Helene Tursten - The Glass Devil

“There were definitely the remains of diskettes in the ashes. But we also found remains of videocassettes. Everything was burned pretty badly. There isn’t a chance of recovering what was on them.”

He leaned forward and took out a thick transparent plastic bag filled with small black clumps and black powder. To Irene it looked like regular ashes.

“This is interesting,” the technician said.

The gathered police officers tried to look sincerely interested.

“He-or she-had brought along charcoal with which to start a fire.”

The superintendent looked blank. With a show of patience, in a pedagogic tone of voice, Svante Malm continued, “It was cold and it started raining during the night of the murders. It wouldn’t have been easy to start a fire with the damp branches that were available in nature. So the murderer brought some charcoal, which is used in outdoor barbecues, in order to start a fire. We’ve also found traces of lighter fluid around the fire. Charcoal burns longer than regular wood. It becomes very hot and everything is thoroughly incinerated.

“Charcoal and lighter fluid. So the murderer had planned on burning the diskettes and the cassettes. He knew what he would find before the murders and what he would do with it,” Tommy concluded.

“But, of course, he had a little bit of bad luck. The wind probably blew this out of the fire, because it was caught in a bush a few meters away from it. We think it’s the cover from a match book. Advertising matches.”

Svante bent and fished out a smaller plastic bag. At first, Irene thought it was empty; but then she saw a small burned piece of light cardboard in one corner. After yet another deep rummage in the roomy bag, Svante stood and leaned a large piece of paper against the flip-over notebook stand behind him.

“An enlargement,” he said and stepped to the side so that they all could see.

Pu

Mosc

“Moscow. A Russian bastard who comes from Moscow,” said Jonny Blom. He laughed to show that it was a joke. Nobody paid attention to his remark.

“‘Pu.’ Could it be, for example, ‘public’ or ‘pub’?” Irene asked.

“Possibly. The edge of the paper ends right after the ‘u’ in ‘Pu’ and after the ‘c’ in ‘Mosc.’ I’m a bit uncertain as to whether there really is a small ‘e’ in front of the ‘Pu,’ but it looks most like an ‘e.’ It has a different appearance than the other letters. Old-fashioned script style.”

“Gothic,” said Hannu.

“If you say so. . ” said Svante.

He nodded to himself as if he had gotten something confirmed. Then he continued, “The text is white on a black background, except for the gothic ‘e,’ which is gold-colored.”

Something flickered at the very back of Irene’s memory, but it was too faint for her to make out what it was. Had she really seen that writing somewhere? She let it go, since she wasn’t sure.

She bought GT on the way home. The headlines proclaimed: “Pastor with connections to Satanic murders bore false witness!”

You’re managing, little Kurt, she thought contentedly.

MAUNDY THURSDAY started beautifully. The weather service had promised fine weather for the entire weekend, but their promises were not very dependable. In Irene’s opinion, you could put more stock in Eva Möller’s crystal balls and spells, or magical formulas. Speaking of whom, Irene found herself wondering if she had been hypnotized or ingested some kind of hallucinogenic drug at that strange witch’s place. But then she hadn’t had time to eat or drink anything. Had what she thought she had seen and experienced really happened?

She thought about it when she put on her jacket to get the car and drive to work.

Running into Mrs. Bernhög at the gate felt like a confirmation of her thoughts. Little Felicia tumbled around on a thin pink silk leash.

“I’m teaching her to walk on a leash. Just a few minutes a day to get her accustomed,” Margit Bernhög confided.

The apricot-colored furball sat and sniffed at a faded crocus. Pollen in her nose made her start to sneeze. She was irresistibly cute, and Mrs. Bernhög tenderly picked her up. Irene couldn’t help but pat Felicia on her back. Then the kitten peered up at Irene’s face. Irene realized that she recognized the look.

“KJELL SJÖNELL, pastor, has called. You have his number,” said a note lying on top of the pile on her desk. He’s a morning person, this pastor, thought Irene. She felt completely exhausted, but she was going to have her Easter holiday soon. The long vacation loomed just ahead of her.

Morning prayers was quick and short. Annoyingly, Jonny Blom hadn’t shown up. He hadn’t called in, either. Irene was a bit worried, since she knew that he was down for duty for three days during the long weekend. There was no one else to cover for him, since both she and Tommy would be on leave.

Irene didn’t find Kjell Sjönell at his work number, but he answered on his cell phone. He asked if he could call back later, because he was on the way to deal with a pressing matter. It wasn’t a problem for Irene: She was planning on spending the day cleaning up her paperwork.

Sjönell called around eleven. “I apologize for not being able to speak with you when you called, but I had to deal with an attempted suicide. A young man on a boat made an attempt last night. He needed to talk.” His voice sounded tired and sorrowful.

“No problem. I understand that you, too, need to work when needed,” said Irene.

“Yes. Unfortunately, it happens. But I phoned this morning to tell you that I’ve spoken with both Rebecka and Dr. Fischer. Both of them think it’s a good idea that I ask my good friend to take care of all of the funeral arrangements. He will even make an estate inventory. My friend will keep in touch with Rebecka and inform her about what is happening.”

“It must be a relief for her not to have to worry,” said Irene.

“Certainly. But she said something strange. I asked her if she wasn’t concerned about the houses and suggested that maybe she should put in a burglar alarm now that they’re going to be standing empty. She answered that she didn’t want a single thing from either house and, more than anything, wished they would burn down. She lost her entire family, and you would think she would want some keepsakes.”

“Strange attitude. But maybe the houses and the things would be a constant reminder of what happened.”

“That’s probably it. As I said, I spoke with Fischer and explained that you needed to speak with Rebecka again. He wasn’t pleased, but I said that new information has come forward that only Rebecka can explain. Then he said that maybe the week after Easter would be all right. There’s no point in trying any earlier.”

That worked perfectly for Irene, and she said so. When they were about to conclude the phone call, Sjönell said, “I forgot to say that the doctor wants to be present during the meeting this time as well. Was he there last time?”

“Yes. We met Rebecka at his office.”

“It seems as though he really cares about his patients. Either that, or he’s very involved with Rebecka.”

“That occurred to me as well.”

Irene pondered after they had ended the conversation. When she had made up her mind, she called Glen Thompson.

“OKAY,” GLEN said. “Check Christian Lefévre’s pub visit on Monday night and look into the head-shrinker. Is there something in particular you’re looking for when it comes to Fischer?”

“No. Just a feeling that it would be good to get to know him a little better. He is, as I said, unusually protective of Rebecka.”

“I know. He’s protecting her from us,” Glen laughed.

“It feels that way,” Irene admitted.