped her hands and walked away,