Helene Tursten - The Glass Devil

Irene was very surprised. Could Louise possibly have embezzled church funds? The beautiful, elegant. . then Irene stopped herself and remembered the stunning pearl necklace and the exquisitely cut dress she had worn the week before. Irene had to admit that her impression of Louise also included the word “expensive.”

“Did he have any proof of his suspicions?”

Troubled, Urban Berg squirmed before he answered. “I. . we talked about how Bengt and Louise bought a new car again. It hasn’t been more than three years since they bought a Volvo. Brand-spanking-new. Now they’ve purchased a BMW!” At the last piece of information, he opened his eyes wide, meaningfully. Apparently he viewed the BMW as clear proof of Mr. and Mrs. Måårdh’s deceit. At first he looked disappointed when Irene didn’t comment on the information, but after a short while his determination returned.

“Last winter they traveled to the Maldives, and last summer they were in Italy, and this summer they’re traveling to Greece. Their sons study at the university without taking out any student loans, and they each have an apartment. And then, they’ve bought a bigger boat which is docked at Björlanda Kile. Stuff like that costs money!”

He couldn’t conceal the triumph in his voice. Irene tried to choose her words carefully. “Did Sten Schyttelius suspect his accountant of embezzlement simply because of all of these expenses?”

A blush shot up from the pastor’s throat and spread unflatteringly over his pale cheeks. “He. . he thought, as I do, that it’s very strange that they can afford all these things. Pastors in the Swedish Church are not well paid.”

“But he didn’t have any proof to base his suspicions on,” Irene asserted.

“Maybe not directly. But this has been discussed in the association for the last few years. According to Sten, we aren’t the only ones who have been curious.”

Irene watched the man sitting upright in her visitor’s chair. She was inclined to agree with Tommy; Urban Berg was a gossip-monger. Yet experience told her that a grain of truth can often be found in a rumor. Maybe it was worth pursuing. But someone else would have to do it; she was going to London.

“I’VE SCOUTED the woods around Norssjön and the rectory in Kullahult. It isn’t all that difficult to make your way through.”

Fredrik had taped together the two map pages that the superintendent had torn out when he introduced the theory about the murderer taking a shortcut through the woods.

“The first hundred and fifty meters from the cottage are a bit tricky, but then you come to an area that has been cleared for power lines. It goes straight as an arrow toward Kullahult. In some places the power line goes over meadows and fields, but it never gets close to any houses, until you’re almost at Kullahult. It wouldn’t have been hard to sneak up to the rectory on foot.”

Fredrik looked up from the map pages in order to make sure they were following along. Irene, Hannu, and Superintendent Andersson were sitting around the table, and they were paying careful attention. Encouraged, he continued. “The power lines continue across the large field that lies behind the rectory. If you go through that field, you come to the back of the church hill. There aren’t any houses until here, on the other side, where the farm that owns the field is located. It’s too far away for the people at the farm to be able to see if someone is moving near the church.”

“So you can use a flashlight without any great risk of being seen,” Hannu said.

“Absolutely. But in order to be on the safe side, you can keep to the edge of the field. I went out there last night around eleven and checked. I had no problem making my way without a flashlight by walking along the edge of the woods. The forest stretches all the way to the church hill, and then a stone wall takes over. If you continue along it, you come to the spruce hedge behind the rectory. And that’s when I did what Irene’s dog does.”

Fredrik paused for dramatic effect and smiled.

“What the hell does Irene’s dog do?” the superintendent asked, irritated.

“Follow the animals. And I followed the deer. They’ve actually made a passage through the spruce hedge. The fat tulips in the garden lure them. The opening was a tight fit for me, but it’s possible to push your way through. I can guarantee that the murderer went that way.”

The triumph in his voice couldn’t be missed. The others sat quietly because this was Fredrik’s performance, and he was playing it for all he was worth.

“I found a footprint and a red woolen thread inside the passage. I called the technicians before I pushed through the opening. They took care of the yarn and made a cast of a shoeprint. This morning I talked to Åhlén. They say that the yarn piece is the same type as the two that Irene and I found. My theory about the tasseled murderer still holds.”

Irene giggled but realized right away that she was the only one amused. Hannu and the superintendent were completely absorbed. Knowing that he had his listeners’ full attention, Fredrik continued. “The shoeprint was perfect; the rain hadn’t gotten at it. The print came from a sturdy Adidas athletic shoe, size 11. According to Åhlén, it’s a winter model, almost like a boot.”

“Gore-Tex,” said Hannu.

“Probably. Light, warm, and waterproof. The technicians are in the process of trying to find out exactly what kind of shoe made the print. It shouldn’t be impossible.”

“So we’re still looking for a short guy with a tasseled hat who has big feet on which he wore Gore-Tex boots. He shouldn’t be difficult to get ahold of,” Irene said.

In her mind, she could see the little man in a tasseled hat fighting his way through the woods, stumbling in his large boots. A second later, when she remembered what he had done to his victims, he didn’t seem as comical any more.

“I also timed how long it took to go between the crime scenes. One hour and five minutes,” Fredrik concluded.

Irene told them about Urban Berg’s visit, and Hannu promised to check to see if there was any foundation for the accusations against Louise Måårdh. Covering up embezzlement could be a motive for murder. It would have had to be a great deal of money, thought Irene.

IT WAS QUIET AT Landvetter Airport at six fifteen in the morning. Irene had checked her small suitcase and stumbled, half asleep, toward the open café.

“Small cup, or large?” the smiling girl behind the counter chirped.

“Bucket,” Irene croaked.

Her sunny smile unchanged, the girl turned and took out a ceramic soup bowl. She filled it two thirds of the way.

“Milk or cream? I can steam the milk if you want.”

Irene felt a warm thankfulness over meeting a fellow human being who really understood her basic early-morning need.

“No, thanks. Just black.”

Irene attempted a smile, but felt it was too great an effort: Her facial muscles weren’t awake yet. She was moved when the girl behind the counter placed a napkin and an After Eight chocolate on her tray. It made her realize that she must look like the wreck she felt.

After finishing her bowl of coffee, Irene was ready for shopping. She went to the perfume store and starting selecting items for herself and for the twins, based on the list they had given her. Pretty soon, she realized that maybe ten percent of the basket’s contents were hers; the rest was for the girls.

THE PLANE landed at Heathrow after barely two hours in the air. Hail splattered against the body of the aircraft, then turned into a light drizzle as the passengers were leaving the plane and wandering down the stairs. It was windy, damp, and raw.