The Glass Devil

Chapter 5

THE SLUSHY SNOW FROM the day before had transformed itself into an annoying freezing drizzle. The temperature during the night had risen to seven degrees above zero, Celsius, but it was premature to start feeling giddy about spring warmth. Veils of rainy haze obscured Landvetter Lake and erased the division between air and water. Everything was obscured by a single wet gray mist.

The unmarked police car turned toward Kullahult. The streets were noticeably empty. It seemed as though everything and everyone huddled indoors because of the tragedy that had befallen the small community. After driving around the church hill, they found a sign reading “Fellowship Hall.” It pointed at a low yellow brick house with a flat roof in the style of buildings from the late 1960s.

Irene had called the Kullahult Church Association before they left. Deaconess Rut Börjesson had answered. She seemed articulate and efficient, despite the fact that her voice shook with suppressed tears. She promised to gather all the association’s employees in the Fellowship Hall to make things easier for the officers. Irene had informed her that three investigators would arrive, so the questioning would go quickly. She imagined that there could hardly be very many people employed by the church; therefore, she was surprised when they entered the hall and counted ten people waiting.

A small, thin woman dressed in mourning clothes came forward. Her thin gray hair was cut in a short bob, untouched by dye or a permanent. Her eyes, behind thick glasses, were red-rimmed and tear-filled. The woman stretched out her ice-cold hand to the officers one by one and told them that she was Rut Börjesson, the deaconess. Then she introduced her colleagues.

First was a tall woman with mahogany-colored hair. She was probably over fifty, but her figure was slender and her face still beautiful. “Well-preserved” was a good adjective for her. Rut Börjesson introduced her as the church accountant, Louise Måårdh.

“With two ‘å’s.” Louise smiled and held out her cool hand.

Irene was one hundred and eighty centimeters² tall in her stocking feet, and Louise Måårdh was almost as tall. She was surprised to meet a woman who could have once been a photographer’s model working as a church accountant in a country parish. This was explained when a dark man in a pastor’s shirt next to her introduced himself as Bengt Måårdh, the assistant rector of Ledkulla parish. Still, Louise Måårdh didn’t look like a clergyman’s wife to her. My assumptions are probably at fault, thought Irene. She’d pictured a round and happy woman who smelled of newly baked rolls, smiling, serving the women in the church sewing circle. Louise Måårdh looked as if she spent her spare time on the golf course rather than in front of an oven.

The same could have been said for her husband. He was tall and slender, with clean-cut features. His dark hair, just beginning to be streaked with gray, contrasted nicely with his tanned skin. After a glance at Louise’s face, Irene concluded that the Måårdh family had recently been on a ski trip and had had good weather.

The look in Bengt Måårdh’s brown eyes was sad and serious. He took Irene’s hand in both of his, and for a confused second Irene had the impression that he was planning on extending his condolences to her. Instead, he mumbled a few words about how incomprehensible it was that Mr. and Mrs. Schyttelius were no longer with them. Not to mention their son. . the assistant rector’s voice broke as he shook his head without letting go of Irene’s hand. She had begun to extract it from his grip when he released it with a mumbled apology.

Jonas Burman stood next to Bengt Måårdh. They greeted each other briefly. Irene noted that the young assistant rector looked pale but resolute.

The short, dark-skinned woman at his side was Rosa Marqués. She was not quite middle-aged and spoke very good Swedish, though with a distinct accent. The deaconess explained that she cleaned both the Fellowship Hall and the rectory.

There was yet another married couple in the room. They looked to be in their sixties and introduced themselves as the church sextons, Siv and Örjan Svensson. They took care of the custodial duties in Kullahult and Ledkulla parishes. He was short and slender; she was also short, but plump. There we have the cinnamon roll maker, Irene thought.

A man in a checked shirt and carpenter’s pants stepped forward energetically and introduced himself. “Stig Björk, cemetery caretaker,” he said, and smiled. The smile created rays of wrinkles around his blue eyes. His white teeth gleamed in his weather-beaten face. Obviously, he spent a lot of time in the fresh air. There was a trace of gray here and there in his dark hair. Irene estimated his age to be around forty. He must have realized that his smile was inappropriate, because it quickly faded and he peered nervously at the man behind him.

The latter had been leaning against the wall, but now he stepped into the light. Like Bengt Måårdh, he wore a black shirt with a white pastor’s collar, but over the shirt he wore a short black coat, similar to a blazer. He introduced himself as Assistant Rector Urban Berg of Bäckared.

His handshake was dry and cool. His entire person radiated self-control verging on stiffness. His gray-speckled blond hair was perfectly combed. A bald spot on the very top of his head was barely perceptible. He and Bengt Måårdh seemed to be about the same age.

Now there was only one woman left who hadn’t been introduced. She was small and dainty. It was hard to guess her age, probably between twenty-five and thirty-five. Her long blond hair was held in place by a leather headband which showed off her beautiful features. Her large violet-blue eyes were shadowed by long eyelashes. Not the slightest trace of makeup could be seen on her face. She wore a dark-blue linen dress with puffed sleeves, and low black boots. The cemetery caretaker gave her a look, and Irene could see that it was one of admiration. And maybe something else. Even the restrained Urban Berg’s eyes gleamed a bit when he let his gaze sweep over this woman.

“My name is Eva Möller, and I am the cantor and organist,” she said in a soft, melodic voice.

Irene had thought that a cantor always was also the church organist, but the way Eva phrased this showed that it wasn’t the case.

The portly man seated on a loudly creaking chair by the door was Nils Bertilsson, sexton part of the time in Bäckared parish and the other half at Slättared. His worn black suit was tightfitting, and he wiped his forehead and bald spot with a large handkerchief. When he rose to be introduced, Irene saw that he was almost as tall as she was but certainly weighed more than twice as much.

Irene was assigned to question deaconess Rut Börjesson, the Måårdhs, and the housecleaner, Rosa Marqués.

“You can use my office,” Louise Måårdh offered.

She opened a french door which led into a pleasant office space. Two pots containing miniature Easter lilies stood on the window sill, framed by sun-yellow curtains. Combined with the bouquet of red tulips on the desk, they evoked a feeling of spring, even though it might as well have been November outside. A framed poster from the Göteborg Theater’s production of Les Misérables hung on the wall.

Irene decided to start with the deaconess. She asked Rut Börjesson to follow her into the room. The black-clothed woman sat in a comfortable-looking visitor’s chair and gripped the armrests with both hands.

Irene began with routine questions. She determined that the deaconess was fifty-eight years old, married with no children, and that she had worked in Kullahult parish for seventeen years.

“Did you work here before Pastor Schyttelius came to this congregation?” Irene asked.

“Rector. Sten Schyttelius came here as the rector exactly twenty years ago. So he was here three years before me.”

Irene realized that she had a very poor understanding of the titles bestowed by the Swedish church. Cautiously, she asked, “Was he the boss of the other pastors?”

“Yes. Ledkulla, Bäckared, and Slättared each have an assistant rector. Because Kullahult is the largest parish with the largest church, the rector has always had the church here.”

The deaconess answered all questions put to her but she hugged the armrests of her chair so hard that her knuckles turned white. Irene put it down to indignation. She must have known her boss well after having worked with him for so many years. That’s why Irene shifted her inquiry. “I assume you knew Elsa Schyttelius?”

“Yes. We’ve spent some time together over the years.”

“What kind of person was she?”

Uncertainty was visible in the deaconess’s face. “She was very nice. . reserved. Very pleasant and friendly, when she was well.”

“So when she was feeling well, she was kind. What kind of illness did she have?”

“It was unpleasant. . she suffered from depression. It came and went. Apparently, she had had it since childhood, and the illness worsened after she had her children.”

“What was she like when she was sick?”

“When she was sick, she became withdrawn. Didn’t want to see people and didn’t have the energy to do practical things. She just stayed in bed.”

“Did you know Jacob and Rebecka?”

“Of course. When I came here, Jacob was a teenager and Rebecka had just started school. Such wonderful children. Well-behaved. In appearance, Jacob is most like his mother, but his personality is probably more like his father’s. It’s the opposite with Rebecka.”

“Does she also suffer from depression?”

“No, but she is also a bit reserved. Jacob is. . was as open and happy as Sten. And now someone has. . Sten and Jacob and Elsa. …”

Her self-control cracked and she started sobbing. Irene waited for her to calm down, then asked, “Are you able to answer a few more questions?”

Rut Börjesson nodded and blew her nose in her wet handkerchief. In a thin, trembling voice she said, “I would so very much like to help if I can.”

“Do you have any suspicions whatsoever as to what could be behind these murders?”

The deaconess seemed to be thinking intensely before she shook her head. “No. It’s incomprehensible!”

“Did anyone in the Schyttelius family say anything that would make you think that he or she felt threatened?”

Again Rut Börjesson hesitated before answering. Finally, she said, “The only things I recall are Sten’s words last summer and fall. After the Satanists had burned down the summer chapel in Norssjön, he tried to find out who was responsible for that atrocity. You could almost say that he was obsessed with it.”

She stopped in order to dry her eyes and nose again. Irene could see that her hands were shaking.

“One afternoon, I was forced to speak with him about an important matter. Sten hadn’t come to the Fellowship Hall, so I went over to the rectory. Elsa let me in, and I remember that it was obvious that she was in the middle of one of her episodes. In any case, she pointed up to the second floor when I asked where Sten was. She said that he was in the office behind the billiard room. Actually-”

She stopped and looked uncertainly at Irene before she continued. “Actually, I didn’t know that he had an office on the second floor as well. But, of course, the one downstairs is large and old-fashioned. When I knocked, the door was locked. Sten called ‘One second,’ and then he unlocked the door. He pointed at the computer and said that he was on the trail of the Satanists. From what I understood, he had found some clues on the Internet. And he said that he had to be very careful so they didn’t become suspicious, because that could be dangerous.”

“Did he say in what way it could be dangerous?”

“No, just that it could be dangerous. I thought it sounded nasty. Who knows what those fools might come up with?”

“Did it seem as though Sten Schyttelius was afraid of the Satanists?”

Again Rut Börjesson looked hesitant. “‘Afraid’. . I don’t know. . he said that one had to be very careful.”

“Was the computer on?”

“Yes. I went up to the desk in order to lay out some papers that he was going to sign, and I remember that there was a very beautiful picture on the screen. There were a lot of colorful fish swimming around a coral reef.”

So Sten Schyttelius had put on the screen saver before he opened the door for the deaconess. Was the information on the Internet really dangerous? Irene made a mental note to contact someone who could help her find out.

“Do you know if he continued searching for the Satanists?”

“Yes. Jacob knows. . knew a lot about computers, and he was here about a month ago helping Sten-”

“Sorry for having to interrupt. But were they using the computers here in the Fellowship Hall?” Irene asked, pointing at Louise Måårdh’s computer on the desk in front of them.

“No. No, they were using the computer over in the rectory. I was invited there for afternoon coffee. Elsa was feeling quite well at that time and asked me to come. When I arrived, Jacob was also there. Elsa said something about them having spent the whole morning with the computer, and then Sten said that he and Jacob had something big going on. I asked if they were on the trail of the Satanists, and Sten nodded.”

“He nodded? He didn’t say anything?”

“No. But he and Jacob exchanged a look, as if they were. . conspirators.”

Conspirators. Father and son were on the trail of Satanists, who had burned down the chapel. According to Rut Börjesson, the rector had been obsessed with the idea. Despite their caution, had they gotten too close? Even if the murder method was not typical of Satanism, the symbol on the computer screens and the upside-down crucifix pointed to a connection. As Sten and Jacob Schyttelius had hunted the church arsonists via the computer, it might explain why the computers had been marked with the pentagrams.

“Were there many people who knew that they were seeking the Satanists via the Internet?” Irene continued.

Rut Börjesson shook her head. “I don’t think so. Right after the fire, he spoke of catching the guilty ones and punishing them severely. But as time went on, there were more important things to take care of. I was actually quite surprised when he said that he was still looking for them.”

“And was it a complete coincidence that you found out about it?”

“Yes.”

There was a short silence while Irene reflected. Finally, she decided to move on to something else and let go of the Satanic angle for a while.

“What kind of a person was Sten Schyttelius?” she asked.

The deaconess’s sorrowful expression vanished. Her face lit up. “Deeply pious, good-hearted. He hadn’t had an easy time through the years with Elsa’s illness, but he never complained. He took care of the kids and did his job. They’ve always had help with the cleaning, but otherwise he did most things himself. He enjoyed mealtimes and was a good cook and a wine connoisseur. He was an avid hunter as well. Each year, he took a break from work for the moose hunt.”

“And Jacob was like his father?”

“Yes. Except maybe not quite as good at cooking, but he was also a hunter. Very nice and friendly. The last few years, both of them became heavily involved with Sweden’s Ecumenical Children’s Villages. Mostly it was Sten, but last fall Jacob also started working actively.”

“What would they do?”

A blush suffused Rut Börjesson’s pale cheeks as she described the absorbing work of father and son Schyttelius. “They traveled with aid groups to war-and catastrophe-stricken countries in Africa to help needy children. Various Christian organizations in Sweden have set up several villages for orphaned children, about ten in all. For the most part, all work is done by volunteers, and both Sten and Jacob helped wholeheartedly. The expense of the trip and room and board was paid by the parishes, but otherwise they weren’t compensated.”

“Did Rebecka also help?”

“No. She has lived in London for the last two years, where she works as a computer consultant, or whatever it’s called. I don’t think she’s active in the church.”

“Was Elsa Schyttelius involved in the children’s villages?”

“No. Elsa had more than enough to occupy her with her illness.”

Irene saw that Rut was exhausted and decided to end the questioning. She followed her to the door and asked the cleaning woman, Rosa Marqués, to come in.

ROSA WAS short and rather plump. Her dark hair was gathered in a thick braid hanging down her back. Her face was pretty, dominated by a wide mouth which looked like it broke into a smile readily. Right now, neither her mouth nor her dark brown eyes were smiling; rather, they mirrored grave sorrow.

She seated herself on the edge of the chair with her hands folded in her lap. Irene started with personal information. It turned out that Rosa was thirty-eight years old, married, and had four children. She had not had close contact with the Schytteliuses during the four years she had cleaned their house once a week. She had never met their children, because they were both adults and had moved away from home before she started working at the rectory. She spontaneously mentioned Elsa Schyttelius’s periods of illness, during which Mrs. Schyttelius had locked herself in the bedroom and Rosa wasn’t allowed to clean in there.

“Do you clean the whole house every week?” Irene asked.

“No. I only clean the large fancy rooms on the first floor every week. When it’s needed, I do some of the rooms upstairs.”

“How do you know when it’s needed?”

“The rector tells me.”

“Have you ever cleaned the office upstairs?”

Rosa raised her dark eyebrows in surprise. “The office is on the first floor.”

“Sten Schyttelius has a smaller room with a computer on the second floor. It’s located behind the billiard room.”

Now Rosa frowned. Finally, she shook her head decidedly and said, “No. I’ve never cleaned in that room. The door is always locked.”

Over a period of four years, Rosa Marqués had never cleaned the computer room. Irene recalled that there was a gun cabinet in the room. It would be interesting to know what kind of weapons had been kept there. Is that why the room had always been locked? But if the cabinet had been kept locked, according to law, then locking the door to the room itself would have been unnecessary.

“Do you remember if anything was hanging on the wall in the bedroom?”

“The crucifix. The beautiful cross,” Rosa said.

“There was a cross hanging on the wall?”

“Yes. I always look at it when I’m cleaning the room. It’s so beautiful. Mrs. Schyttelius says that it’s very old. From Italy.”

“How big is it?” Irene asked, mostly out of curiosity.

“About like this,” said Rosa, indicating about a foot and a half in height and a few inches less in width. “And Jesus Christ is in silver,” she added.

This was the antique crucifix from Italy that had been turned upside down during or after the murders. Was this completely irrelevant, or was it important? Irene was unsure. But maybe that was the murderer’s intention.

THE FIRST of the Måårdhs whom Irene interviewed was Louise, the church accountant. She sat down in the armchair across from Irene and smiled faintly. “I can hardly remember ever sitting in this chair.”

“It doesn’t matter to me which chair I sit in. Do you want to trade?” Irene asked.

“No, no! I just meant that sometimes you become a little blind to your own surroundings. This chair is actually really comfortable.”

Louise Måårdh leaned back and crossed one slender leg over the other. Irene observed her. Her expression was serious and her gaze sorrowful, but she wasn’t nearly as distraught as the deaconess had been. Her black pinstriped suit, worn with a white silk blouse, was formal and appropriate. A necklace of large pearls shimmered at her throat.

She was actually quite attractive. And she had become the wife of a pastor in a country parish. Amazing.

Here, too, Irene commenced with general personal questions. Louise and Bengt Måårdh had two sons, twenty-five and twenty years old. The family had lived in Kullahult for almost ten years and Bengt had been the assistant rector in Ledkulla parish the entire time.

“And have you worked as the church accountant the whole time?” Irene asked.

“Yes. Earlier, I had handled the finances at a small company in the town where we used to live. But when we came here, this position was open and Sten asked if I was interested. I thought that I could always try it out and, well, I’m still here.”

“A thought just struck me. If your oldest son is twenty-five, then maybe he knows Rebecka Schyttelius?”

“Of course. They were classmates in high school.”

“Did they spend a lot of time together?”

“They are far too different. My Per is an outgoing boy who always had a large group of friends. Rebecka is more reserved. Even in high school, she preferred to spend time with her computers.”

Suddenly she stood. “Wait. I’ll show you. . ”

She walked around the desk and pulled out a drawer. Two thick colorful envelopes were lying on top.

“Pictures from two Christmases ago. I dropped off the film, picked up the pictures and brought them here, and they’re still here.” She started flipping through the photos. At regular intervals, she would place one on the desk. When she had gone through both piles, ten pictures were lying on the desk.

“Rebecka wasn’t home this Christmas. She had apparently come down with the flu. But she was here the Christmas before. Our tradition is that all the pastors’ families eat breakfast together after Christmas Day services here in the Fellowship Hall. Of course, the rest of the staff is also welcome to join us, if they want. Both of my boys were home, so I brought the camera with me to the Christmas breakfast.”

As she was speaking, she laid out the pictures in a particular order. When she was satisfied, she said, “In the first pictures you have the Schyttelius family. And there is our family. And in the later ones you can see the rest of the staff.”

For the first time, Irene saw what the Schyttelius family had looked like when they were all intact and alive. Sten Schyttelius was smiling in three of the four pictures. In the fourth, he was laughing as he raised a schnapps glass to Bengt Måårdh in a toast.

“Is the early service the only thing a pastor does on Christmas Day?” Irene asked.

“No. Then there is High Mass and Evening Service. Why?”

“Sten Schyttelius and your husband are drinking schnapps in the morning.”

“Just a small one, to go with the herring. Don’t worry, it would have worn off before High Mass. The service is divided among the pastors and the churches. It would be too much otherwise.”

Sten Schyttelius had been a tall, impressive man. His large hand which grasped the foot of the schnapps glass looked more as if it belonged to a day laborer than a clergyman. His face was powerful, dominated by a large, meaty nose. His hairline had receded, but his steel gray hair was thick, worn en brosse. His smile in the pictures seemed warm and heartfelt. His eyes almost disappeared in laugh lines in the photos where he was beaming at the camera.

Next to the rector was his wife. She looked plain next to her sparkling husband. A dark-blue suit jacket and a high-necked gray blouse added to that impression. Her thinning gray hair was cut short and lay flat on her head. Irene thought that she looked a bit like Rut Börjesson, but the deaconess had at least some sense of life about her. Elsa Schyttelius had none. She was looking straight into the lens in one of the pictures. Her gaze was empty and her facial expression stiff. Had she been sick during that Christmas season?

A young woman was seated next to Elsa. It had to be Rebecka. She was also big, and the contrast made Elsa look even smaller and more colorless. The similarity to her father was apparent. Rebecka wasn’t heavy like him, but her large bone structure was like his. She wore a light-brown suit jacket, under which a yellow turtleneck could be seen. Her thick hair was dark and shoulder-length. Loose curls softly framed her face. Based on what Irene could make out, she wasn’t wearing makeup, but her own coloring was strong enough to accent her distinct features. When she saw Rebecka’s face, Irene thought of a Mediterranean movie star from the fifties. She didn’t fit the twenty-first century ideal of anorexic good looks, but she was a beautiful woman.

“She must be tall,” Irene said, looking up at Louise Måårdh.

“We are exactly the same height: One hundred seventy-eight centimeters,” Louise responded.

She smiled faintly when she saw Irene’s surprise at this exact reply.

“We started talking about it during breakfast. She had bought that nice brown jacket at a London shop. Long Tall Sally, I remember it was called. You, of course, will appreciate how difficult it can be to find clothes,” she said.

Irene nodded. She knew the problem well. The church accountant placed a long well-manicured index-finger nail on one of the photos and said, “Jacob is sitting there next to my Per. Jacob and Rebecka were the same height.”

Jacob Schyttelius smiled at the camera and looked happy and relaxed. He had light hair and a slender build. Irene couldn’t see the slightest resemblance to his father or sister, but it was possible to see some similarities with his mother. The only thing the siblings had in common were brown eyes and dark eyebrows.

In the last three photos, Irene saw the people she had met a little while ago in the hall, but also a number of others whom she hadn’t met.

“Who are these people?” she asked.

“The church association’s employees. The secretary of information, the parish hostess, parish assistants, childcare workers, activity director, youth director, and our three preschool teachers.” Louise pointed at each as she identified them.

“Childcare workers? Secretary of information? Are all of them employed by the church?” Irene asked.

“We have a Christian preschool and a good youth program. The church is a large employer here in the municipality. And I’m the one who tries to find the money to pay for it all. The churches themselves also need renovations, as well as the fellowship halls, the rectories, and other properties. I’m in charge of paying all the bills and salaries, and I do the bookkeeping as well.”

Irene had never thought of the church as an employer with a large economic impact, but that’s apparently exactly what it was. And Sten Schyttelius had been in charge of it all, the commander of the parish or association or whatever it was called. She said out loud, “So you’re financially responsible, but Rector Schyttelius was the boss. What was he like as an employer?”

For the first time, Louise thought before she answered. Then she said, hesitantly, “Sten was a pleasant person, but as a boss he had certain. . bad sides. He was actually ready for retirement, so you can understand that he was relatively old-fashioned and authoritarian. He was difficult to deal with sometimes. He had a short fuse and could get very angry. He saw women as personal assistants, not as colleagues. We had some clashes. . The woman who held this position before me actually quit. There was a lot of talk about harassment, but it didn’t come to anything. Not to mention his controversies with the vestrymen! The new director and Sten never got along.”

While Louise was speaking, one of the envelopes slipped from her lap and fell on the floor. The photos fell out, and Irene bent to help pick them up. She stopped at the first photo.

In the far left of the picture, Sten Schyttelius was raising a generously filled schnapps glass. Bengt Måårdh was seated in the middle, half turned away from the rector. He had one of his arms around Cantor Eva Möller’s shoulders and was leaning over to whisper something in her ear. She looked enchanting in a red dress with embroidery around its square neckline, and she was smiling at what he said. It appeared to Irene that the assistant rector was taking the opportunity to peer down the neck of Eva’s dress.

Louise Måårdh saw that Irene had examined the photo of her husband and the lovely cantor, but she didn’t say anything. She held out her hand to take the pictures Irene had gathered together. “Thank you,” she said.

“Do you know if anyone in the Schyttelius family felt threatened?” Irene asked.

Louise shook her reddish-brown hair. “No. I never heard anything like that.”

“Did Sten Schyttelius ever talk about Satanists?”

“Yes. After the summer chapel burned down; he was terribly upset.”

“Did he speak about Satanists during the last couple of months?”

“No, not that I remember. It was mostly in the months following the fire.”

“Did you hear that he was trying to trace the Satanists via the Internet?”

“Internet? No, that’s news to me,” Louise said with sincere surprise in her voice.

“Then I don’t have any more questions at the moment. Would you be so kind as to ask your husband to come in?”

BENGT MÅÅRDH’S face bore a troubled expression as he seated himself in the visitor’s chair. He folded his hands and rested his elbows on the armrests while his serious gaze focused on Irene. Again she felt that a priest was here to console her, as if she was the one who needed comforting. The feeling was absurd, yet it was there. Maybe it was evoked by his sympathetic brown eyes behind frameless glasses.

Then it struck her that she was simply being exposed to a basic tool of his profession. This was the way Bengt Måårdh had learned to act in times of grief: He displayed compassion. It probably worked with a person who actually needed it, not least with women. And who doesn’t need compassion nowadays? Our need for comfort is immeasurable.

She was pulled from her thoughts when the pastor said, in a low voice, “I am prepared to answer your questions. If there’s anything I can do to catch the person who murdered Sten and Elsa and Jacob, then I want to do everything within my power to help.” He leaned against the backrest of the chair with his hands still folded.

“Have you ever heard any of the three murder victims say that he or she felt threatened?” Irene began.

“No. Never. Who would want to threaten them? The world’s nicest people and-”

“Did Sten Schyttelius ever speak with you about Satanists?” Irene interrupted.

“He spoke about them a lot directly after the fire. Dear Sten was actually pretty hot-tempered, but he never held a grudge. He was very angry with the Satanists and their followers. You’ll have to forgive me, but he didn’t think that the police cared enough. Sometimes it sounded like he was thinking about going after them himself.” He smiled almost imperceptibly.

“Did he speak about chasing Satanists in the last few months?” Irene asked.

His surprise was obvious. “No. Not at all! I was referring to last summer and fall, right after the fire. During the last six months, I haven’t heard a word about Satanists. Sten had other projects that took up most of his time. He was very involved in Sweden’s Ecumenical Children’s Villages. That project was close to his heart, and he was thinking about working even more closely with it after retirement.”

“I heard something about Jacob also being involved in this work.”

“Yes. He became interested through Sten. They took a trip together last fall. Sten wasn’t as young as he used to be, so it was probably a good thing that he had Jacob with him.”

“Could Jacob take off from work right in the middle of the semester?”

For the first time, the pastor was uncertain. “He was apparently free during the fall. I don’t know if he was on sick leave. As you probably already know, he got divorced last summer.”

This was news to Irene, but she satisfied herself with nodding as if he had confirmed her information.

“While he was married, Jacob and his ex-wife lived in Norrland somewhere. She’s also a teacher.”

“Did they have any children?”

“No. They were only married a few years.”

“Did he move down here because of the divorce?”

“Yes. He didn’t have a support system up there. His family was here, of course.”

“Had he already moved to the summer cottage at Norssjön by the fall?”

“Yes. Jacob has always been considerate and probably didn’t want to burden his parents, especially because of Elsa and her condition. I don’t know if anyone has told you that Elsa suffered from depression, but unfortunately that was the case.”

“I’m aware of it. What was Elsa Schyttelius like as a person?”

At first, Bengt looked as though he hadn’t understood the question but after a while he frowned in contemplation.

“Well. . she was nice, but she didn’t draw much attention to herself. Sten was a real social butterfly and liked parties. Elsa loathed that sort of thing. She showed up at parties sometimes, but always sat quietly.”

“She never spoke?”

“She spoke, of course, but she was taciturn.”

Suddenly he bent forward toward Irene again and looked her straight in the eye. Both his voice and his eyes revealed sincere concern when he asked, “Have you gotten hold of Rebecka?”

“Yes. An English police officer and a pastor from the Swedish Seaman’s Church informed her of what happened. It took some time to find her because she had recently moved.”

“That’s right. Sten actually said that she was going to move, last fall.”

“Do you remember if he said anything else?”

“He said that things were going very well for the company. Rebecka works for a computer firm which undertakes assignments for different clients. I’m not very knowledgeable about computers, but I understood that much. Then he said that her new apartment was big, considering that it was located in central London. But she was happy about having rented it.”

“It must have been expensive?”

“Probably. But money doesn’t seem to be a problem in the IT business. It’s good to know that she’s doing so well.”

“You’ve known her for ten years. Did you expect that she would have such success?”

“Honestly, I wouldn’t have. She did well in school but kept to herself for the most part. She wasn’t bad-looking, but she was. . serious. Distant. During high school, she was probably pretty lonely; but when she moved to Linköping-or was it Lidköping-I always mix them up. . in any case, when she moved away from home and started working with computers, it was as if she loosened up. I think she blossomed. We only saw each other for any length of time at a Christmas Breakfast but I’ve noticed that she changed during the last years.”

“In what way did she change?”

“She seemed happier and more talkative. You could also see how her appearance altered. . clothes and that sort of thing. She spoke about her friends, and Elsa confided to Louise that she had a boyfriend. But that apparently ended before she moved to London. Maybe that’s why she moved? I know that Sten and Elsa never got a chance to meet him.”

“How do you know that?”

Bengt arched his eyebrows in surprise.

“Naturally, I asked Elsa. She said that neither of them had met the boyfriend. And then she said that it was over. A few months later, Rebecka moved to London. But there was a rumor that she had a new guy in London. According to Louise, he was here at Kullahult over the summer last year, but I don’t know if it’s true.”

“Did Louise meet him?”

“No. This was just something she heard. It’s best if you ask her yourself.”

Irene nodded and was about to ask her next question when a new thought suddenly struck her. “Do you know if Rebecka had helped her father to trace the Satanists over the Internet?” she asked.

Bengt Måårdh looked at Irene in surprise. “I really don’t know! Certainly Sten had a lot of ideas about how he was going to find those responsible, but I’ve never heard him talk about tracking them via the Internet.”

But others have, thought Irene. If Rebecka was involved in her father’s investigation in some way, maybe she would have some information to give them. Was she threatened as well? That couldn’t be ruled out. Thankfully, the English police had promised to keep an eye on her.

Irene decided to change the subject. “Who will become rector now?” she asked.

“The position has been open for a few weeks since he was about to retire anyway, and both Urban Berg and I have applied for it. Of course, there are other applicants, but it will probably be one of us. We have the age and experience needed. But Urban has some problems that may count against him.”

Irene asked the obvious question: “What problems?”

“Unfortunately, he has a drinking problem. He has been arrested for drunken driving twice. It is, of course, very tragic. Urban became a widower a few years ago, and after that his drinking became worse.”

Bengt Måårdh looked sympathetic when he spoke about his colleague’s problems, but Irene thought she heard an undertone of satisfaction. If Urban had this blot on his resumé, naturally Bengt’s chances of getting the position increased. And Louise would become the rector’s wife. Something told Irene this was better than being the wife of the assistant rector.

“Jonas Burman hasn’t applied for the position?” Irene said, mainly to have something to ask about.

Bengt smiled broadly, and Irene could see that he had a very pleasant smile. “Oh, Jonas is far too young to apply for a rector’s position. And-” He stopped himself for a second before following through with what he had been about to say. “There has been some speculation. . Jonas is thirty-one, but there doesn’t seem to have ever been a woman in his life. Someone murmured that he may be homosexual, but I don’t think so. Honestly, I think he’s just prudish and moralistic. Moreover, he’s a member of the synod.”

For a second, Irene wondered if the synod might have something to do with Satanism, but she realized that it was hardly possible. “What is the synod?” she asked, feeling foolish.

Bengt Måårdh didn’t seem surprised at her lack of knowledge, and said, with a meaningful smile, “It’s a group of pastors within the Swedish Church who see themselves as more orthodox than the rest of us. They’re best known for their categorical opposition to female pastors.”

“Are you opposed to female pastors?”

“No.”

“Was Sten Schyttelius?”

“No. . not directly. But he preferred male colleagues. He had an old-fashioned view toward women in the church.”

“So he wasn’t a member of the synod?”

“No.”

“How would Sten Schyttelius have reacted if he had learned that Jonas Burman really was homosexual?”

Again Bengt contemplated the question before answering. “He wouldn’t have approved of it. He was very fixed in his opinion of homosexuality: It was completely unacceptable. We had a discussion last year. There were two women who wanted to be blessed in Kullahult’s church after they had entered into a domestic partnership, but it wasn’t even a possibility for Sten. He declared very clearly that all forms of homosexuality are a crime against God. The Lord made man and woman in order to be of joy to one another and to take care of their children.”

Irene could hear in the priest’s voice that he shared his late rector’s opinion. She decided to leave the topic for the time being. “I’ve heard that Sten and Jacob Schyttelius were hunters. Are you also interested in hunting?”

“No.”

“Do any of the other pastors hunt?”

“Not that I know of. I’m almost certain that none of the others do.”

Irene couldn’t come up with any more questions and thanked Bengt Måårdh for his assistance. He rose and took her hand in a firm grip. His handshake felt dry and firm. He wished her luck with the investigation, adding that he sincerely hoped that the repulsive murderer would be caught.

THE THREE officers found a pizzeria right across from Konsum. The inspectors had their choice of the four tables inside, since most of the other customers appeared to want to take their pizzas out. They chose a table as far away from the counter as they could get, not because they were afraid the pizza maker would be able to overhear their conversation but so that they would be able to have one at all. The employees had a flower-covered boom box behind the counter which was pounding out Turkish pop songs at the highest volume.

They were hungry and ate their pizzas in utter silence. The volume of customers had slowed after lunchtime, but the tape player’s volume remained unchanged.

Irene leaned forward over the small table, making sure she didn’t put her elbows in the leftovers. Tommy and Fredrik also leaned forward to hear what she had to say.

“The picture I’ve gotten of the victims is pretty clear. Sten Schyttelius was a happy, extroverted, sociable person. Like his son, he was interested in hunting. He took care of the family during Elsa Schyttelius’s periods of depression. He was authoritarian and old-fashioned as a boss and had a biased view of women. But since he was going to retire before the summer, he got away with it. By the way, Bengt Måårdh said that he and Urban Berg had applied for Sten’s position. And Bengt ‘mentioned’ that Urban has a drinking problem; he has been arrested for drunk driving twice.”

Tommy smiled broadly. “What petty gossipers! Urban Berg told me that Bengt Måårdh is a notorious womanizer. According to Urban, he can’t leave any woman alone.”

“And according to Måårdh,” Irene continued, “there are suspicions that Jonas Burman is gay. Sten Schyttelius would never have tolerated that, because he was against allowing homosexuals into the church community. Oh, and Jonas Burman is a member of the synod.”

“Don’t you mean the sewing circle?” Fredrik laughed.

“It’s obvious that you don’t know what it is either. I asked. According to Bengt Måårdh, it’s an association of pastors who are more religious than others. ‘Orthodox,’ I think he said. Mainly, they’re against women pastors.”

“Yuck, what beasts!” Tommy said and rolled his eyes.

“Since when did you become a feminist? Elsa Schyttelius seemed to just be a small gray shadow trailing after her husband because of her depression. I’d like to know what Hannu found out about the Schytteliuses and if there are any living relatives we can speak with.”

“On the topic of relatives, Jacob appears to have been a nice guy but no one knew him very well. He spent most of his time with his parents since he returned to Göteborg after his divorce. Wouldn’t one want to go out and have some fun if he was suddenly free again?” Fredrik the bachelor asked.

“Maybe that’s what he did. But before he got divorced,” Irene said dryly.

“Possible. We should speak with his ex-wife,” said Tommy.

“And Rebecka,” Irene added.

“Exactly. But that may not be very easy. We don’t dare ask her to come here and if she does come, she’ll need to be given protection,” Tommy said seriously.

His colleagues nodded. Irene continued, “I asked Louise Måårdh about the rumor that Rebecka has a boyfriend in London who visited Kullahult with her last summer. According to Louise, it was only a rumor. Neither she nor anyone else saw the guy. Someone supposedly said that Rebecka had shown up at the rectory with him, but no one has been able to confirm it. And Rebecka didn’t have anyone with her when she came home for Christmas last year.”

“Someone really needs to speak with her. Maybe she knows something, consciously or unconsciously, that will provide a clue to the motive for the murders,” Tommy said.

“Based on the pentagrams and the upside-down cross, the motive is Satanic. About a month ago, the deaconess heard Sten Schyttelius say he was chasing Satanists on the Web, but that it might be dangerous,” said Irene.

“Dangerous? Well, maybe. A computer always leaves electronic traces. A few years ago, you couldn’t follow them, but now you can,” said Fredrik.

“Is it easy?” Irene asked.

“I don’t think so. But some specialists and hackers know how to do it.”

They contemplated the situation. Irene said, “Strange. Only the deaconess heard the rector mention Satanists, and that only by chance. The others said that Sten Schyttelius had only spoken of the Satanists right after the fire last year, but not since.”

“I spoke with that cantor, Eva. She described Sten Schyttelius as a man with hidden depths. When she said that, could she have meant that he was conducting a secret investigation?” Tommy speculated.

Neither of the other two had a better guess.

“Maybe we should go back to the rectory before we leave. The technicians are probably done now,” said Irene.

They went out to the car.

“I WANT to go into the library on the first floor first,” said Irene.

They entered the large room lined with full bookshelves. The smell of dust and musty old books was intense; Fredrik sneezed. Irene stood for a moment, thinking. Finally, she was certain. Out loud, she said, “This doesn’t feel like a room someone has worked in recently. This is a museum. Sten Schyttelius used the office upstairs.”

They went up to the second floor. Svante Malm emerged from the bedroom. “Can you wait ten minutes?” he asked.

“No problem,” Tommy answered.

The billiard room was untouched. Irene unconsciously bent when she passed the stuffed animal heads. She thought that they looked at her accusingly with their eyes of glass.

Fredrik stopped at the well-filled bar cart and whistled. “Wasn’t it that guy Urban who has a drinking problem?” He grinned.

“If that cart had belonged to Urban, the bottles would probably be bare, if what Bengt Måårdh intimated is true,” Irene replied.

They entered the office. The desk was bare. The computer had been removed, leaving its outline in the dust on the desktop. The doors to the gun cabinet were wide open, and Irene could see that while it was now empty, there was room for six rifles.

“Was the cabinet full?” she asked.

“I don’t know. We’ll have to ask Svante,” said Tommy, and he left the room.

There were some books and bibles and piles of papers called “Our Church” and “News from Kullahult’s Church Association,” paper, stamps, a hole punch and other office materials on shelves, and a box marked “Sweden’s Ecumenical Children’s Villages.” Irene started flipping through the papers but was interrupted by Tommy’s return.

“They found five rifles and a lot of ammunition in the cabinet and took everything to the lab. The cabinet originally held six rifles, including the murder weapon. The interesting thing is that the cabinet was unlocked when the technicians found it and the key was in the lock. Just like the front door,” he said.

“Weren’t the guns broken down?” Irene asked.

“No. It’s not necessary if weapons are stored in an approved gun cabinet, and this one was, aside from the fact that it was left unlocked.”

“The murderer seems to have known where all of the keys were,” Irene thought out loud.

“Or the Schyttelius family kept their keys in places that were too obvious. Remember the key under the plant at the summer cottage,” Tommy reminded her.

Irene nodded and continued to flip through the contents of the box that contained informational brochures about the different villages. The children were orphans and received room and board and schooling at the villages, as well as a hefty dose of old-time Swedish religious education, Irene thought, examining a picture of a group of dark-skinned children with bowed heads and folded hands in front of an altar. The young, blond pastor stood with one hand held in a gesture of blessing. His gaze was directed at a point above the children’s heads. The text under the picture read: “The children are inquisitive and gratefully accept God’s word.”

The buildings were described as simple but well cared for. The children received food, healthcare, and access to education at the cost of various associations. All the workers were volunteers.

Irene considered. Both father and son had become involved in this worthy work. Why had these nice idealistic men been brutally murdered? Not to mention the timid wife and mother who seemed to have been incapable of hurting anyone?

“We’re done in the bedroom,” Svante shouted through the door to the billiard room.

Irene replaced the contents of the box and put it back on the shelf. Before she left the room, she turned on the threshold to view it. It had been used a great deal but was impersonal, aside from the stuffed birds on the walls. No paintings, no photographs or anything else decorated the walls. Even the bedroom was relatively impersonal, almost Spartan, she noted. It was a big airy room, dominated by a double bed with a nightstand on each side of it. There were only two straight-backed wooden chairs in the room, a small dresser, and a worn rag rug in light blue and beige on the floor. There were no paintings or pictures on the walls here either.

All the bedclothes, including the mattress, had been taken from the bed, but large bloodstains were still visible on the light-colored wallpaper above the headboard. The crucifix was still hanging upside-down between the two windows. The cross was made of some black wood; the Christ figure was silver. With outspread arms and a hanging head, Jesus looked more helpless than usual.

As if he had read her thoughts, Tommy said, “My impulse is to put it back, right side up.”

Irene nodded but let the crucifix stay as it was. “The Satanists want to scare us by stealing the symbol of the Christian church.”

“I don’t think that’s the whole truth. They have their own symbols. Where in the Christian church are pentagrams used? Symbols have exactly the power and the strength we give them. The image of the crucified Jesus, the strongest symbol for Christians, naturally has the greatest power. A Hindu who saw an upside-down cross probably wouldn’t even react.”

Uncertainly, Irene said, “But I’m not particularly religious. I almost never go to church. The twins didn’t want to be confirmed, so they weren’t. But you’re right. I react with. . discomfort.”

“Exactly. And then you realize why the Satanists use religious signs turned the wrong way around in their rituals. Their aim must be to make the Christian rituals and symbols look ridiculous. To dare to disgrace and mock the most sacred symbol is to tell us ‘We don’t give a damn about the Establishment,’ in this case the Church. But they also steal the power of the symbols they mock.”

When Irene looked at the cross, an involuntary shiver ran through her.