The Glass Devil

Chapter 3

“PASTOR JONAS BURMAN AND I found Sten and Elsa Schyttelius in their bedroom. I tried to keep him from seeing anything, but unfortunately he’s tall and managed to peer over my shoulder. He collapsed on the spot. It was a bloodbath,” said Fredrik Stridh.

He paused and looked around the conference room. In addition to himself and Irene, Superintendent Andersson, Tommy Persson, and Hannu Rauhala sat around the table. Jonny Blom had already gone home when the call about the double murder at the rectory reached the police station. Hannu had just been on his way to baby swimming but when he heard what the call was about he decided to stay put.

“When I pushed Burman down on the couch, Irene appeared. She had found a computer with one of those star symbols painted on the monitor, like the one she and Sven had seen at Jacob Schyttelius’s,” Fredrik said.

“Did the star look exactly the same?” Andersson interrupted.

She nodded. “Exactly.”

Fredrik cleared his throat. “Sten and Elsa Schyttelius were shot at close range with a large-caliber firearm. Sten Schyttelius hunts.”

“How do you know that?” the superintendent interrupted again.

“Jonas Burman said so. And the walls of the rectory are covered with stuffed animal corpses. Burman has worked in Slättared parish for two years, so he knew quite a bit about the family. They also have a daughter whose name is Rebecka; she lives in London. He’s only met her once. It was at a Christmas dinner or something like that.”

“We have to give her protection right away!” Irene burst out.

“Why?” said Andersson.

“Because of what’s happened to her family. She’s the only one still alive. We don’t know the motive for the murders yet, but it seems as if someone wants to wipe out the Schyttelius family.”

“But she lives in London-” the superintendent began. He was interrupted by Tommy Persson.

“The Schytteliuses seem to have died at about the same time as their son. The murderer has more than a day’s lead on us. He could be in London right now.”

The superintendent muttered something inaudible, but then nodded. “Okay. You’re right, we’ll have to find her address and get in touch with our colleagues in London. Can you do it, Hannu?” This was clearly an order, not a question. Superintendent Andersson nodded at Fredrik to continue.

“There were no signs of a struggle in the bedroom. Both Irene and I believe that they were shot in their sleep. Each body lay with its head on a pillow. What’s left of its head, I should say. And both of them were shot from the front.”

“Did the neighbors hear anything?” the superintendent asked.

“We have the same problem there as we did at the cottage: There aren’t any neighbors near the church. The rectory is located on the back of the church hill, so it’s in an isolated area,” said Irene.

“We’ve found a possible murder weapon,” Fredrik put in.

This was news to the superintendent, who said, impatiently, “And you’re only mentioning it now! What was it?”

“A Husqvarna 1900. It was lying under the bed. I saw the barrel sticking out, but of course I didn’t touch it.”

“I see. Our dear old Husqvarna,” the superintendent sighed.

Irene understood why he sighed. When it comes to firearms in Sweden, Husqvarna, with its various types of shotguns and sporting rifles, is the most common brand for homicides, and in particular suicides. The explanation is simple: They are the most common sporting weapon.

“Svante Malm called me just before we got back to the station. The technicians have found an unlocked gun cabinet, brand name Zugil, in the rector’s work room,” said Fredrik.

“The work room on the second floor, or the one on the first floor?” Irene asked.

“The one with the computer on the second floor. Svante says that he’ll come to morning prayers and make a report about what they’ve found. Two technicians are still at the cottage, but they should be finished late tonight.”

“How old were the Schytteliuses?” Tommy asked.

“He was sixty-four and she was sixty-three. He was going to retire this summer,” Fredrik answered. He looked down at his papers. “I asked Jonas Burman how old Rebecka is, but he isn’t sure. He thinks she’s about twenty-five.”

“What does she do in London?” Irene asked.

“She works as a computer consultant, according to Burman.”

“He was informative, that Burman,” the superintendent muttered.

“Yes. He was in shock but tried to answer my questions. Nice guy.”

“What else did he say?” Tommy asked.

“Not much. He thought that we should speak with the deaconess. She has worked with Schyttelius for several years. Her name is. .” He flipped through his pad of paper until he found what he was looking for. “. . Rut Börjesson. Then there are people at the parish registration office who we can question.”

“Okay. I already have four guys going around Kullahult knocking on doors. And two other guys have been at it out by Norssjön since this afternoon. They’ll call me if something comes up. Tomorrow after morning prayers, the three of you are going out to Kullahult to start questioning those people. Hannu and Jonny will head for Norssjön,” the superintendent said, ending the meeting.

THE CLOCK on the old Saab’s instrument panel showed 22:41 when Irene stopped in front of her garage. The row-house garages created their own rows in the outskirts of the area. She opened the heavy garage door and parked the car inside, not out of fear that the thirteen-year-old automobile would be stolen but for fear that it would be freezing when she got into it the next morning.

When she had closed the door, she felt the fatigue in her back and shoulders. She decided to try to work out the next day. Then she realized that there would hardly be any time for working out; the questioning would probably take the whole day and part of the evening. She would have to settle for an early-morning jog, even though early mornings were not her strong suit. In truth, she was terribly tired early in the day. But if that was the only time available, it would have to be a morning run.

If you’ve turned forty, you have to be disciplined about exercising. She was proud of being in good shape, and she worked out whenever the opportunity arose. Twenty years ago, she had won the gold at the European Ju-jitsu Championship, which had given her high status at the police academy in Ulriksdal. About a year later, she met Krister and had almost immediately become pregnant. The birth of twin girls had meant a temporary setback for her figure, but she had gotten into training again pretty quickly. These days, she did strength exercises once a week, jogged a few times, and trained a group of female cops every Sunday in ju-jitsu.

Keeping in shape was harder on her as the years passed. Old injuries started making themselves known. She had to wear a knee brace now when she ran. But she didn’t feel well mentally or physically if she didn’t work out. So morning jogs, the only type of exercise she could do during heavy periods of work, were essential.

When she opened the door to their row house, she was enthusiastically greeted by Sammie. He bounced with joy and tried to lick her face when she bent down to pet his golden-brown coat. The best thing about dogs is that they’re happy no matter what time you get home; they never reproach you for being late, thought Irene.

A note from Krister was lying on the table informing her that there was vegetarian lasagna in the fridge. Irene sighed. The Huss family diet had been perfect, as far as Irene was concerned, until Jenny had become a vegan a few years ago. At the same time, Krister had decided to go on a diet, and after a while he adopted their daughter’s new food habits with enthusiasm. These days, the Huss family ate vegan food three times a week and meat and fish the rest of the time. On those days, Jenny lived on leftovers or fixed her own food. Irene sighed loudly again and thought longingly about a large bloody steak with a creamy garlic-scented potato casserole.

She microwaved a slice of lasagna and drank a glass of milk standing at the kitchen counter. After a quick shower, she went up to the second floor. When she opened the doors to the girls’ rooms, she saw that they were sleeping in their beds. Only a little more than a year left of high school, and then they’d probably move away from home as soon as possible. Irene felt a pang in her heart at that thought. Then it would just be her and Krister left in the house. And Sammie.

When she padded into the bedroom, she could hear Krister’s heavy breathing. He would start snoring any minute. Naturally, Sammie had placed himself in the middle of Irene’s side of the bed. He was lying on his back with his paws in the air, pretending to be asleep. Irene was too tired to coax him down. Instead, she resolutely put him on the floor. Deeply insulted, Sammie went out and lay down on the rug in front of the TV.

When she closed her eyes, she saw alternating images of the bloody scenes from the cottage and the rectory. Who wanted to wipe out the Schyttelius family? And why? Was Rebecka Schyttelius also in danger? Reason said that she was. But maybe the threat was local and she was safe because she lived in London. Why had the murderer written the symbol in blood on the computer screens?

Questions swirled around in Irene’s head before she fell into an uneasy sleep.