The Glass Devil

Chapter 10

“LET’S START WITH JACOB Schyttelius. Thirty-one years old. Found in a cottage, shot: one round to the chest and one through the head. No weapon was found near the body, but the technical investigation of the bullets shows that he was shot with the same weapon as his parents. The first bullet’s point of entry was a few centimeters above the heart, at an angle toward the breastbone. The bullet tore the aorta and became lodged in the spine. No carbon or gunpowder residue was found around the point of entry. The other shot went through the head. The point of entry was between the eyes, just above the bridge of the nose. The remaining portions of the face were covered with large quantities of carbon and gunpowder residue. The whole back of the head was blown away.”

That’s where Superintendent Andersson stopped his reading of the preliminary autopsy report, which he had received that morning. He peered over the edge of his cheap reading glasses. “There’s a lot of stuff here about which parts of the brain were damaged, but I’ll skip that. The end result is that the brain was destroyed.”

He cleared his throat and continued reading aloud. “The bullet was retrieved from the floor. Each of the gunshot wounds would have been fatal. The victim would have become unconscious and died immediately. At the time of examination, rigor mortis was fully developed. Body temperature indicated that Schyttelius had been dead for about sixteen hours, which means he died around eleven o’clock on Monday night, with a window of an hour before and an hour after.”

The superintendent looked up from the paper again.

“We know that he worked out at the gym until ten thirty. Then it took a little time for him to take a sauna and shower. We don’t know exactly when he left the gym. The murder most likely occurred between eleven and twelve. We can’t get closer than that yet.”

He looked down at the paper to find his place.

“The toxicology tests were negative. The absence of a weapon, the appearance of the crime scene, and the victim’s injuries make it clear that Jacob Schyttelius was murdered.”

Andersson put the paper on the table in front of him and looked at his inspectors gathered there on this Monday morning. Everyone in the division was present except for Jonny, who had called in sick during the morning.

“Any comments?”

“The murderer was cold-blooded. Despite the fact that the shot to the heart hit home, the perpetrator walked up and fired a shot through the head, which would without a doubt be fatal, while the victim was lying on the floor. An unnecessary assault,” said Tommy.

The others nodded in agreement. The superintendent also nodded before he read the two other reports.

“Sten Schyttelius. Sixty-four years old. Found dead in his bed. Shot in the head with one round. The point of entry was calculated as being just above the bridge of the nose. The remainder of the face was heavily covered with carbon and gunpowder residue. The weapon was fired from a distance of just a few centimeters. The bullet was retrieved from the floor under the bed.”

Andersson looked up again.

“The head injuries of all three victims were the same, so I’ll continue reading. Death was most likely instantaneous. Rigor mortis and their body temperature pinpoints the time of death at some eighteen hours before the victims were found, about one o’clock on Tuesday morning. The toxicology tests show that Sten Schyttelius had been drinking alcohol. His blood alcohol level was one point one. Elsa had high levels of nitrazepam and citalopram in her system, and the pathologist writes in parentheses that these are sleeping pills and anti-depressants. In Sten’s case, the bullet’s trajectory was slightly to the left. Elsa’s bullet veered more strongly to the left. Based on this, the pathologist determines that the murderer stood next to Sten Schyttelius’s side of the bed during both shots and that he’s right-handed. Comments?”

It was quiet for a few seconds before Irene asked permission to speak.

“The murderer sneaked into the bedroom after Sten Schyttelius fell asleep. He was probably sleeping quite heavily, based on his blood alcohol level. Elsa was also probably already asleep, because she was filled with sleeping pills. That’s why he shot Sten, then Elsa. What strikes me is that Elsa was also shot from a distance of only a few centimeters. He must have placed one knee on the bed and leaned over Sten in order to get so close to Elsa.

“Two shots hit Jacob, and one definitely fatal shot each for Sten and Elsa. Perhaps he didn’t want to fire more often so as not to risk being heard. One or two shots may pass as a backfire, but three or four will arouse suspicions,” Irene continued.

“The fact is that no one heard any shots at all. It was after midnight when they were shot,” Fredrik pointed out. “The rectory is in a remote location. The neighbors who might have heard something were probably in bed asleep.”

“We also have no reports of suspicious cars near the rectory. In such a small place as Kullahult, people should have noticed if an unfamiliar car showed up during the evening or night,” the superintendent said gruffly.

“But we have the car in the woods near Norssjön. And the technicians have confirmed that the woolen threads we found come from the same piece of clothing. Of course, we don’t know for sure that the clothing belongs to the murderer, but in any case someone walked between the clearing and the beach below the cottage,” said Irene.

Suddenly Andersson left the room. The others looked at each other in surprise. Since the door was open, they could hear him rummaging around in his office, mumbling, most likely swearing. He came back after about a minute, red in the face but with a triumphant smile. In one hand, he held a set of maps of Göteborg and surrounding areas.

“I found it. It’s more detailed than the road map,” he said while he was flipping through the pages to find the ones covering Kullahult and Norssjön.

“I thought about Fredrik and Irene’s walk from the position of the car in the woods to Schyttelius’s cottage, and then something struck me. If you drive on the roads, then it’s at least six kilometers between the cottage and the rectory. Let me check. . ”

With a lot of puffing and mumbling, Andersson measured the distance on the map and tried to transform the map’s scale into kilometers.

“Twelve kilometers, round trip. Plus two hundred additional meters to the suspicious car in the woods,” he determined finally.

He tore out the page for the Norssjön area and placed it next to the map of Kullahult. He placed his fat index finger where the cottage was located and said, “But if the murderer went to Norssjön and then walked straight through the woods, the distance would be considerably shorter. Let’s see. . ”

New grunting and measurements revealed that it was four and a half kilometers between the crime scenes, if one took the path through the woods.

“Add two hundred meters to reach the car. A total of nine point two kilometers back and forth. It’s not impossible to walk it,” said the superintendent.

“But terribly difficult! We were pretty tired after trudging those two hundred meters through the woods,” Irene objected.

“But we had on the wrong kind of shoes,” Fredrik said. “If this guy is used to being in the woods and had the right gear, then it wouldn’t be a problem.”

“But it must have been pitch-black in the woods if the murderer set out right after killing Jacob. He’d have to be careful not to break his ankle or get lost. But he might have felt safe if he used a flashlight,” Tommy added thoughtfully.

“The murderer seems to be very much at home. He knew where the keys were to the front doors and to the computer room at the rectory, and where the gun cabinet was. He knew of the small hiding place behind the panel in the cottage. And maybe he went through the woods between the cottage and the rectory. What strikes me is the degree of his local knowledge,” Irene concluded.

Fredrik glanced at Irene. “We never continued farther than the cottage. Maybe there’s a path or a trail there that we missed. Maybe we should go out and look again. .?”

“You can go out in the woods and look around,” Irene said. “I’m going to see Eva Möller.”

She really didn’t want to have him accompany her. At the same time, she wondered if she was crazy to take an airhead like Eva seriously. But she couldn’t get the cantor’s last words out of her head: “Together we can find out Sten’s hidden secrets. . ”

Irene called Eva Möller, and they arranged to meet at Eva’s place after two o’clock. That gave Irene a few hours to spend on the files and to write her report. As luck would have it, Tommy came storming in and insisted that she listen to the latest news about the Speedy murder.

“Everything changed when I had the idea of talking to Asko Pihlainen’s neighbor across the street, an eighty-year-old woman named Gertrud Ritzman. She has serious heart problems and doesn’t have much time left, she says. But her mind is clear as a bell. She was the one who came up with the idea that we should film her testimony, in case she gets worse or dies before the trial.

“When I asked her about the morning in question, when Asko and his neighbors, Mr. and Mrs. Wisköö, claim they were playing cards, she said right away that it wasn’t true. She doesn’t sleep well and often gets up during the night. She remembered this particular morning really well. At about five thirty in the morning, Wisköö’s car pulled up outside Pihlainen’s shack, and Asko jumped out almost before the car stopped. He rushed into his place as Paul Wisköö drove the car into his carport. Neither Asko nor Paul Wisköö were playing cards with their wives at around five a.m.

“I did some research on Paul Wisköö, by the way, and, as you’ve probably already guessed, it’s a fake name. Guess what good old Neighbor Paul’s real name is?”

“No idea.”

“Paul Larson, alias Pepsi!”

Irene thought she recognized the name, but it took a few seconds before she was sure. She exclaimed, “Clark Bertilsson’s old buddy! Well, I’ll be damned. His resumé must be as long as the road between Kungsbacka and here. If he’s involved, then it’s definitely about narcotics. Lots of drugs.”

“Bingo. He’s served time for narcotics violations and bank robbery at various times. And a few years ago, Asko and Pepsi were in the same jail. They hit it off and became friends. They even live next door to each other.”

“And they have quite a bit of money. They live in huge new houses near the ocean outside Kungsbacka. Officially, what do they do?”

“Cars. They work at a company which only sells luxury cars, both new and used.”

“Is there a lot of money to be made from used luxury cars?”

“Let’s put it this way: Rather a used Porsche than no Porsche at all.”

“Good point. So, is there suspicion that their income is too big for the car business?”

“Yep. And both Pepsi and Asko have served time for narcotics violations and assault. My thinking is that these guys took a contract on Speedy. Rumor has it that Speedy embezzled money from his distributors. Because Speedy was a big dealer, it must have been a lot of money. The boss decided to get rid of Speedy, to make an example.”

“Do you have any idea who the head guy is?”

“Not a clue. The idea is that we begin by investigating Pepsi and Asko. It will be a difficult job to map out the circles these guys move in, but we’ll run this investigation together with Narcotics. They’ve been doing surveillance on the importing of luxury cars to Sweden. There is clear suspicion that the drugs are being smuggled in via the cars. Welded into beams and the like.”

“Have they found anything?”

“A Jag which seems to have no owner. It’s registered in a fake name and still parked in the garage. Of course, no one is stupid enough to inquire about a car that held five kilos of heroin and twice as much cocaine.”

“You’ll be very busy now,” she realized.

“Yup. You’ll have to go to London by yourself. But you have to promise not to do any investigating on your own. We haven’t really recovered from your last trip abroad.”

It was meant as a joke and Tommy smiled, but for the life of her Irene couldn’t join him. The events in Copenhagen more than year ago were still far too traumatic.

IRENE TOOK several wrong turns, even though it had only been a few days since she and Fredrik had located Eva Möller’s isolated cottage. It wasn’t until she saw the ruined split oak that she was certain she was on the right road. The sun had hidden itself behind a thick layer of clouds during her entire trip from Göteborg, but it broke through just as she pulled up next to Eva Möller’s red car and turned off the engine. It warmed and illuminated the property, and Irene had an easier time understanding why someone would want to live like the cantor. The view took her breath away just as it had the first time. Everyone who visited Eva must do the same thing: stop to admire the fantastic view.

When Irene turned her gaze from the valley and the distant blue sky, she saw Eva standing in the doorway. She waved in welcome, and Irene walked over to her.

“I’m so happy that you wanted to visit! Come in,” Eva said, and she sounded as if she meant it.

Irene stepped into the cozy kitchen and began to unbutton her coat, but Eva said, “Keep your coat on. We’ll go outside, since it’s so warm and comfortable near the house. You can help me carry things.” Without waiting for an answer, she gave Irene the iron pot and the glass staff from the shelf above the stove. She herself took a wooden box whose contents Irene couldn’t see, since it was covered with a blue cloth. Irene, puzzled, followed in her wake. What had she gotten herself into? Now it was too late to back out.

Eva walked up to the western wall of the house, where the sun was broiling hot. She set the box down and spread a well-ironed blue cloth over the table. She pointed at two white plastic chairs, one on either side of the table.

“Let’s sit and talk first. Put the things down in the meantime.” Irene did as she was told and sat on one of the cushionless chairs, which felt cold even through her jeans. Eva gracefully sank into the other chair. The dark-blue dress she was wearing was much more dramatic than the ethereal light-blue one she had worn on Irene’s first visit. It had long slits in the straight sleeves, and the dress itself was of a narrower cut. The V-neck was deep and revealed her cleavage, where a small silver bell hung. Over the dress, Eva wore a vest made of thin black yarn. It was ankle-length, made of extremely small crocheted stars sewn together.

“I know that you think what we’re going to do seems crazy, but it’s really very simple magic,” Eva started.

Irene didn’t reply, because she didn’t know what to say. “Regular magic is something that anyone can perform, but what we’re going to do requires much, much more. We’re going to try to uncover the deepest secrets of a dead person. It’s possible that it won’t work, but it’s worth a try.”

Eva smiled, and her eyes shone with excitement. The sun gleamed on her loose hair, and she looked completely enchanting. Definitely not like the witch she must see herself as. Eva’s little speech about magic had opened Irene’s eyes; now she wasn’t afraid, just curious.

“First we need to create a sacred room, and we couldn’t wish for a better room than Mother Earth’s sacred temple.”

Eva threw her hands out and made a sweeping gesture, encompassing the nature surrounding them. Irene had to agree that it was very pretty, now that the trees and bushes around Eva’s house were turning light green. It was warm near the wall of the house, and an early bumblebee buzzed lazily under the overhang of the roof in its attempt to find a good place to live. Irene felt relaxed. Suddenly, a picture of the mangled cat Felix popped up in her mind. It was strange, because she hadn’t actually seen the dead cat. She must have made a gesture of aversion, and Eva noticed it.

“Something is weighing on you. Tell me, and you’ll be rid of it. If you allow it to remain with you, it will affect your meditation and will weaken us. And we need all the energy we can get,” she said.

To her own surprise, Irene explained how Sammie had killed Felix, and described their neighbors’ terrible grief. She revealed that she wanted to give the Bernhögs a new cat. Eva stared at her for a moment, then rose and disappeared into the house.

After a few minutes, she came back and, with a sunny smile, said, “It’s been taken care of. We can pick up the kitten when you’re ready to go home.”

Irene was uncomfortable for a moment. Then she felt as if a knot in her stomach had loosened. She hadn’t been aware that it was there, but now that it was gone she felt free. It was easier to breathe. Irene inhaled deeply and, half unaware, noted that she was already ready for Mukuso-meditation.

“I have a ring of silicon stones here,” Eva said. “When we’ve entered the circle-the holy room-we must not leave it until we’ve finished everything we’re going to do. It would weaken the power.”

Irene nodded.

“Good. I’ll put the table inside the ring, so that we’ll have an altar.”

Eva lifted the table, carried it a few meters away, and set it down again. She straightened the cloth and backed up a few steps, as if to make sure the altar looked neat. When Irene stood, she saw a ring of small white stones lying in the thin grass. A large flat-topped stone lay inside the ring.

“I’ll lift my tools, explain to you what they are, and bring them inside the circle. If you know what they are and you understand what their purpose is, your concentration won’t be affected later on.”

Eva bent and took the glass staff from the grass. She held it up toward the sun. Blinding flashes of light were refracted from the top.

“This, of course, is my magic staff. It represents fire. Fire stands for passion and will, change, cleansing, and sexuality. It belongs to the sun.”

She carefully set the staff on the table. Now she took up the double-edged knives. The sharpened blades gleamed in the sun. She held up the largest of the knives. “This is my athame. It is the tool of air. It cannot be used to hurt living creatures, but it is a sharpened weapon. You direct and move energy with it. When I cut herbs, I use this old knife with a bone handle, which is also very sharp. Never my athame.”

Eva turned around and floated over to the table. When she came back, she took out an object wrapped in a shiny yellow silk fabric. The cloth package held the beautiful glass goblet that Irene had seen on the shelf in the kitchen.

“My goblet. Symbol of the water’s power and of the cardinal direction west. That’s why I’ve chosen to be by the western wall of the house. The goblet is going to help us see.”

With her other hand, she raised the small three-legged iron kettle into the air.

“The kettle is the tool of the spirit and doesn’t represent any element. It will take us to eternity and give us the presence of God. It will deepen our trance.”

Irene’s former feeling that the cantor was more than a bit weird returned; but at the same time, she had to admit that she was fascinated. Eva really believed that she could work magic.

Eva held up a juice-box of black currant juice, a small plate of Marie biscuits, and the glass paperweight with the pentagram that Irene had seen on her prior visit.

“The pentagram is the tool of the earth, the symbol of all earthly life. It is very strong. That’s why the Satanists are so willing to use it.”

She walked over to her altar and motioned for Irene to follow. Irene was uneasy, but she decided to pursue this to the bitter end. The possibility existed that Eva knew something about Sten Schyttelius, something that she was planning to reveal during her hocus-pocus. What one wouldn’t do to learn the truth. . Irene grimaced and then stepped resolutely into the ring.

Eva looked at her and started humming a wordless melody. It was a beautiful melody, and Irene again felt at peace. Sometimes Eva rang the silver bell she had around her neck. The soft sound was more of a sensation, but its presence added to the elevated feeling that was growing inside Irene. Humming, Eva walked up to the table and raised the glass staff. She slowly began to walk clockwise inside the circle of pebbles, holding the point of the staff down toward the stones. When she had completed one circuit, she stopped and raised the staff. A sharp beam of light shot out of its point and caught Irene in the eyes. She closed them involuntarily and sank to the ground.

When she opened her eyes again, she saw that Eva had traded the glass staff for the largest of the double-edged knives, the one she had called the athame. Eva stood with her arms outstretched, her face turned toward the house. She made a quarter turn and stood in the same position facing the woods. After another turn to the west, Irene understood that she was greeting the cardinal directions. Her soft humming could be heard the whole time, and sometimes Irene could make out single words. Suddenly, Eva stopped and turned her face toward the sun. Loud and clear, she said, “Mother Earth. Through the four elements and their four cardinal directions which exist within us and raise our spirit, I invoke you. Blessed be you and welcome.”

It became completely still. The light spring breeze died away. The heat increased, and it felt pleasant against Irene’s half-closed eyelids.

Eva pulled the plastic stopper out of the juice box and poured the dark-red drink into the glass goblet. She took a photo from the bottom of the kettle and placed it on the table. She turned toward Irene and whispered, humming, “Now we’re going to become immersed in a trance. A picture of Sten is on the table, one I cut out of a newspaper. We’re going to focus on Sten and ask the Goddess to help us. Hopefully, we’ll find out his deepest secret.”

She turned toward the altar again, placed the newspaper clipping in the middle of the table, and placed the goblet with its shimmering ruby drink on top. With her hands raised, she sang a short invocation, before she gripped the athame with both her hands and pressed the blade against her forehead. With eyes closed, she stood still and let her consciousness sink inward.

Irene had never before experienced going into Mukuso so quickly. A pleasant warmth and peace spread through her body and she felt as light as a feather. Wonderful soap bubbles in shimmering colors floated through her thoughts, and she was pulled toward The Light. When she was almost there, she tried to focus on Sten Schyttelius.

The change came gradually; at first she didn’t notice anything. After a while, she realized that she was on her way away from The Light. She became aware that she was freezing and tried to pull her jacket tighter around her. But it wasn’t possible, since she was so deep in the trance. Her limbs were heavy, and she couldn’t will them to move. A dark mist began to conceal The Light. She heard a voice that said, “Keikoku! Mate!” terms from Japanese combat sports, warning her to stop. She felt endangered. She had to break out of her trance. Something was going terribly wrong.

With an enormous effort of will, she came out of the trance and started working her way up toward consciousness. She finally managed to open her eyes and focused on Eva at the altar.

Everything happened very fast. Afterward, she wasn’t sure what she had really seen. Maybe she had still been in the trance.

The sun had gone behind the clouds and the wind had picked up considerably. Eva was staring into the goblet, her eyes wide in terror. Only a moaning sound came from her. As Irene gazed at her, Eva was lifted about a few inches above the ground and then hurled backward in the direction of the house. Her head hit the stone base of the house with a dull thud and she lay there, unmoving.

Irene was wide awake at once and on her feet before she was even aware of it. She rushed over to Eva and felt her pulse. It was strong and regular, and her breathing seemed normal. Relieved, Irene observed Eva’s eyelids twitch. When she opened them a moment later, her gaze was disoriented.

“What. . what happened?” she asked.

Before Irene had time to answer, Eva screamed, “It was Satan himself!”

Irene put her hand on Eva’s forehead and told her to lie still and calm down. Perhaps Eva had suffered a concussion. She carefully felt the back of Eva’s head. A large bump was starting to swell. Eva tried to get up, but Irene had to help her because she began to shake violently. Irene supported her up the stairs and into the small living room behind the kitchen. Eva lay down on the comfortable-looking sofa.

Irene gazed around the room. It looked ordinary, filled with a mixture of old and new furniture. Nothing showed that a witch lived here, although the tarot cards on the coffee table and the crystals on the windowsill might cause some suspicion.

“I’ll bring the things inside. It looks like it could start raining at any moment,” said Irene.

Eva nodded and closed her eyes as if she were very tired.

When Irene came in with the box, Eva was sitting up on the sofa. She looked out through the window, where the first drops of rain had started slapping against the pane. She asked, “What happened? I remember that I saw a face in the goblet and I became terribly afraid but. . then everything went black. But I remember the feeling of strong evil.”

She tore her gaze from the window and looked at Irene. To her vexation, Irene could hear herself stammer when she started to explain. “I. . I was also in a deep trance. . it’s possible that I wasn’t completely awake. . ” Irene tried to explain what she had seen. A trace of her former assurance glimmered in Eva’s violet blue eyes, and she said, almost mockingly, “You don’t want to believe in what you saw. It doesn’t matter. We managed to find out something very important.”

“What?”

“There was a place of darkness in Sten. And it was evil.”

Eva carefully felt the bump at the back of her head. “Do you think you could bring me a cold glass bottle or jar from the fridge? I need to ice this bump.”

Irene went into the kitchen and took a bottle of Ramlösa from the refrigerator. When she gave it to Eva, she asked, “What do you mean?”

“Wherever Sten may be now, he isn’t wandering around in heavenly pastures!” Eva remarked.

“Do you mean that he’s in hell?”

“No. There’s no place called hell. Do you know what hell is?” Eva looked at her with a steady gaze.

“No.”

“That everything is too late. You cannot change anything or make anything better. The person you have been during your life is also the person you will be after death. Nothing that you have said or done can be changed, and that will affect all of the people you have met and everyone who has been close to you long after your death. For generations, centuries. . yes, maybe for eternity. All religions want to offer you peace, and salvation from your sins, at least after death. The truth is that there can be no salvation from yourself.”

It took a while before the true meaning of the cantor’s words sank in. Eva placed the bottle on the coffee table.

“Now we’re going to go and pick up the kitty.”

IRENE DROVE along the wet, bumpy gravel roads as Eva directed her. Good friends of Eva’s had a cat that had been on the prowl unusually early this spring. The kittens were still maybe a bit too small to be separated from their mother, but they were pretty much weaned. Since its new family was familiar with cats, this wouldn’t be a major problem.

“That’s where they live,” Eva said, pointing at a small farm. Irene turned into in at the driveway and sent a sympathetic thought to her shock absorbers. She parked on the gravel drive, and Eva jumped out without asking if she wanting to come inside.

Everything looked very neat at this little farm. The main house itself was white stucco, in contrast to the well-kept Falu-red wooden outbuildings and the barn. All the flowerbeds around the house were newly dug up and ready for planting.

After a while, Eva came running through the rain. She was carrying a box in her arms. Irene opened the door for her so that she could jump inside. When she had the shoe box in her lap, Irene saw that Ecco was written on the lid, in which air holes had been punched. Eva carefully lifted it a crack and whispered, “Isn’t she cute? Her name is Felicia. Remember to tell the new family that they absolutely can’t change her name.”

Irene glimpsed a small, light apricot-colored ball of fur wrapped in a piece of terry cloth.

“Felicia,” she said aloud so that she wouldn’t forget.

FELICIA SLEPT in her box the whole way home to the row-house area. The rain stopped just as Irene turned in on Fiskebäcksvägen. The setting sun managed to peer out from under the banks of clouds and tinged their underbellies a glimmering golden red. It was a magnificent display of colors.

When Irene had parked the car, she walked directly to the Bernhögs’ door and rang the bell. Margit Bernhög opened the door a crack after the second ring. Irene tried to sound untroubled as she recited the litany she had practiced in the car.

“Hi, Margit. I was wondering if you would like to take care of little Felicia here. A friend of mine asked me to find her a new home with a cat lover. Otherwise they’ll have to put her to sleep, and that would be terribly sad.”

Margit Bernhög jerked at the last sentence and looked wide-eyed at Irene. Reluctantly, she lowered her eyes to the box. Irene lifted the lid and held the box out to her. At just that moment, Felicia woke up. She stretched her little fuzzy body and yawned so that her cute light-pink tongue stretched out. Margit carefully lifted up the sleepy kitten and gently burrowed her nose into her soft fur.

“So cute. . little Felicia. . thank you,” she stammered without looking at Irene.

She was totally absorbed in the apricot-colored furball. Then Felicia turned her head and met Irene’s eyes with her round violet-blue ones.