Helene Tursten - The Glass Devil

“You did a good job of finding the place,” she said, laughing.

Her hearty smile and the smell of coffee that trickled out through the open door made Irene feel welcome.

They hung their coats from the rack of hooks, pulled off their muddy shoes just inside the door, and stepped right into the kitchen. The sun shone through the light-yellow curtains in the western window, bringing a cozy warmth to the small kitchen. It was decorated country-style with a lot of pine that seemed relatively new, like the kitchen appliances. There didn’t appear to be a dishwasher, but the old iron stove had obviously been kept through the renovation. A shelf holding old objects was located above the stove. A three-legged iron pot was enthroned on its center, surrounded by a beautiful glass goblet and a purple stone the size of a fist, cut in half. The crystals on the inside of the stone emitted small flashes of light when the sun shone on it. A half-meter-long glass staff lay in front of the objects, and a small round glass paperweight was located farthest out on the shelf. Sturdy iron hooks were fastened to the wall above the shelf. A double-edged knife with a beautifully carved wooden handle and an old-fashioned table knife with a handle made of bone hung from these hooks. The sun reflected along the sharpened edges, which scintillated in its light.

Eva Möller had set out thin gold-edged coffee cups and a plate with cinnamon rolls by the window. The yellow-and-white checkered cotton tablecloth looked newly ironed. A shallow blue porcelain bowl holding blooming blue windflowers was placed in the middle of the table.

She invited the officers to sit down. The coffee smelled heavenly when she poured it. She told them to help themselves to the rolls.

“Take as many as you want. I have more in the freezer. Unfortunately, I don’t have any coffee cake to serve you,” she said.

“Wonderful rolls,” Fredrik announced with his mouth full.

The cantor flashed him a delighted smile and looked into his eyes. Irene noticed that he stopped chewing for a few seconds. Eva Möller continued to smile as she strolled over to the stove to put the coffeepot back on a burner. Fredrik had a hard time taking his eyes off her, but with an effort he focused on the coffee cup, chewed the rest of the cinnamon roll, and swallowed loudly.

Irene recognized Fredrik’s behavior. The caretaker for the cemetery, Stig Björk, and Pastor Urban Berg had displayed exactly the same kind of reactions at the Fellowship Hall on Wednesday, though Berg had shown a bit more self-control. Tommy was the one who had questioned the cantor on Wednesday. Had he also experienced the same kind of attraction? Irene and Tommy knew each other well enough that she could ask him.

“The blue windflowers are so nice,” Irene said in order to start the conversation.

Eva Möller smiled. “Yes. I’ve borrowed them from Mother Earth. When they are done blooming, I will put them back. And then maybe I’ll be allowed to take a tuft of cowslips instead.”

“Which you will also replant when they start wilting,” Irene assumed.

“Yes. Why did you want to speak with me again?” Eva Möller asked.

Since Fredrik had his mouth filled with cinnamon roll, Irene replied. “We need to supplement the introductory interrogations. The picture is starting to take shape, but new questions come up all the time. We hope that you will be able to help us answer some of them.”

“I’m happy to help, if I can.”

Irene remembered something Tommy had said; she decided to start with it and save the question about the pentagram for later. “Our colleague who spoke with you on Wednesday mentioned that you told him that Sten Schyttelius was a man with hidden depths. Could you explain what you meant by that?”

Eva Möller gave Irene a long, thoughtful look before she replied. “Sten had several sides to his personality, just as we all do. He was a sociable person. He could let loose, and he never turned down a drink. However, he rarely held any parties himself. It was probably because of Elsa’s illness. When it came to his job, he was conservative through and through, with respect to his work in the parish as well as his position in the church. During the service, everything was supposed to go according to tradition. There were supposed to be shining chasubles and polished candelabras, and he was happy to sing the liturgy. If he had been allowed to swing censers, then he would probably have done so.

“Those were perhaps the two opposite sides that were most obvious. But sometimes I thought there was something else about him. Something dark. . secret. . or maybe sad. I don’t know really.”

“Did you like Sten Schyttelius as a person?”

Eva Möller took her time before she replied. “I accepted that he was the way he was. He was old and about to retire. We never had any difficulties between us. It was probably because he let me take care of the music and the church choir the way I wanted to. Actually, he never got involved in my work and I stayed away from his.”

“How long have you been the cantor in this. . congregation, is it called?”

“Church Association. I’ve been here almost exactly four years. It was actually this house that lured me here.”

“First you got the house, and then the job?” Irene asked.

“Yes. I was fortunate enough to buy it very cheaply from an acquaintance who had renovated it but realized he would never have the time to stay here. He wanted to use it as a summer cottage, but his new wife couldn’t imagine spending her vacation in the woods. But I felt that it was my house the first time I saw it.”

“Was it for sale then?”

“No. But I knew it would become mine.”

Fredrik didn’t seem to have a single question. He chewed on rolls and sat and stared, fascinated by the lovely Eva. Irene was slightly irritated at her colleague’s passivity. She decided that it was time to broach the real reason for their visit.

“As I’m sure you’ve read in the papers we found pentagrams at the crime scenes. At both places the pentagrams were painted directly on the computer screens with the victims’ blood.”

Eva Möller nodded.

“I spoke with Louise Måårdh this morning. She mentioned that you have a pentagram on the gearshift of your car. Can you tell us why?”

To Irene’s surprise, Eva Möller burst out laughing. When she managed to stop, she said, still with restrained amusement in her voice, “I got it at Christmas from a friend. He thinks I have too much fire and wind in me. The pentagram is the tool of the earth. It stands for stability. I got the knob simply so that I would keep my feet on the ground. Or rather on the road.”

Irene was disappointed that the explanation was so simple. Or was it?

“Why does a cantor drive around with the devil’s face on her gearshift?” Irene asked.

Eva Möller instantly became serious. “Oh. Was the pentagram on the computer screens turned upside down?”

“Yes.”

“Then it was used for a Satanic purpose. The pentagram, in and of itself, is a strong tool, but it’s only Satanists who turn it upside down. My pentagram isn’t turned the wrong way. But. …”

Eva pressed her lips together and looked Irene steadily in the eye. She quickly got up and walked over to the shelf above the stove. She took down the paperweight and pressed it hard against her chest as she walked back toward the kitchen table.

“This is my pentagram,” she said. She set the glass object in front of Irene and motioned for her to look closer. She could see that it wasn’t just a paperweight, but a rounded glass dome with a pentagram engraved in its bottom.

“The pentagram in and of itself isn’t a symbol of evil but, like all magical implements, it has strong powers that can be abused. It’s easy to turn my pentagram and then-poof-you have the devil’s face.”