The Glass Devil

Chapter 15

“SHE WAS ACTUALLY THE one who suggested that I film her.”

Tommy waved the videocassette he held in his hand. Irene, Superintendent Andersson, and Fredrik sat in front of the TV in one of the larger interrogation rooms, the audience for Tommy’s movie premiere.

With a ceremonious expression, he inserted the cassette in the VCR and started it. The chosen audience could hear Tommy’s voice when he announced the date, which was a bit unnecessary since it was also displayed in one of the corners of the screen. Then he continued, “Present are myself, Detective Inspector Tommy Persson; Prosecutor Inez Collin; and attorney Henning Neijlert. The witness who will be questioned is Mrs. Gertrud Ritzman.”

The camera captured Inez Collin’s profile. Her light hair was gathered in a neat ponytail. She was wearing a light-brown leather blazer and a toffee-colored silk top under it, with the pearl necklace she often wore around her neck. She unconsciously stroked the pearls. Irene noted long bronze-colored fin-gernails and a large brilliant diamond ring on her left ring finger.

Attorney Neijlert was a nervous blinking man, a bit past middle age. His hairline was almost at the top of his head, but the curly hair that remained was surprisingly thick and silver-gray. His pointy facial features made him look like an old poodle.

Previously, Tommy had told Irene that Gertrud Ritzman had just turned eighty. She looked it, but her haggard appearance was mainly a result of her illness, not of her age itself. Her claw-like hands shook when she pulled a light-blue sweater tighter around herself. The skin on the backs of her hands was spotted and wrinkled. It seemed too big for her almost transparent hands. Her lips had a bluish tinge against the pale-yellow skin of her face, and her breathing was heavy and strained. A large oxygen tank sat next to her. A thin plastic tube ran from it to her nose to provide her with extra oxygen.

“Mrs. Ritzman has asked me to videotape her testimony about what took place on the night in question, and early that morning. She believes she’s ill enough that there’s a chance she might be. . gone. . when the time comes for the trial of Asko Pihlainen,” Tommy’s voice said.

“I’m going to be dead. I should be already, but I’m tough.” Resolutely, the little woman took the initiative and explained how she had seen Asko Pihlainen and his neighbor, Wisköö, pull up in front of the houses right across from her own on the morning in question. The time was almost five thirty. There was no way they could have been playing poker with their wives at around five o’clock, as they claimed.

Inez Collin asked a few questions in order to check how well Gertrud Ritzman was aware of dates and times. There was never the slightest hesitancy in her answers. Her memory was sound as a bell. The group asked a few supplementary questions. Toward the end, her clear gaze clouded somewhat and her voice shook noticeably between her wheezing breaths. She was completely worn out and wouldn’t last much longer. Tommy must have realized this as well, because he finished the questioning with a pan shot of the people present in the room. Then the TV screen turned black.

Andersson broke the silence. “Will this hold up?” he asked.

“According to the prosecutors, it will hold up in court,” Tommy replied.

“How is it going for Narcotics?”

“They are in the process of tracing some leads. Where the narcotics have gone after being brought ashore, and so on. But you know how Narcotics is: They don’t say much.”

“Okay. Keep in touch with them,” said Andersson.

Irene asked permission to speak and told them what Lisa Sandberg at Save the Children had said. She finished by explaining her own theory. “Apparently, the pictures are terribly disturbing and those who have seen the material have not felt well afterward. Rebecka’s depression in the fall started during her work on this pedophile ring. I’m starting to wonder if she came across something that threatened a certain person. Maybe she told her parents and brother. I think they revealed their knowledge to this person. Maybe they didn’t realize that it could be dangerous. The person felt so pressured that he-or she-killed all three of them.”

“But then why won’t Rebecka tell us what it’s about?” Fredrik exclaimed.

“I don’t know. Maybe she doesn’t know herself. Or maybe she’s been frightened into silence.”

“Hell, she wouldn’t protect her own family’s murderer!” Andersson exploded.

“I agree that it sounds strange. But that’s the only conclusion I can reach.”

Finally, Fredrik said, “Rebecka is the key to everything. You will have to try to talk with her again. She must be made to understand that she might be the next victim.”

The superintendent drummed his fat fingers on the table. The color in his face rose and he moved his lips as he was thinking. Suddenly he slapped the palm of his hand on the tabletop. “Okay. Rebecka has to start talking, Irene. You’ll have to get in touch and try to arrange a new meeting with her.” He pursed his mouth thoughtfully. “There’s something that doesn’t add up about that girl. Could she have done it?” he asked.

Irene had just realized that Andersson’s words meant that she would get to go to London again. She was surprised by his follow-up question. The thought had never occurred to her. When she had recovered from the shock, she said, “No. Rebecka has an alibi. Christian Lefévre says that she worked all day. Then she had a headache and went to bed. And she was at work when Lefévre arrived on Tuesday morning. Jacob and her parents were killed during the night. No. There’s no chance.

“And furthermore, I honestly don’t think she could kill another person.”

“And Lefévre?” Tommy asked.

“Hardly. He has never met Rebecka’s family. And he went to his usual pub right after work and worked on a betting pool with his friends. That can be checked out.”

“Check it, then,” the superintendent decided.

The meeting was finished.

“HEY, GLEN,” said Irene.

After many fruitless telephone calls, she managed to reach him. He sounded sincerely happy when she said that she would be coming back to London for supplementary questioning of Rebecka Schyttelius. Irene told him about the information that Save the Children had provided. Glen reflected on what she had told him.

“It’s a possibility. In a way, I think it’s more plausible than the Satanist lead. Or maybe the search for Satanists on the Internet got the same result as the search for the pedophiles. That is to say, that Rebecka found something troublesome about a person who absolutely didn’t want it revealed.”

“You mean we can’t drop the Satanic theory?”

“Well, there were the pentagrams.”

He was right. Irene thought the pedophile theory was likelier, since Rebecka’s depression had started during the fall while she was working on that investigation. But then there were the bloody pentagrams. The murderer must have known about the Schyttelius family’s Internet search for Satanists. A pedophile could hardly have known that. Unless he was close to the family.

Irene had to admit that they couldn’t rule out the Satanists entirely.

They agreed that Glen would check Christian Lefévre’s visit to the pub, just as a formality to placate Superintendent Andersson. Irene would get in touch with the pastor of the Swedish Seaman’s Church, Kjell Sjönell. When she knew the dates she would be in London, she would contact Glen again.

“I ACTUALLY haven’t had time to call Dr. Fischer as I promised. Since Rebecka is so sick, I thought there wasn’t any hurry,” Kjell Sjönell apologized.

“There isn’t. But it’s of the utmost importance that I meet with Rebecka again. You and I didn’t have time to talk much, the last time I called you. How did Rebecka react when she found out about what had happened to her family?” Irene asked.

It struck her that she hadn’t asked Glen about this either.

“I’ve thought a great deal about poor Rebecka. To deliver news of a death is one of the worst jobs I’ve had. And still I’ve performed this service many times.” Sjönell’s voice was filled with compassion.

“How did she react?”

“At first it seemed like she didn’t understand what I had said. When she realized what had happened, it was as if ice-cold fear enveloped her and froze her.”

“What do you mean?”

“All color left her face. She sat there with her mouth gaping, with a terrified look in her eyes. As if frozen in the moment. Nothing else happened. She just sat there, in the armchair. The question is whether or not that scream is still frozen inside her. I think it never came up out of her throat.”

He was probably right. This man had seen a great deal and met a lot of people at different stages in their lives. Irene sensed that he possessed a good knowledge of human nature. He was putting into words what she had suspected when she met Rebecka.

“Did you and Inspector Thompson meet her in her apartment?”

“Yes. She has an amazingly beautiful home. But it seems a bit minimalist. Don’t misunderstand me: It’s as consciously minimal as the decor in home design magazines. But I got a feeling of. . loneliness. It didn’t feel like she ever had large parties or entertained a lot of people in her apartment. If you know what I mean.”

“Yes. You see Rebecka as a lonely person.”

Sjönell seemed to weigh his words before he answered. “As a pastor, I often run into human loneliness. It’s an illness in today’s society. Yes, I think she’s solitary. The only ones she seems to have faith in are the young man she works with and Dr. Fischer. She asked us to call Dr. Fischer when she finally managed to say a few words.”

“So he came to her apartment?”

“Yes.”

“Have you and Dr. Fischer had any contact regarding the practical details surrounding the funerals?”

“No. But I can call him this afternoon. I have a good friend who runs a very well-regarded funeral home in Göteborg. He can best help Rebecka with all the arrangements. Might it be better to postpone the funeral for a few more weeks? The possibility exists that Rebecka will become well enough to be able to travel home.”

“Yes, it may be best to wait a bit longer,” Irene agreed.

She didn’t think Rebecka would ever be able to come home, but decided not to say anything.

A CERTAIN calm had fallen over the unit before the approaching Easter weekend. It would probably last for a few days, then be broken by chaos on Easter Eve. Domestic disputes, drunks, assaults, rapes, murder; everything that usually went along with the celebration of a holiday would occur. If there was a murder, then the inspectors who were on duty would have to take care of it. For the first time in many years, Irene was going to be off duty the whole weekend. Four days free. It felt too good to be true. On the other hand, she had been on duty the whole Christmas weekend and would have to work over Midsummer, so being free for Easter was only fair.

“It seems appropriate to talk about ashes today on Ash Wednesday,” said Svante Malm.

He had shown up around three o’clock in the afternoon to make a report. Irene suspected that he had smelled the coffee all the way down in the lab. Either that, or it was the smell of the freshly baked Tosca cake. It was Tommy’s treat, since his birthday would fall on Easter Monday. The next day, Maundy Thursday, he was going to go with his whole family to Åre for the season’s last ski-and-snowboarding trip. Irene didn’t envy him. Four hundred and eighty miles in an old Volvo with two adults, three children ages nine to fifteen, and a lively dog-incidentally, a daughter of Sammie’s-plus a lot of luggage, didn’t seem like a dream vacation. Even if the car was a station wagon, it would be a tight fit. Personally, she was looking forward to a relaxing weekend off with her family.

“There were definitely the remains of diskettes in the ashes. But we also found remains of videocassettes. Everything was burned pretty badly. There isn’t a chance of recovering what was on them.”

He leaned forward and took out a thick transparent plastic bag filled with small black clumps and black powder. To Irene it looked like regular ashes.

“This is interesting,” the technician said.

The gathered police officers tried to look sincerely interested.

“He-or she-had brought along charcoal with which to start a fire.”

The superintendent looked blank. With a show of patience, in a pedagogic tone of voice, Svante Malm continued, “It was cold and it started raining during the night of the murders. It wouldn’t have been easy to start a fire with the damp branches that were available in nature. So the murderer brought some charcoal, which is used in outdoor barbecues, in order to start a fire. We’ve also found traces of lighter fluid around the fire. Charcoal burns longer than regular wood. It becomes very hot and everything is thoroughly incinerated.

“Charcoal and lighter fluid. So the murderer had planned on burning the diskettes and the cassettes. He knew what he would find before the murders and what he would do with it,” Tommy concluded.

“But, of course, he had a little bit of bad luck. The wind probably blew this out of the fire, because it was caught in a bush a few meters away from it. We think it’s the cover from a match book. Advertising matches.”

Svante bent and fished out a smaller plastic bag. At first, Irene thought it was empty; but then she saw a small burned piece of light cardboard in one corner. After yet another deep rummage in the roomy bag, Svante stood and leaned a large piece of paper against the flip-over notebook stand behind him.

“An enlargement,” he said and stepped to the side so that they all could see.

Pu

Mosc

“Moscow. A Russian bastard who comes from Moscow,” said Jonny Blom. He laughed to show that it was a joke. Nobody paid attention to his remark.

“‘Pu.’ Could it be, for example, ‘public’ or ‘pub’?” Irene asked.

“Possibly. The edge of the paper ends right after the ‘u’ in ‘Pu’ and after the ‘c’ in ‘Mosc.’ I’m a bit uncertain as to whether there really is a small ‘e’ in front of the ‘Pu,’ but it looks most like an ‘e.’ It has a different appearance than the other letters. Old-fashioned script style.”

“Gothic,” said Hannu.

“If you say so. . ” said Svante.

He nodded to himself as if he had gotten something confirmed. Then he continued, “The text is white on a black background, except for the gothic ‘e,’ which is gold-colored.”

Something flickered at the very back of Irene’s memory, but it was too faint for her to make out what it was. Had she really seen that writing somewhere? She let it go, since she wasn’t sure.

She bought GT on the way home. The headlines proclaimed: “Pastor with connections to Satanic murders bore false witness!”

You’re managing, little Kurt, she thought contentedly.

MAUNDY THURSDAY started beautifully. The weather service had promised fine weather for the entire weekend, but their promises were not very dependable. In Irene’s opinion, you could put more stock in Eva Möller’s crystal balls and spells, or magical formulas. Speaking of whom, Irene found herself wondering if she had been hypnotized or ingested some kind of hallucinogenic drug at that strange witch’s place. But then she hadn’t had time to eat or drink anything. Had what she thought she had seen and experienced really happened?

She thought about it when she put on her jacket to get the car and drive to work.

Running into Mrs. Bernhög at the gate felt like a confirmation of her thoughts. Little Felicia tumbled around on a thin pink silk leash.

“I’m teaching her to walk on a leash. Just a few minutes a day to get her accustomed,” Margit Bernhög confided.

The apricot-colored furball sat and sniffed at a faded crocus. Pollen in her nose made her start to sneeze. She was irresistibly cute, and Mrs. Bernhög tenderly picked her up. Irene couldn’t help but pat Felicia on her back. Then the kitten peered up at Irene’s face. Irene realized that she recognized the look.

“KJELL SJÖNELL, pastor, has called. You have his number,” said a note lying on top of the pile on her desk. He’s a morning person, this pastor, thought Irene. She felt completely exhausted, but she was going to have her Easter holiday soon. The long vacation loomed just ahead of her.

Morning prayers was quick and short. Annoyingly, Jonny Blom hadn’t shown up. He hadn’t called in, either. Irene was a bit worried, since she knew that he was down for duty for three days during the long weekend. There was no one else to cover for him, since both she and Tommy would be on leave.

Irene didn’t find Kjell Sjönell at his work number, but he answered on his cell phone. He asked if he could call back later, because he was on the way to deal with a pressing matter. It wasn’t a problem for Irene: She was planning on spending the day cleaning up her paperwork.

Sjönell called around eleven. “I apologize for not being able to speak with you when you called, but I had to deal with an attempted suicide. A young man on a boat made an attempt last night. He needed to talk.” His voice sounded tired and sorrowful.

“No problem. I understand that you, too, need to work when needed,” said Irene.

“Yes. Unfortunately, it happens. But I phoned this morning to tell you that I’ve spoken with both Rebecka and Dr. Fischer. Both of them think it’s a good idea that I ask my good friend to take care of all of the funeral arrangements. He will even make an estate inventory. My friend will keep in touch with Rebecka and inform her about what is happening.”

“It must be a relief for her not to have to worry,” said Irene.

“Certainly. But she said something strange. I asked her if she wasn’t concerned about the houses and suggested that maybe she should put in a burglar alarm now that they’re going to be standing empty. She answered that she didn’t want a single thing from either house and, more than anything, wished they would burn down. She lost her entire family, and you would think she would want some keepsakes.”

“Strange attitude. But maybe the houses and the things would be a constant reminder of what happened.”

“That’s probably it. As I said, I spoke with Fischer and explained that you needed to speak with Rebecka again. He wasn’t pleased, but I said that new information has come forward that only Rebecka can explain. Then he said that maybe the week after Easter would be all right. There’s no point in trying any earlier.”

That worked perfectly for Irene, and she said so. When they were about to conclude the phone call, Sjönell said, “I forgot to say that the doctor wants to be present during the meeting this time as well. Was he there last time?”

“Yes. We met Rebecka at his office.”

“It seems as though he really cares about his patients. Either that, or he’s very involved with Rebecka.”

“That occurred to me as well.”

Irene pondered after they had ended the conversation. When she had made up her mind, she called Glen Thompson.

“OKAY,” GLEN said. “Check Christian Lefévre’s pub visit on Monday night and look into the head-shrinker. Is there something in particular you’re looking for when it comes to Fischer?”

“No. Just a feeling that it would be good to get to know him a little better. He is, as I said, unusually protective of Rebecka.”

“I know. He’s protecting her from us,” Glen laughed.

“It feels that way,” Irene admitted.

“When you visit next week, it would be better if you didn’t arrive on Tuesday or Wednesday. I’ll be out of town and will return late Wednesday night. Thursday and Friday are better for me.”

“That works for me.”

Glen promised to book a room at the Thompson Hotel for Thursday night in case she was going to stay overnight.

“You can actually make the trip in one day. Even if that is a bit stressful,” he said.

“It would be too stressful,” Irene decided.

It was a matter of seizing her opportunity, now that she had a second chance at visiting London. Furthermore, it was critical that she speak with Rebecka in peace and quiet. She couldn’t predict when during the day would be suitable for the lady. Just as well not to be pressed for time.

IRENE BOOKED the same flight times. She already dreaded the ungodly early-morning departure from Landvetter, but it was necessary if she wanted to have time to get anything done in London. The later flight didn’t arrive until one thirty in the afternoon. Even if English time was an hour behind Swedish summer time, it would still feel like the whole day was over.

Louise Måårdh called in the afternoon to say thank you. “I have no idea how you managed to get that damn journalist to write his article. I think it’s important that the same journalist wrote both. When he described how Urban manipulated and fooled the two of you, it felt great. I’ve gotten justice, even if we have to live with anonymous letters and phone calls a while longer. If Bengt doesn’t get the position as rector, Urban won’t either. That’s the only thing that matters!”

It wasn’t possible to miss her vindictive tone. Louise’s overflowing gratitude left a sour taste in Irene’s mouth after the she had hung up the phone.

She’d gotten interesting glimpses of church life during the investigation. Before this case had begun, she had had a faint impression of pastors devoted to their calling of caring for souls; but that picture had been altered. Pastors, she had found, are like everyone else, with faults and weaknesses. The difference is that they can conceal them behind their pastor’s garb and people’s inherited reverence for the church. If you lift the gold-embroidered chasubles and scrape at the pious surface, then you find everything from compassion to ordinary human feelings. It was a relief to meet a pastor like Kjell Sjönell. He seemed sincerely interested in other people’s fates and tried to be there for his fellow man. But of course, this took its toll. Irene remembered how tired he had sounded on the phone.

ANDERSSON CAME into Irene’s office just as she was leaving to pick up Krister. Sven seemed washed out. His face looked like it had been quickly put together out of dough. Irene was already on her way out of her office; but when her boss sank into the visitor’s chair, she sat back down as well. Andersson lifted his reading glasses and pinched the flesh between his eyes with the thumb and index finger of one hand.

“It’s as if everything is going wrong. The Speedy case is moving forward and we’ve bagged the post office robbers in Lerum. But in the investigation of the Schyttelius murders, we still don’t know much more than when the investigation started. It’s as if everything is fizzling.”

“I think that feeling is pretty familiar. It always shows up at a certain point in an investigation. It’s supposed to work that way.” Irene smiled encouragingly at the superintendent, but he didn’t acknowledge it.

Instead, he continued. “And then Jonny’s wife called a little while ago. He’s in the hospital. Something is wrong with his stomach. She didn’t know what it was.”

He looked guiltily at Irene. “That means that we need to divide his shift over the weekend. I already have Friday and Saturday, and I can take Sunday as well. Tommy is already on his way to the mountains. Could you think about taking Easter Monday?”

There went her long weekend. Bitterness toward Jonny swelled within her. It was always something with that incompetent fool! Stiffly, she said, “Put me down for Sunday and Monday. You need to have time to recover as well. Jonny will have to rest up in his sickbed. His poor liver will need it. His ‘stomach.’ Call it what you want!”

“Liver? Oh, you think. . ”

Andersson avoided making eye contact. He tried to feign ignorance, but everyone in the unit knew that Jonny had a drinking problem. Andersson didn’t hesitate to go after people who in his eyes mismanaged their jobs, but he thought it beneath him to discuss personal problems. “Fuss,” he would mutter and quickly start talking about something else.

He rose clumsily from the chair and started toward the door. Before he reached it, he turned and said, “It’s nice of you to take Easter Sunday and Monday. This investigation is probably taking more out of me than I’ve realized. I actually met Sten and Elsa once, a long time ago.”

His shrunken figure disappeared down the corridor. Irene was reminded of an old potato sack, shuffling around the house. Old. Andersson had really gotten old. It was increasingly evident that he wouldn’t be able to head the unit forever.

The thought frightened her. Who would become boss in his place?

“SO YOU’RE free on Good Friday and Easter Eve then? I work late on Easter Eve and all day on Easter Sunday. Easter Monday I’m free, but you’re working. We’ll have to aim for Good Friday,” Krister concluded.

They sat in an endless traffic jam on Södra vägen heading toward Mölndal. They had realized too late that it wasn’t a good idea to take this road toward Korsvägen, which was just one single chaos of roadwork and blockades. The idea had been to drive to Frölunda Torg and shop for the weekend. Irene would have preferred to avoid being squashed together with thousands of tired and stressed people on exactly the same errand; she would rather have driven straight home. But according to Krister, there was a threat of starvation in the pantry and refrigerator, so there was no choice.

Krister was driving. Irene leaned her head back against the headrest and closed her eyes. Thoughts swirled around aimlessly in her tired brain.

Her comfort level had suffered when Krister began to work full-time five years earlier. Before that, he had worked thirty hours a week and everything had run more smoothly at home. During the whole time the twins were young, he had had a reduced work schedule, since there were no part-time positions for detective inspectors and Irene hadn’t wanted to take a desk job. The deciding argument had been that she earned more as a policewoman than he did as a cook. When he got the offer to take over as head of the kitchen at Glady’s Corner, Irene had energetically supported him. It was his turn to focus on his career. She had regretted this many times since, but would never have told him so. He loved his work, even if he was often tired to the point of exhaustion when he came home. And who wasn’t, thought Irene. The worst thing was that they didn’t see each other very often. Now, with the twins living their own lives, it was more and more common that she came home to an empty house. Good thing Sammie was around.

They split up inside the shopping mall according to a well-rehearsed strategy. Irene had a list on which her husband had written what she should buy at the State Liquor Store. He went and botanized in the fruit and vegetable aisles, toured at the fishmonger, and rounded things off with a visit to the delicatessen. According to Krister, cheeses had to be tasted before they were purchased. He could stand and sample for fifteen minutes before he made up his mind. When Irene was doing the shopping, a plastic-covered Herrgård’s mild cheese went right into the basket without further ado, or maybe a tub of soft cheese flavored with shrimp.

IT WAS almost seven o’clock when they finally dragged themselves and their heavy bags over the threshold of their row house. Sammie jumped and bounced around them, eagerly investigating what was in the bags. He stuck his nose into a bag and sniffed. Little wieners? Liver paté? Grilled chicken? Yes! Grilled chicken!

Irene tripped over him when he was fussing around her legs. With repressed violence, she shooed him away from the grocery bags and went into the kitchen.

She made sure that she remedied the threat of starvation by filling the cupboards. Krister had purchased fresh baguettes which were still a little warm, a piece of whiskey cheddar, and a perfectly aged Brie. The cheese was going to be enjoyed with the evening’s salad. Because Jenny didn’t eat meat or fish or anything of animal origin whatsoever, all members of the family got to make their own salads. A base of tomatoes, onions, corn, cucumber, black olives, lettuce, and fresh basil was set in the middle of the table in a large bowl. There were smaller bowls with feta cheese, chicken pieces, and Thousand Island dressing around it. The dressing was made light with crème fraiche, which was the reason Jenny wouldn’t eat it but used vinaigrette instead.

Both girls were at home, and they helped slice the ingredients of the salad. Naturally, Jenny refused to involve herself with the chicken cadaver, so Krister had to do it himself. He paused in the middle of cutting up the chicken and said, “Girls. As usual, Mamma and I are working at different times this weekend-”

He was interrupted by Katarina, who exclaimed, “But you were supposed to have the weekend off!”

She looked at Irene accusingly. Irene knew full well that she worked too much, but with the occupation she had, there wasn’t much she could do about it. When there was a lot of work to do, there was also a lot of overtime.

“Had you planned on being home?” Irene asked Katarina.

Katarina didn’t answer, but merely shrugged. Recently she had turned eighteen, giving her the right to vote, the right to marry without parental permission, and the right to drive a car, but still sometimes she was just a child. At least she couldn’t buy alcohol at the State Liquor Store yet, thought Irene.

“Katarina probably planned on driving practice. Just like me,” said Jenny.

“We’ll arrange it. When are you going to take the test?” Irene asked.

“In three months. There’s a waiting list,” Katarina said sulkily.

Both girls had had their learner’s permit and had driven, accompanied by their parents, for more than a year. They were very good. The driver’s test would certainly go well. But it would be difficult financially, since both of them were going to obtain their much-desired licenses at the same time.

Krister cleared his throat. “If I may return to what I was saying earlier, we’re going to have Easter dinner on Good Friday. It’s the only day both myself and Mamma are free at the same time. And I start work at five o’clock on Easter Eve. But I should have time for a smaller Easter lunch before I start.”

Jenny stopped in the middle of chopping onions and said hesitantly, “Is it okay if I invite Martin?”

“Of course, sweetheart,” Krister said, smiling wide.

Irene was pleasantly surprised. Katarina had dragged home various boyfriends over the years, but Jenny had never brought anyone home. There had been romances in Jenny’s life, but nothing more serious ever seemed to develop. They had died and gone to glory at an early stage and quietly disappeared without leaving any noticeable marks on their daughter. Martin must be special.

“How long have you been together?” she ventured to ask, curious.

Jenny answered, “A few months.”

A few months! Irene had heard about him for the first time last week.

“Grandma is coming, right?” Katarina asked.

“Oh, good thing you said that! I need to call and change the day. Otherwise she’ll think it’s Easter Sunday,” Irene exclaimed, hurrying out of the kitchen to the telephone in the hall.

GOOD FRIDAY dawned with sunshine and a clear blue sky, even if it was cool. Irene and Krister devoted the morning to their sorely neglected garden. What did it matter if last year’s leaves were raked up only at the beginning of April? Irene used to convince herself that it was healthy for the lawn to have a protective cover of leaves in case it was a cold winter. And some nutrients went into the ground when leaves decomposed. On the other hand, those were the only nutrients the lawn ever got. If you thought about it, their little garden plot was actually ecologically managed, completely without artificial fertilizer.

Krister started fixing the Easter buffet around lunchtime. He had started preparing the herring at the beginning of the week. He had finished the coriander-preserved salmon and the shellfish paté then as well. Now he was baking the chicken filets, which he was going to serve cold with various sauces. Irene had greedily circled him like a barracuda and noted a delicious mango chutney sauce and a crème fraiche sauce with fresh basil and garlic.

The seductive smell of Jansson’s Temptation-with its spicy anchovies-came from the oven. It was Irene’s favorite dish at both the Christmas and Easter buffets. As usual, a rootstock casserole stood simmering next to it. Jenny had told them that Martin was a lacto-vegetarian. He wasn’t orthodox in Jenny’s vegan eyes, but apparently she could put up with this. She had also promised to make a large tomato and onion salad and chick-pea pilaf-red peppers filled with rice and chick peas, her specialty. The rest of the family also thought the chick-pea-filled peppers were delicious, and therefore the dish was included on the Easter buffet table. The obligatory hard-boiled eggs were cooling in cold water. Later they would be peeled and halved. The egg halves were decorated with mayonnaise, caviar, and shrimp.

The dessert had even been ready for a few days; Krister’s punch parfait was in the freezer. He served it with his chocolate sauce made according to a secret recipe. Irene had managed to work out that it contained coffee, and she knew that he made it with dark chocolate of the finest quality. This was Glady’s Corner’s signature dessert, and if it wasn’t on the menu, the regulars would grumble.

Irene’s mother, Gerd, and her significant other, Sture, arrived at about five o’clock. The air was still warm enough that they could drink a glass of sparkling wine in the garden. They had to wear sweaters and over-shirts, but the air felt pleasant and spring-like. They were standing and chatting on the patio when Jenny and her Martin appeared in the doorway.

Irene quickly looked down at her right hand in order to make sure that her grip on her wineglass was firm. She understood why Jenny had looked hesitant when she spoke about Martin the day before. Conversation stopped completely, and everyone looked at the lanky figure in the doorway.

Martin was a few years over twenty. His shoulder-length hair was dyed black. His T-shirt was also black with a bright pink legend across his chest: “Fuck me, I’m famous!” He wore black jeans with large rips through which his pale knobby knees stuck out. A thick metal stud pierced his lower lip, and there was another in one eyebrow. He had used black eyeliner to draw heavy outlines around his eyes. A wide tattooed pattern encircled his neck in blue and red. He had taken off his shoes and stood uncertainly on the threshold in tattered black socks that his big toes stuck out of.

Irene’s mother was the first to pull herself together. She smiled happily and walked up to the young man. “Hello! I’m Jenny’s grandmother, Gerd.”

Martin took her outstretched hand and said politely, “Martin.”

Irene also went over to him to introduce herself and the rest of the family. Katarina didn’t have her new find, Johan, with her. According to what Irene had discovered, he was in Norway with some friends, skiing. Despite this, Katarina looked beamingly happy. She introduced herself to Martin, who looked confused.

“Didn’t you say you were twins?” he asked Jenny.

“Yes, but she’s adopted,” Jenny replied quickly.

The girls were used to this reaction. They smiled at each other in understanding.

“We have to leave by seven at the latest,” Jenny told Irene.

“Why?” Krister asked before his wife had time.

As a craftsman in the culinary arts, he loved long enjoyable dinners and detested stress and haste during mealtimes.

“Martin’s band is playing tonight.”

Gerd opened her eyes wide in surprise.

“Do you have school dances on Good Friday these days?”

Then Martin smiled, and Irene saw why her daughter had fallen for this rocker. His blue eyes were mischievous but friendly. “It’s been several years since we played at school dances. Tonight is bigger. More like a concert.”

“Concert? Do you play classical music?” Sture wondered.

“Nah. It’s got more of a beat to it, and it’s really popular,” Martin replied, still polite.

“But, hello! Don’t you recognize Mackie in Black Thunder?” Katarina exclaimed and rolled her eyes.

A quick look at the gathered group of older relatives revealed their ignorance.

“They’re huge! How many records have you made? Four?” she asked Martin, alias Mackie.

“Five,” Martin answered and looked almost embarrassed.

“And it’s going really well in Germany. They have a hit there now. Top of the charts with ‘The Eagle Said,’” Katarina continued.

“Even if one is a rock star, might he want to have a glass of bubbly before dinner?” Krister asked, filling an empty glass that was standing on the tray. He didn’t pour anything for Jenny, because she was absolutely drug-free and didn’t even drink light beer.

“No, thank you. I don’t drink alcohol,” Martin declined.

Yet something else that united them, in addition to music, thought Irene.

“Okay. But you need food in your stomach. Especially if you’re going to give a concert tonight. I suggest that we start eating,” Krister said, gesturing toward the house.

Irene noted during the dinner that Katarina ate relatively little. Hadn’t she also become much thinner in the face? The wide neck of her black cotton top showed considerably sharper collarbones than Irene could remember. It still seemed as though she was dieting, despite the new boyfriend and her decision not to participate in the beauty contest. She had to talk with Katarina about this. What was wrong?

EASTER WEEKEND was busy. The two biggest motorcycle gangs’ feud about the division of prime drug and sex districts exploded into violence. On Easter morning, one of the gang leaders, and his girlfriend, were shot when they left a night club at about four o’clock. The gang had celebrated quite a bit on Easter Eve and, in their drunken state, their security precautions had slipped. A man from a passing car had loosed a rain of bullets from an automatic weapon at their leader. The driver pulled away before any of the drunken bodyguards had time to get their weapons out. Both the gang leader and the girlfriend had suffered life-threatening injuries.

Two hours later, a call came in about a car burning in a wooded area outside Gunnared. The car turned out to be stolen, and the police were pretty sure that it was the car the shooter and his driver had used. They had disappeared without a trace, having most likely had another car parked in the area.

At eleven o’clock in the evening of Easter Sunday, a heavy truck plowed through the tall wooden fence around the other motorcycle gang’s headquarters outside Alingsås. The tarp was pulled off of the rear, and a grenade launcher began to toss its containers of death through the windows of the building. The man handling the weapon was right on target. The explosions laid waste to the old farmhouse. The whole thing was over in about a minute. The heavy vehicle backed out through the hole it had made in the fence and disappeared without having been fired upon.

Left in the ruins of the house were one dead man and three who were critically injured.

IRENE SPENT a difficult Easter as a result of the first attack. The investigation was one big mess; several units within the police department were involved. The toll increased from one to two as the gang leader died of his wounds around midnight, shortly after the grenade attack.

On Monday morning, Fredrik Stridh was to begin his weekend shift. He and Irene had been detailed to go to the scene of the grenade attack outside Alingsås. Irene wanted to fill him in before they drove out there.

She found him in his office, sitting in his visitor’s chair with the back of his head resting against the wall. It looked like he was sleeping, and in fact he was. Irene had to punch him hard on his upper arm in order to get him to wake up. With an inarticulate groan, he straightened in the chair. He immediately grabbed his head and sank back against the wall for support. He closed his eyes again but to Irene’s surprise, a smile tugged at his lips. It shouldn’t have, if he was as hung over as he seemed.

“Hello! Time to start work! We’re up to here in shit! The motorcycle war has broken out!” Irene yelled.

“Okay, okay,” Fredrik mumbled and nodded. The satisfied smile still played on his lips, but his eyes started opening. Suspiciously, Irene leaned over in front of him and sniffed. No smell of alcohol. He was dead sober. She detected a contented gleam in what she could see of his eyes. Irene said with feigned harshness, “Young man, what kind of trouble have you gotten yourself into that has so completely sucked the life out of you?”

“How do you know it’s something bad?” he asked, looking up at her teasingly.

“You look too damn satisfied.”

Fredrick chuckled before he replied, “You’re a good judge of character. But bad was the last thing it was. I’ve celebrated a late Ostara. They don’t celebrate Easter.”

“Ostara? What’s that?”

“The vernal equinox.”

He closed his eyes again. Celebrated the vernal equinox? Who does that instead of Easter? Suddenly the light bulb came on. “Well, I’ll be damned! Have you been celebrating the Witch’s Sabbath with Eva Möller?”

A delighted smile spread across Fredrik’s face. It wasn’t necessary for him to respond.

“THIS FEELS surreal. This is what it looks like in Bosnia or Chechnya, not in Sweden,” said Fredrik.

Both he and Irene were unpleasantly affected when they walked around the remains of the farmhouse that had been one gang’s headquarters. The technicians had worked the whole night and were far from being done.

“Where the hell did those bastards get a Carl-Gustaf?” Andersson’s voice could be heard asking behind their backs.

He came zigzagging through the debris from the fire, his overcoat flapping. He couldn’t stay away from the job when big things were happening.

“I have a feeling that it’s only a matter of placing an order. These boys have big money. Everybody and everything can be bought. Even the military,” Irene said in response to Andersson’s question.

“You’ve met Hell’s Angels before. Do you recognize any of the boys? They haven’t been identified yet, neither the corpse nor those injured,” Andersson continued, breathlessly.

Irene had met certain members of the Hell’s Angels before, but she preferred to forget their confrontation.

IRENE DIDN’T get home until the wee hours of the morning. Krister had arrived before her and was asleep, snoring, on his half of the bed. Pictures from the scene of the fire flickered inside her eyelids as soon as she closed her eyes. It was impossible to fall asleep with them on her mind. She eventually got back up with a sigh, wrapped herself in her terry-cloth bathrobe, and pattered down to the kitchen. Sammie immediately took the opportunity to jump up and snuggle into the still-warm bed.

She lit a candle and set it on the table before pouring a glass of milk and spreading some Brie on a piece of hard bread. It felt really cozy to sit down in the flickering candlelight and chew on such a fancy late-night sandwich. In fact, it was so late at night that it was nearly a breakfast sandwich. As she looked into the flame, she reflected. Something she had pushed to the back of her consciousness during the drama of the last few days started working its way forward. It was something Glen Thompson had said during their latest conversation. Then she remembered what he had said and realized how important it could be.

She got up right away and went back to bed without brushing her teeth. Now that she had actually recalled what Glen had said, she didn’t have any trouble falling asleep.