Helene Tursten - The Glass Devil

“Do you have any idea why she became ill?”

“Not a clue. Christian says that the depression is hereditary in her family. Her mother has. . apparently had it as well.”

“Have you met her family?”

“Her mother and father? Her brother? The ones who were shot? No, never. I don’t think they ever came to visit her. It makes you think. That’s a bit strange.”

“Have you ever been to Göteborg?”

“No. Only to Stockholm a few times. It’s a very nice city. And there are a lot of computer-savvy people there, with IT-expertise. That’s why I went.”

Irene saw that Glen was thinking intensely about his next question. To buy time, he put his nose over the edge of the whisky glass, spun it around, and sniffed the aroma with noticeable pleasure. He took a small sip of the contents.

“We’ve tried asking this question of Rebecka and Christian, but neither of them has given a clear answer. That’s why I’m asking you. Do you think-or know-whether they are in a relationship?”

Andrew raised his eyebrows again, but several seconds passed before he responded.

“I don’t think they are in a relationship, a sexual relationship. But they’re close to each other. Christian worries a great deal about her, now that she’s sick.”

Glen nodded. “Do you know if Christian has a girlfriend right now?” he asked.

“Christian has always had a lot of girlfriends. But right now I actually don’t know. He hasn’t spoken about anyone special.”

“When was the last time he spoke about a girlfriend?”

“It was probably a year ago.”

Glen carefully placed his glass on the table before he sought to make eye contact with the man in the leather armchair and ask the question they had come for.

“Have you ever been to Göteborg?”

Andrew scrutinized Glen intently. Irene could see his intelligent brain going into overdrive.

“Is that the crux of this matter? So this whole thing is about me?”

Before Glen had time to respond, Andrew answered him. “No. I have never been to Göteborg.”

“You are listed as being booked on a plane from Heathrow to Göteborg the night Rebecka’s family was killed. You’re also on the passenger list for the morning plane back to Heathrow from Göteborg the next day.”

All jovial warmth had disappeared from Andrew’s eyes. “Heathrow? Why would I go to Göteborg?”

“That’s one of the questions we’ve asked ourselves,” said Glen.

Andrew rose from his chair and walked up to the glass wall. He stood there, looking out over the landscape. With his back to the police officers, he started speaking.

“I certainly have an alibi for the days at the end of March when Rebecka’s family was murdered. I remember when Christian called and told me what had happened. It was on Wednesday. I had just driven my future parents-in-law to the airport. They were here, together with my fiancée, the entire weekend and through Wednesday. I had taken off work and shown them around the estate, as well as Edinburgh. They are from Leeds and had not been here before. We were together for most of the time during those five days. The night between Monday and Tuesday, when according to you I was in Göteborg, I spent with my fiancée here in my bedroom. And we were awake until the early hours.”

Andrew turned and looked at them.

“There may be an explanation. My passport was stolen during a break-in sometime in March. I don’t know the exact date of the break-in because I didn’t discover it right away. It’s been reported to the police.”

“When did you discover the break-in?”

“April first. I actually was asked if I was joking when I called the police.”

“Did the burglars leave any traces?”

“No. Nothing. The police don’t have any explanation as to how he, or they, got in and out.”

“Did they take anything in addition to the passport?”

“Yes. A Beretta 92S, with ammunition, and a very valuable antique dagger. I had just purchased it, and it was unique.”

“I assume the staff was questioned regarding the break-in?”

“Naturally. Altogether, there are six people who take care of me and the house.”

They had no problem realizing that it would require at least six people to look after this portion of the castle. When one had finished cleaning one end of the house, it was time to start again at the other. Irene saw the benefit of growing old in a one-bedroom apartment, with cable TV as the only luxury.

“Is there any theory about how the thief or thieves got in?”

“No. When I’m not home, I always close the gate at the port arch. You probably didn’t notice it when you drove in, but it’s there alongside the wall. It closes automatically from inside the house. At night it’s always electrified. As are the wires at the top of the wall. All windows and doors are equipped with burglar alarms. Despite that, he got in.”

“There is no one you suspect?”

“No.”

But when he replied, his eyes shifted away from them. Both Glen and Irene saw it. Glen looked at her quizzically. Oh yes, she had a question she wanted answered.

“When was Christian here last?” she asked.

Andrew jerked. Maybe he was surprised that she had spoken instead of depending on her English colleague. He made a noticeable effort to think before replying. “He was here in March.”

“When in March?” Irene continued relentlessly.

His gaze wandered. “In the beginning or the middle. . I don’t remember.”

“Can you find out?”

Now Andrew was staring at them, and they could see clear fear in his face.

“But. . you can’t seriously be thinking that Christian. . ”

His inspection of the police officers convinced him that they were serious. He sank back and said, almost inaudibly, “In the middle of March. Aunt Mary’s birthday is the eighteenth, and he came home on the evening of the sixteenth. It was a Friday.”

“He stayed at his mother’s house, right?”

“Yes.”

“Was he here at the castle at any time?”

Andrew nodded. “We ate dinner here on Saturday evening. Christian, Aunt Mary, my fiancée, and myself. John couldn’t come. That’s Aunt Mary’s boyfriend.”

He smiled a bit at the last sentence. Apparently, John wasn’t a boy any more.

“Did Christian know where you kept your passport?”

“Yes. He knows the house as well as I do. We grew up here, after all.”

He sank down into the armchair again, as if all of the strength had been sucked out of him. Irene continued, “Did he know where you kept the gun and the dagger?”

“Of course! I had just shown him-”

He stopped and stared helplessly at Irene.

“You had just shown him your newly purchased dagger. Correct?” Glen added.

Andrew nodded. Suddenly he sprang to life. “But this is unbelievable! You’re getting me to imply that Christian stole my passport, my gun, and my dagger. And then that he flew to Göteborg and shot Rebecka’s parents and her brother. He has never met them! The whole idea is absurd! In the first place, he couldn’t have gotten the gun through Customs.”

“The victims were shot with Rebecka’s brother’s rifle. Both the rifle and the ammunition were found at the scene. All a person familiar with weapons had to do was load and shoot,” Glen said.

The wild look in Andrew’s eyes disappeared. He leaned forward and took off his glasses, leaned his elbows heavily on his knees, and hid his face in his hands.

“This cannot be true,” he mumbled.

Fumbling, he put his glasses back on and looked at the clock. “You’ll have to excuse me, but I need to leave for Edinburgh,” he said, pulling himself together.

They stood at the same time. Glen and Irene thanked him for the wonderful lunch and the whisky. They walked together in silence through the museum-like rooms and into the enormous hall. Andrew went up to the carved cabinet and took out their jackets, as well as a plaid scarf in the same pattern as the pants he wore, and began to wind it around his neck. Irene couldn’t keep from exclaiming. Andrew stopped, and both he and Glen looked at her.