Helene Tursten: The Glass Devil

The three of them drove off in the police car. During the ride, Fredrik informed him of what they knew of Jacob Schyttelius’s death. Jonas Burman listened without interrupting. When Fredrik was finished, the minister said, “I’ve met Jacob several times. He is. . was. . a very nice guy. It’s completely incomprehensible that someone would want to shoot him. Why? Could it have been a burglary?”

“No idea,” Fredrik replied. “We’re going to try to find out both why, and who. But right now we don’t have the faintest lead. His parents may know something.”

“You aren’t going to question them tonight, are you?” Jonas asked, concerned.

“Only if they are up to it. Otherwise we’ll wait,” Fredrik said.

The minister pointed at a sign. “That’s where we turn off.”

The sign read “Kullahult 2.”

IN THE growing twilight, the floodlit church could be seen from far away. It was situated on a partly snow-covered hill and towered over the small town of Kullahult.

“The rectory is located right next to the church. Just steer toward it,” said Burman. At the foot of the hill, he directed them onto a gravel road. Irene could see the cemetery wall a short distance above them. They left it behind as the road went straight ahead instead of continuing around the hill.

They could see a large white house down a driveway in a park-like, snow-covered yard. Irene drove in through the open gates. Coarse gravel crackled under the tires.

“Strange that-” Jonas started to say. He looked around after they had parked the car. They could hear the rattling of the wind and sleet in the tops of the trees.

“Sten and Elsa usually light the garden lamps and turn on outdoor lights and a lot of lights in the house as soon as it gets dark. It’s very isolated here at the back of the church hill,” he continued. “They like to illuminate the house.”

Wet snowflakes slapped them in the face when they stepped out of the car. Darkness wrapped the big trees and bushes. A tall, depressing spruce hedge circled the garden impenetrably. The black windowpanes of the house seemed rejecting.

“Could they be out of town?” Fredrik asked.

“No. We always tell each other if we’re going to travel,” Jonas answered.

“Even if it’s only for the day?”

“Yes. There’s only one pastor in each parish, so we have a schedule for the pastor who’s on call. One of us is always available on weekdays in case something urgent comes up. But we always inform each other if we’re going to be out of town, even if we aren’t on call. There are two other parishes that are part of this system. Four pastors in all. It works well.”

Irene remembered to take the flashlight, which was in the glove compartment, before they started toward the house’s grand entrance. Four wooden columns held up a roof which protected the steps and the entry from rain and snow. It enhanced the feeling of an old country estate. The front door consisted of two beautifully decorated half-doors. Irene reached for the heavy knocker, but stopped herself halfway there.

One of the door halves was ajar.

She turned on the flashlight to inspect the door, which appeared to be undamaged. She carefully pushed it open with the flashlight.

Before they went in, she said to the minister, “The fact that the door is open doesn’t mean anything. Just as it doesn’t necessarily mean anything that the house is dark and appears to be empty. But under the circumstances, I don’t want you to touch anything in the house. No light switches, no hand railings, and so on. Just stay close to us. Can you guide us through the house?”

Jonas Burman said “Yes” and stepped behind Irene, following her over the threshold. Irene let the flashlight swing around the interior to locate the light switch. She turned it on with a light push of the flashlight’s handle.

A small crystal chandelier illuminated the large downstairs hall. A rag rug in bright colors covered the floor. Just inside the door was a wooden chest with a vaulted lid. The year “1796” was barely visible on it, among painted flowers and butterflies. The chest was beautiful and might very well be as old as the date indicated. The mirror that hung above it hardly appeared newer. It had a heavy golden frame, and the glass was divided into sections. A grandfather clock stood next to it, beating out the time with heavy ticks.

Jonas Burman made a funnel with his hands and yelled into the house, “Ho! Ho! Sten and Elsa! It’s Jonas!”

The three of them listened tensely. An unbroken silence ensued.

With a resigned sigh, Burman went to the center of the room. “There’s a bathroom under the stairs that lead to the second floor. There are several bedrooms and some other smaller rooms on that level, a bathroom and a separate toilet as well. To our right, on the first floor, there’s a dining room and a living room. But out here in the country, we use the old-fashioned word ‘hall’ for the living room. Since this estate is old and the room is large, there is a reason for this usage.”

He turned a hundred and eighty degrees and pointed at the door opposite. “The kitchen is in there. The door next to the stairs leads to a work room. If you walk through that room, you come to the library.”

They decided to inspect the kitchen first. It was large and airy. At first glance, Irene felt as if she had been transported back in time but then she saw that the refrigerator and stove were new. There was also a dishwasher. Other than that, the cabinet doors were made of a dark wood, country style. Beams in the ceiling were visible, and a large table stood in the middle of the polished wooden floor. Irene counted twelve chairs around the table. Everything looked old and well-built. She couldn’t keep from asking the pastor, “Are there only two people living here?”

“Yes. That’s the problem with these old rectories: They’re terribly expensive to heat and a normal modern family doesn’t fill the house with life. In the old days, pastors often had large families, as well as servants. The pastors’ homes were also fellowship halls. That’s why they were built on such a grand scale.”

Irene had very vague ideas about what the function of a fellowship hall was, but decided not to ask. They opened the doors at the other end of the kitchen and found a very small room which had probably been a maid’s room and, behind the other door, a laundry room with modern conveniences. A large box freezer buzzed monotonously in a corner. In the laundry room, there was also a door that led to the back yard. Irene determined that it was locked. She carefully lifted the lid to the freezer. It was half-filled with neat packages and plastic containers. They went back through the kitchen, turning the lights on as they went.

A quick tour of the Schyttelius work room and library revealed that they were large and the furniture very old. The walls of the library were covered with bookshelves full of old books. It smelled of dust and old leather.

The dining room and the so-called “hall” were adjacent: It was necessary to walk through the dining room to reach the hall. The rooms were big with high ceilings, but they were also very cold. Irene understood why the door from the front hall had been closed. The heat in these two rooms had been lowered considerably. Capacious tile stoves on either side of the hall looked as if they hadn’t been used in a long time. The furnishings were sparse. There were a very long settee and a single Windsor chair in the floor. The settee might have seated as many as ten people if they had squeezed together. Chairs matching the settee were ranged along the walls. A large rug covered the center of the floor. It was worn, the colors faded, but it had probably been magnificent once upon a time. A long white painted table with just six chairs furnished the dining room. Irene concluded that the family sat in the kitchen when they had company.