The Glass Devil

Chapter 19

IRENE CALLED SUPERINTENDENT ANDERSSON on her cell phone. It took quite a while to explain everything that had happened, but in the end he understood. After many protests, he finally gave in. Irene had permission to stay in London and keep an eye on the new developments in the case.

“As soon as we send you out, there’s always so damn much fuss,” he grumbled.

Irene became angry and said, sharply, “I’ve only been abroad for work once before!”

“Exactly. And don’t you dare say that there wasn’t any fuss that time!” Andersson exclaimed triumphantly.

She had no good response. But the superintendent’s criticism was unfair. She had not caused any of the developments in this investigation. But maybe the questions she and Glen had asked had provoked a reaction?

She ended the conversation and asked Glen, “What happened at the hospital?”

“According to my boss, Christian came to the clinic during regular visiting hours, between one and two. There are always more people moving about then, so it took nearly a half hour after visiting hours were over for the staff to discover that Rebecka was gone. At first they searched the ward and the clinic. When they couldn’t find her, they contacted the police.”

“Did he remove her by force?”

“We don’t know for sure, since no one saw them leave the clinic. But there’s nothing to indicate that he used force.”

“Have they searched their apartments? And the office?”

“Of course. That was the first place they went. They aren’t there.”

“Where can they be?”

“No idea.”

They were approaching the airport, and traffic increased. Irene wondered who might know where Rebecka and Christian were. She took out her wallet and, after some rummaging around, found the note she was looking for. It was worth a try, she thought, as she punched in Kjell Sjönell’s cell phone number.

Irene quickly explained the situation to the pastor and asked him, “Do you have any idea where they may be?”

“No idea. But why would Christian kidnap Rebecka? There’s no ransom money to ask for. What is his motive?”

“We don’t know. But a great deal of evidence points to Christian having murdered Rebecka’s family. And now he has taken her.”

“Good Lord! Is he crazy?” Kjell Sjönell exclaimed.

“Possibly, although the impression he gave me was that he was mentally stable. What was your reaction when you met him?”

“The same as yours. Obviously, he was upset and concerned about Rebecka, but that’s only natural.”

“Have you any suggestion to offer?” Irene asked.

Glen had parked the Rover in front of the Avis office and gotten out of the car, but Irene remained to finish the conversation.

“Call each of their friends and every family member that you can come up with. Maybe one of them will have an idea about where they might be. Otherwise, the only advice I can give is to wait and hope that they’ll get in touch somehow.”

Irene realized that he was right. It felt frustrating to have to accept it, but she thanked the pastor and hung up.

Glen had already called Estelle and arranged for a new room for Irene. Irene called home, but there was no answer. She reached Krister at the restaurant. He calmly accepted the news of his wife’s extended stay in England. “Take care, honey.”

AFTER ENDURING bumper-to-bumper rush-hour traffic, they finally made it to the Thompson Hotel. It felt like coming home to Irene. A young girl with spiky red hair stood behind the reception desk and smiled in welcome. Irene explained who she was and was given a key. To her joy, they had given her a room on the second floor this time. Two fewer floors to climb. She threw her bag down and went to the bathroom before she rushed to the lobby again.

Glen was sitting on the sofa with a cigarette in one hand and his cell phone in the other. He looked up and smiled when Irene came up to him.

“I have been looking for Andrew St. Clair, but I haven’t managed to reach him. His secretary has promised that he’ll contact us as soon as he has a chance. But I did speak with Dr. Fischer. He was furious. I hope we find Christian before he does.”

“Did he have a theory about where they might be?”

“No. Not the faintest idea.”

Irene sat down on the sofa next to Glen. Together they tried to think of another person who might know where Rebecka and Christian could be. Glen had asked Andrew’s secretary if she knew at which company Mary Lefévre worked as financial manager. She knew; but when they telephoned the company, the Edinburgh Tweed Company, her male assistant informed them that Mrs. Lefévre had just left on a business trip to Germany and wasn’t expected back until next Wednesday. Unfortunately, he didn’t know which airport the plane would land at. According to him, she was going to spend the weekend with German friends, but he didn’t know what their names were or where they lived. He promised to contact the companies Mrs. Lefévre was going to visit and leave a message for her to contact Glen Thompson right away.

“We have to find Andrew. He may know who his aunt is going to visit in Germany,” Irene exclaimed.

“Perhaps. But there isn’t much we can do right now. Let’s go to Vitória and eat. Kate and the boys are also coming,” said Glen.

AS USUAL, Donna was ebullient. She pulled Glen and Irene into her plump arms and chirped how happy she was that they had made it home safely. She acted as though they had been wandering around the Scottish heath for several weeks, rather than having been gone just part of one day.

Kate and the twins arrived soon after, and it became a real family dinner with very good food. To be on the safe side, Irene and Glen didn’t drink any wine, just beer. When coffee and ice cream with exotic fruits were brought in, Irene sensed that her fatigue was about to overwhelm her. It had been a hectic and eventful day. She had arisen extra early two mornings in a row, and she was starting to feel it. Thanks to four cups of strong coffee, she started to revive. It was just after nine o’clock.

Kate gathered together her sons, kissed her husband and mother-in-law, and gave Irene a hug. “If we don’t see each other again before you go home, then we’ll be in touch about the summer vacation. I am looking forward to seeing the midnight sun.”

Kate and Glen probably don’t realize how big Sweden is, Irene thought, nor how far it extends from north to south. Nor did they realize how many mosquitoes there were in Norrland. And, even worse, that one never falls asleep there in the summer: Who can sleep when the sun is shining in the middle of the night? Still, she remembered her family’s vacation in a rented trailer in Norrland as the best one they had had. That was almost ten years ago. The trip had taken three weeks, and they had seen a great deal of Sweden.

Irene was telling Glen about her own trip to Norrland when her cell phone started ringing.

“Irene Huss,” she answered.

“This is Christian Lefévre. Where are you?”

“At a restaurant. I’ve eaten dinner.”

She gestured at Glen and pointed at the cell phone. She mouthed, “Christian.”

“Are you alone?”

She was uncertain whether she should lie but decided not to. “No. Inspector Thompson is here as well.”

“Good. How long will it take you to get to Ossington Street?”

“Well. . maybe fifteen minutes. Is that where you are?”

Glen leaned forward and tried to hear what Lefévre was saying. Irene pulled the phone a little away from her ear so he could hear better. While he was eavesdropping, he pulled out his own cell phone and started looking for a number in the address book.

“Forget about where we are. You won’t find us. Be at the office on Ossington Street exactly fifteen minutes from now. The key to the red door is under a cement block beneath the steps. Lift the block and you’ll see it.”

“How is Rebecka?” Irene asked, trying desperately to lengthen the conversation.

“She’s okay. Fifteen minutes, starting now.” He hung up.

“We have to be at Ossington Street in fifteen minutes,” she told Thompson.

He spoke into his cell phone as they rushed out. That conversation ended before he started the car and began to drive fast to the computer company’s office.

“They may be able to trace that phone call. It will take a little bit of time, but they may be able to tell which area the call was placed from,” he said.

Traffic was rather light, and they got there in just seven minutes. Irene had one eye glued to the clock on the car’s instrument panel. When they turned onto Ossington Street, Irene caught a glimpse of the sign above the old pub on the corner. She couldn’t keep from exclaiming, “Glen! The matches came from Shakespeare!”

“Impossible. He died in the sixteen hundreds.” Glen grinned.

“Not him. The pub!”

She pointed at the black sign written in gothic script.

“But why did it say ‘Mosc’ under ‘Pu’?” she asked, confused.

“Because the pub is located at the intersection of Ossington Street and Moscow Road.”

The tires squealed when Glen parked at the curb. Irene jumped out of the Rover before it had completely stopped and rushed over to the stairs leading to the bright red door. Just as Lefévre had said, there was a light concrete block under the steps, perhaps forgotten after the renovation of the house. The key was lying exactly where he had said. She and Thompson raced up the stairs and unlocked the red door.

It smelled stuffy inside, as if no one had been there for a few days. The door to the office was half open, and they walked into the white office. The green plants drooped in their designer pots. It was silent and close. Irene and Glen split up and quickly looked through all the rooms of the office. When they met again, in the large room, they shook their heads. Irene was just about to suggest that they make their way into the apartments above when one of the computers turned itself on.

After a moment, Christian Lefévre’s face appeared on the screen. Although the picture was small, he was clearly visible.

“Webcam,” Glen said softly to Irene.

In the background they could glimpse a bookshelf with book spines neatly arranged in a row, nothing else. Lefévre looked straight into the camera. He dialed his cell phone; a second later, hers rang. Hastily, she fumbled it out of her jacket pocket.

“Irene Huss.”

“Are you in place?”

“Yes.”

“Do you see the picture on the screen?”

“Yes.”

“Good.”

He ended the conversation with a click, which Irene confirmed by a glance at the screen. Glen searched his own coat pockets and took out a pocket tape recorder. He turned it on and set it in front of the computer speaker.

Lefévre sat erect, looking straight at the camera. He cleared his throat before speaking.

“Now I’m going to tell you what actually happened. It’s important that this should conclude in the right way. And it’s just as important that you know why Sten and Elsa Schyttelius had to die. Not to mention Jacob.”

When he spoke Jacob’s name, his expression hardened and Irene thought she could detect pure hate in his eyes. In the next moment it was gone, and he continued. “I know that you’ve asked Mamma if Rebecka and I are a couple. She denied it because I asked her to do so. But she’s the only one who knows the truth. When she called me, she told me that you were on your way to interview Andy. So I know that you’re getting closer. . and I’ve decided that it’s time to bring this to an end. There’s no happy ending for us. But first everything must be ready.”

Christian cleared his throat again and took a large gulp from a tumbler, which he set down on the table again with a bang. He grimaced slightly, which might mean that the drink was strong.

“Rebecka and I love each other. Once in your life, you may be lucky enough to meet a person who speaks directly to your heart and you know that it’s forever. Rebecka is that person for me. Almost exactly a year ago, we realized that we were in love with each other. That summer was the most wonderful time of my life. We traveled to Sweden. Rebecka wanted to show me where she came from. But she didn’t want us to meet her parents. That’s why we chose exactly those days when she knew her parents wouldn’t be home. I didn’t understand then why she didn’t want us to see them, but I accepted her explanation that they weren’t on good terms with each other.”

He fell silent and glanced to the side. Irene and Glen heard a low mumbling.

“Rebecka.” Glen’s whisper in Irene’s ear was barely audible.

Suddenly, Rebecka’s pale face popped up next to Christian’s. He shifted to the side, out of the picture, to make room for her. Her hair hung, dirty and disheveled, around her sunken face. Her eyes were vacant. In vain, she tried several times to form words with her dry lips. Ultimately, she managed to speak.

“I shouldn’t have. . told. . Everything is my. . fault,” she stuttered, in Swedish. “My fault. . could never tell. . anyone,” she whispered, still in Swedish.

For a long time she stared into the camera with a blank expression.

They could hear Christian mumbling, but it was hard to tell what he was saying. Rebecka turned her head and rose. Her clothes rustled as she disappeared from the picture. They could hear her sit heavily in a chair very close to the camera and the microphone.

Christian’s face reappeared on the screen.

“When we were in Göteborg in July, Rebecka showed me the house where her parents lived. There wasn’t any problem getting inside, since they always left a spare key under a pot next to the steps. She showed me the weapons cabinet and the rifles. Of course, she was aware of my interest in hunting. I also saw where her father had hidden the key to the summer cottage. She took it out. We drove out there. It was a warm day, so we went down to the lake and bathed. She told me how close the rectory was to the cottage if you went through the woods. She had done this many times. Later, in her apartment here in London, she showed me a map of the exact area where the houses were located. I took it with me when I. .

“But first I’m going to tell you about our visit to the cottage. Here, too, we found the key under a pot by the steps. Then we went inside. And there she showed me the secret space behind the panel. A rifle with cartridges was hidden there. Rebecka told me that her brother was in the process of moving into the cottage and that the rifle was probably his. He had brought down a load of things a few days earlier. He was going to come again the next day, but we weren’t going to stay that long.

“We continued toward Stockholm in the afternoon and had a nice drive through Sweden. And our days in Stockholm were also completely fantastic. Neither of us realized that that was the beginning of the end.”

Christian fell silent and swallowed hard. When he started speaking again, his tone was neutral, almost a monotone.

“We met with the representative of Save the Children. They initiated us in the problems surrounding the largest pedophile ring that had ever been discovered in the Nordic countries. Our assignment was to collect information and uncover the identities of the participants. We really discovered all but two but to the Save the Children people, we said that there were five whom we hadn’t been able to trace.”

Rebecka said something that was inaudible to Irene and Glen, and Lefévre turned his head in her direction. They heard him answer her soothingly, as if he were speaking to a child, “Yes, sweetheart. It’s necessary. They need to know everything. I promise that it will only be the two of them. No one else.”

Neither Glen nor Irene had time to think about what he had said before he turned back to the camera and continued.

“We began our work and penetrated the pedophile ring without being discovered. In the beginning I didn’t notice anything, but after a while Rebecka began to change. She. . became sick. I got in touch with Dr. Fischer. He said that she had developed depression and that it ran in the family. Before this, I hadn’t known that Rebecka’s mother suffered from depression. Naturally, I wondered why she had become sick. I had a feeling that it had to do with the job we were doing for Save the Children. We talked about it one night, and Rebecka started to tell me everything.”

A faint outcry was heard from Rebecka, but Christian just said, “Yes, sweetheart.” He looked quickly in her direction but continued. “As an admission ticket to the pedophile ring, each participant had to submit some of their own material. Films or pictures. One of the participants who we didn’t officially reveal called himself Peter and offered this film.”

Christian typed on the keyboard in front of him and the screen flickered to life.

Irene began to feel queasy. They saw a grown man force himself on a small girl from behind as she crouched on all fours. Of course, he didn’t show his face. She was only seven or eight years old. The girl kneeled there, immobile, like an animal about to be slaughtered. Only the man’s sexual movements made her body move. She turned her head and looked straight into the camera.

The realization of the girl’s identity struck Irene like a blow to the head. She had a hard time breathing. Before she had collected herself enough to say anything, Christian stopped the film, reappeared on screen himself, and confirmed what she had known for a few seconds: “The little girl in the picture is Rebecka. The man who is forcing himself on her is her father. The camera operator is her brother, Jacob.”

His face on the screen looked as if it had been carved from stone. His voice was completely toneless.

“Rebecka was eight years old when this film was made. Jacob was fourteen. Both he and his father had been sexually assaulting her for three years, since she was five years old. Sten Schyttelius lost interest when she turned eleven, because she reached puberty early. However, Jacob’s interest didn’t fade: just the opposite. He abused her systematically until he was drafted by the army, way up in northern Sweden. Rebecka had to have an abortion when she was thirteen. Pappa Pastor drilled into her that if she told anyone, God’s wrath would descend on her. She would be breaking the commandment to honor and love your father and mother. That, of course, included her brother as well.”

Christian’s voice, broke from anger or sorrow, but then he started speaking again.

“Rebecka’s mother knew what was going on but didn’t do anything to help her. In her depression, she hid from the truth. And Pappa Pastor didn’t forget to tell Rebecka that if she didn’t cooperate, her poor, sick, frail mother would have to. Little Rebecka was forced to make herself available to the men of the family.”

Without changing his expression, Christian took a drink from his glass. Tonelessly, he said, “Now we come to ‘Pan’s’ contribution. That’s the Internet name he adopted.”

The screen flickered again. This time they saw a white man having sexual intercourse with a small African girl. Her eyes were just as large and afraid as Rebecka’s had been. They were bright from tears, but she wasn’t crying. It was appalling to see the fear and pain in her wide-open eyes. She was very thin; she was perhaps seven years old. They lay in a narrow bed, with only a pillow and a sheet. A mosquito net, glimpsed over the headboard of the bed, had been pulled away so that everything could be filmed.

The film stopped and Christian returned to the screen.

“Pan was Jacob Schyttelius. Rebecka understood right away that Jacob and her father had abused the children they were supposed to be helping when they were in Africa in September touring children’s villages. This film showed up on the pedophile ring’s Web site just a few days after they returned home, and Pan was then accepted into the group.”

He made an ironic grimace, which was replaced by a sorrowful, resigned expression.

“That was the last straw for Rebecka. She became very sick. That was when she was admitted to the hospital for treatment the first time. After that. . nothing was the same as it had been. She couldn’t have sex, she couldn’t even touch me. . she retreated from me. In some periods, she was better and could function but between us. . it didn’t work any more. Of course she loved me. . but I couldn’t reach her any more. She had enough to contend with, dealing with the demons that had come to life when she saw the films. As she described it, I understood that she had managed to repress most of what had happened. She hadn’t wanted to remember, and then she didn’t. But everything rose to the surface after she saw these films. She never told Dr. Fischer what lay behind her illness; he suspected one thing and another.

“Fischer said that I should be patient, but the months passed. Understandably, she didn’t want to go home at Christmas, so she called and said she had the flu. We drove up to Edinburgh, and it went pretty well. But she wanted to return home-to London, that is-again after three days. She couldn’t keep up the appearance of normality. During January and February, she continued to get worse. I realized that she would never recover. That’s when I decided to kill those damn pigs. They deserved it. I took their lives, but they had already taken Rebecka’s. When she was little, they were supposed to protect her from evil, but they were the ones who destroyed her.”

Rebecka was moaning audibly, but Christian seemed not to hear. He stared right into the camera without blinking.

“I decided to kill them. I thought she would get better again if they vanished. That she would feel some sort of. . revenge fulfillment. I didn’t want to travel under my own name, in case some smart cop, like you, came up with the idea of checking the passenger lists for the days in question. So I stole my cousin’s passport when I was at Rosslyn Castle in March. We’re enough alike that I could pass through Customs with it, especially if I put my hair up in a ponytail rather than leaving it down like John Lennon.

“I tried to make it look like a stranger had broken in, so I also took a dagger and a Beretta. They’re hidden in Mamma’s basement, behind the hot-water heater. I decided to do it on a Monday. I planned to create an alibi, with help from the guys in the betting pool. This particular Monday, Rebecka was feeling better and had the energy to do a little work. But she went up to bed at about four o’clock. I packed a regular shoulder bag with my light boots, a pair of thin leather gloves, a small flashlight, a compass, a map of the woods I would have to go through, a toilet bag, a thick sweater, nylon raingear, and plastic covers to pull over my shoes. And the most important thing: the diskette containing the software with which to erase their hard drives. The day before, I reserved a car at Avis at Landvetter via the Internet. I had already ordered the ticket for the evening flight.”

He drank greedily from his glass. The drink was amber-colored. A whisky? Maybe St. Clair’s.

“I was at Shakespeare’s early, just before five thirty. I spoke for a long time with Steven, the owner, so he would remember that I had been there. The other guys dropped in around six, and we drank beer and discussed the week’s tips. I treated everyone to a round of whisky. At six thirty, I mumbled to Vincent that I was expecting an important phone call and had to go home. It was noisy and crowded around the bar, and I don’t think anyone noticed that I left a little earlier than usual. I raced home and grabbed the bag. It took barely a minute. Then I rushed down to Bayswater Road and hailed a taxi. We drove to Paddington, and there I took the train to Heathrow. At five minutes past seven, I picked up my ticket and boarded as the last passenger. I took my shoulder bag on board as hand luggage. Then I had to grab it and make sure I was the first person off the plane so I wouldn’t lose time. The car was ready at Avis and I had taken care of all of the paperwork via the Internet. It is barely a fifteen-minute drive from the airport to the cottage.”

He took another mouthful from the glass and continued. “I had already decided on where I would park the car. In reality, finding the trail in the dark was a bit more difficult than I had expected, but at last I managed. Then I took off my coat and put on the sweater and the boots, and the rainsuit over them. The hood made it less likely that anyone would recognize me and decreased the risk that I would leave any hair I might shed. I put the gloves and plastic covers in my pockets, with the flashlight, compass, and map. I’m used to moving in the woods, but it was pretty difficult to make my way to the cottage.

“Luck was on my side: Jacob hadn’t come home yet. If he had been there, I had planned on killing him with an axe from the shed. There had been one in the chopping block when we were there in July, and it was still there. I put on my gloves and brought it in with me but as I said, I didn’t need to use it. I returned it to the block afterward. Since he wasn’t home, it was just a matter of opening the door with the key from under the flowerpot, putting on the shoe covers, pulling out the rifle, and loading it. Then I inserted the disk-formatting software and started running it. While it was running, Jacob came home. He opened the door and stepped into the hall, and I shot him.”

Rebecka started moaning again. Christian didn’t seem to notice. His expression was rigid, his voice a monotone, as he described the crimes in detail and at length. Neither Irene nor Glen had changed their positions during the whole time the computer had been on. They still stood, bent slightly forward. Now Irene felt that she needed to sit. She pulled an office chair toward her and sank onto it.

Christian had fortified himself with another swallow from the glass and was ready to continue. “I had plenty of time to erase his hard drive completely. I also found several diskettes and a few videocassettes in the hiding place behind the panel. I put them in a plastic bag and found charcoal and lighter fluid under the patio, which I took with me. I knew that there would be cassettes and diskettes at Pappa Pastor’s as well. Everything had to be burned, since there might be more tapes with Rebecka on them.

“In that secret space I also found a book about Satanism. Then I had an idea. Rebecka had told me how her father and brother had searched for Satanists on the Internet. With respect to what these two gentlemen had been doing, I thought it appropriate to mark their computers. So I dipped a pastry brush from the kitchen drawer in Jacob’s blood and drew a pentagram on the screen. And that’s why I turned the crucifix in the bedroom upside-down when-”

He stopped to finish his drink, then filled it up again.

“I made my way through the woods to the house, even though it was difficult. Along the way, I planted some fibers from the scarf that my cousin had so graciously bestowed on me as a Christmas present. I wanted to implicate him, in case the airplane passenger list was followed up. I wanted it to seem that he had been there; to confuse matters.

“The rectory was dark when I got there. The key was still lying under the pot, and after putting on the shoe protectors and gloves, I went in and sneaked into the bedroom. Both of them were sleeping. First I shot the pastor, and then his wife. They never woke up.

“I erased the hard drives and took all the diskettes and videotapes I could find. There were lots of disks, but only three cassettes. Because I had drawn a pentagram on Jacob’s computer, I drew one here as well. But I used both the mother’s and the father’s blood. It felt. . appropriate. They were both responsible.

“Well, then I went back through the woods again. Oh yes, I burned the videotapes and diskettes. And the rainsuit and gloves and shoe covers. I kept the plastic bag to put my dirty boots in when I got back to the car, so that I wouldn’t soil the inside of my carry-on bag. I packed my sweater in the bag, and I put on my coat again and the clean shoes that I had left in the car. I drove out to the airport, went into the bathroom, washed up and shaved. No one could tell that I had just murdered three people. The plane left at seven twenty Swedish time, and it landed at eight twenty English time. I didn’t sleep at all on the plane, because I wasn’t tired. Rather, I was elated. I’ve never regretted that I shot those bastards, but sometimes I wonder if it was worth it. . ”

He turned his head in Rebecka’s direction. Not a sound could be heard from her.

“She understood right away that I had killed them. But she didn’t want to talk about it. She feels that it was her fault they died, that she shouldn’t have told me about what she had suffered. They had managed to break her and brainwash her.”

He laughed a short joyless laugh and took another swallow of whisky.

“Now you know everything. I’ve rigged both of these computers. Everything will be erased from them. There will be no way to rebuild them. You two report what I’ve said. Rebecka and I have made up our minds. There’s no future for us. We’ve come to the end.”

He disappeared from the picture. A shot was heard and then, a few seconds later, another one.

Irene and Glen sat as though made of stone, watching the neat bookshelf and the upper part of a black armchair. The screen went black and the computer shut down.

Neither spoke for a long time. In the end, Glen stretched out his hand and turned off his tape player.

“Lucky I had this with me. Everything he said is on this tape.”