Fear Of Broken Glass: The Elements: Prologue

by Mark, David

  He had to draw him out of his shell. Almquist stood up as Oskar Lindgren sat down and walked to the map. He placed his finger on the church, moving it down and to his right in a line towards Trollkyrka, passing to the right of the place marking the homestead. Then he moved it back again, to a place unmarked in the middle. ‘And here the draugr bodies were found.’

  ‘All of them?’ Lindgren asked.

  Almquist turned to him and nodded. ‘All mutilated, half-burned and buried.’

  Vikland sat up. ‘But, that’s within an easy walk of the homestead?’

  Almquist nodded as he sat down and rubbed his brow as if he had a headache. How much did Oskar know? ‘Each time we received an anonymous phone call. Same voice. Each time.’

  ‘The killer?’ Oskar asked.

  He shook his head, trying to appear natural. ‘No, I don’t think so.’

  Had Kron and Anna been involved in the draugr deaths? Except, the last death had been ’79 and Kron died in ’75. ‘In the end we never got to the bottom of anything.’ He shook his head. ‘People only ever inform us about anything, when they want to see the results of their own information.’ He removed his eyes from the map, staring at Oskar for a moment. ‘We have bodies discovered at...’ he glanced up at the map, ‘somewhere between Trollkyrka and Æsahult. We have a church fire two years after the discovery of the second body.’ He reached forwards for a pen and standing up, wrote the years imprinted in his mind on his pad.

  Female 1971. Female 1973. Fire 1975.

  ‘Then there’s a new body at the same place again.’ Female 1976. ‘A year later, breaking the pattern, then again in 1979.’ He wrote Female 1979 then threw the pen on the table, sitting back as he looked at his pad. ‘Four bodies, same pattern of burial. And now, a fifth body, a male, 1987; another place, this time Trollkyrka, no burial, the same mutilations.’ He turned to look up at the first board showing the photographs and identities of the victims. ‘Thomas Denisen breaks the pattern.’

  ‘We also have a painting that, to all intents and purposes we think is symbolic of Odin hanging and burning himself,’ Vikland added.

  Lindgren sat and waited.

  ‘And, we have three places of focus,’ Almquist stood up again and taking his pen, walked to the fourth board, ‘a church,’ he tapped the map, ‘the burial place of four burned bodies in close proximity,’ he tapped the board again, ‘and a rock in a National Park...’ he tapped the board a third time, then moved his hand back again, repeating the tapping; each time he did so he studied Oskar’s face. Sometimes he thought that was the only true talent he had as an investigating officer: the ability to read a person’s face. His taps made a line. ‘Each place is significant. It is the only thing uniting the killings. The only thing,’ he repeated more loudly in a false gesture of frustration.

  ‘And Justin Swift with Ashley Jayaraman visiting Æsahult church,’ Vikland added. ‘That was where the painting used to hang. Justin mentioned...’ She looked down at a small pocket notebook. ‘The place called Hörgrlund. That’s what he said the runic inscription referred to.’

  Almquist placed a hand to his beard. He had a headache. If there was any common thread he was missing it. He looked around; they were all missing it. Even Oskar seemed lost.

  He had nothing to get his teeth into.

  ‘Did he mention anything else?’ Oskar asked.

  Vikland shook her head. ‘No.’

  He had a last card to play. Almquist studied the map again. He stood up, walking around the side of the long table, standing in front of it, placing a finger at a place close to the homestead. ‘And here we have the draugr killings related to the old legends...’ He moved his hand back to the church, ‘Hörgrlund. Æsahult,’ he moved his finger back across the lake towards the middle of the National Park. ‘And Trollkyrka.’ Then he placed his hands in his pockets, turning around with an expression that could almost have been regret. He waited for Oskar’s reaction. ‘Oskar?’

  ‘Someone really wants this goddamned painting. That makes it both valuable and the object of someone’s interest.’ Oskar replied.

  Almquist knew what to do. ‘All right. We make the painting the centerpiece of the investigation. It was used to get Swift here, we know that much. And Conrad Baron is the lead...’

  ‘Not the locations?’ Lindgren asked, looking offended.

  He wants to know more about the draugr killings.

  ‘I want to talk with Jayaraman again,’ Vikland said.

  She was going to complicate matters with her crusade against Ash. Almquist shook his head.

  ‘Come on Hasse! We have one of his group murdered and he sits there as smug as a pimp in a brothel!’ Vikland stared at him.

  They were interrupted by the tread of the duty sergeant’s feet down the corridor, his head appearing around the doorframe. ‘I just received a call... they received a visitor at the homestead.’

  Chapter 9

  SACRIFICE

  The lord of the mounds

  Odin called the dead out of the earth,

  or set himself beside the burial-mounds;

  whence he was called the ghost-sovereign,

  and lord of the mounds.

  Ynglinga Saga

  Fabian woke feeling cold and shivered, despite being in the middle of the day inside her sleeping bag. She hated the cold, feeling the tug of an empty stomach. She had learned to ignore it, learned to live off the contents of anything that came in plastic bags, redepositing it into more plastic bags, life reduced to a familiar routine of watching, waiting, eating and defecating, taking everything back with you in yet more plastic bags.

  She looked at the digital readout on her watch: 13:14.

  She lay back, her breath rising above her, with nothing to give her company other than her thoughts. And the silence; the silence disturbed her. She hated the silence. Except, it hadn’t been the silence that had woken her. She heard it.

  The sound of concealed movement.

  It was a sound she was tuned into, every sense in her being awakened as she pulled herself out of her bag, rolling quickly and silently onto her stomach. She listened, locating the sound, below and to the right. She reached for her rifle with stiff fingers and pulled herself out from under the tarp, rising up into a crouched standing position. With slouched run she closed the distance to a place affording her a clear line of sight on the edge of the scrub, laying down in the cold frost and hard rock. She pulled the rifle up and settling herself into a more comfortable position, peered through the scope. It swung to the left, then to the right, repeating the process systematically, moving back from the house, backwards, towards the rise of the monolith until finally, it rested on two shapes.

  Waiting over.

  They moved stealthily, around the edge of the lake. In daylight. She felt her heart quicken and breathed in deeply to calm herself. They moved into position, from the lower edge of scrub below the tree line, far to her right: the first line of cover from the exposed rock of the hill. One figure was crouching, the other moving forward, reaching the edge of cover: moving fast and silently across the open ground at a crouch in practiced, coordinated movements, until they had closed the distance and taken up position outside the house. One of them raised his leg to look inside the right-hand window, then returned to his crouch, talking to his companion.

  Ignoring the cold, she spread her legs getting a more stable position, unlocking the bipod under the barrel with a practiced economy of movement, then settled herself into a prone position to the smell of earth and wet dew-saturated grass. She replaced her eye to the scope, bringing one leg upwards. Her finger moved to the scope, moving the horizontal dial two clicks to compensate for the stillness, the wind having dropped to a still silence. She concentrated, calming her breathing.

  One of them had a rifle.

  Both of them were dressed in green and beige hunting smocks with matching trousers.

  If she failed to react, she risked losing the contract. If she acted, she risked alerting
the occupants of the house. And losing her contract. Precious seconds ticking, Fabian thought frantically of which option posed the least threat: The figure with the rifle was taking up position. The other drew a handgun and moved his way around to the far side of the house.

  Ingwe, she called it: her beloved camouflaged hunting rifle, the barrel gleaming in fresh oil. She pulled it up into her shoulder, aiming for the middle window. She adjusted her sights, calculating the travel of the bullet. Pulling the butt tighter into her shoulder, she slid back the bolt and entered a round to the chamber.

  Steadying her breathing she sighted and took the shot, thankful for the modifier.

  Justin was looking at Ash, then the painting, sensing they knew more about the Agard, something they were keeping to themselves. He watched Chivers and wondered what Thomas had said to him... and wondered if Chivers could have been involved in his death somehow. Except, Chivers was reacting in a way that suggested he knew nothing about it.

  ‘One of our friends died yesterday.’ Justin said quietly.

  The conversation faded to silence. Ash stood up and left the room.

  ‘His name was Thomas. Thomas Denisen,’ he said eventually. ‘He was the one you spoke to about the painting. The one who said he was me. I had asked him to look into it since he was an art dealer.’

  The color left Chivers’ face. ‘This is really quite disturbing. Oh my! Where do I –’ He froze when he noticed the two fingers standing upright in the jar held in Ash’s hands, ‘– begin?’

  Ash placed the jar in the middle of the table with a loud thud. ‘We had an unexpected visitor last night. This was his calling card.’ Ash sat down next to him and leaned forwards, intimidatingly. ‘Someone tried breaking in.’

  ‘Now tell us about your interest – and why someone wants to get their hands on it,’ Conrad said. ‘What do you know about this painting?’

  Chivers couldn’t tear his eyes away from the jar, his face the color of chalk. ‘I’ve been looking for it for a long time. I won’t make a secret of the fact that I have certain contacts – people interested in purchasing it. The sort of people willing to pay handsomely of course.’

  ‘So what’s in it for you?’ Ash probed. ‘You still haven’t told us.’

  ‘This is how I make a living. I find sought-after works and take a commission when I match work and buyer. I spoke with...’ He looked around, slowly, eyes wide open, saying in a fragile voice, ‘Who, whose fingers are those?’

  ‘Just tell us about what you know.’ Justin said slowly, watching carefully as he took a deep breath.

  ‘Yes, yes of course. I, I understand.’ His eyes returned to the glass and its contents, his face as white as a sheet.

  ‘All right,’ Conrad said. ‘Since we’re waiting for the police to arrive.’ He glanced away from the jar and the fingers and at his watch.

  ‘Police?’ Chivers sat up, looking nervous.

  Conrad nodded, looking at the fingers. ‘They will be here soon.’ He looked at Justin. ‘Be ready to move the painting.’

  Thomas has lied to him. A nice little piece he called it. He had told him it wasn’t worth much. Five thousand US dollars, that’s what he’d said; that it was by an amateur, an in-the-style-of kind of thing, that was like sparkling wine, looking and tasting like champagne... but wasn’t. My advice is keep it and don’t bother selling it, Thomas had said.

  ‘Oh.’ Chivers sat back with the look of someone who had eaten something disagreeable. ‘So they...’

  ‘Don’t know we have it.’ Ash finished.

  How much more did Chivers know? ‘So you think Agard was interested in sacrifice?’

  ‘Yes of course, he had all sorts of interests.’ Chivers replied.

  ‘And runic inscriptions were added to the frame,’ Justin glanced around. ‘And a place, Hörgrlund.’

  It was Ulrika who stood up and walked to the Hangman, tapping the frame, turning to Chivers. ‘Which refers to the hamlet that was built on the site at Æsahult. I heard you talking about it.’ She raised her voice, looking over at Conrad challengingly. ‘Æsahult; the church.’ She spun to glare at Justin. ‘You were there too.’

  How did she know?

  ‘For me to walk around see no evil, hear no evil?’ Her eyes moved to Ash. ‘Smell no evil.’

  Justin noticed the smirk as much as she did, Conrad looking up from the chair. But Chivers was already on to it.

  ‘Carved in the ... in runes?’

  Daniel looked at Chivers and shrugged. ‘Yes,’ he nodded.

  ‘Well that’s just fantastic.’ He counted with his own fingers, bringing looks of confused curiosity, the fingers in the jar momentarily forgotten. ‘Nine runes; Agard was also a numerologist, Odin is related to the number nine. How marvellous!’ He stopped smiling, suddenly looking confused. ‘Now, tell me. Where is this place, what did you call it?’ He looked towards Daniel.

  ‘Hörgrlund.’

  ‘What do you consider the painting is worth, Sebastian is it?’ Conrad said, changing the subject, his voice almost pleasant now.

  This was a bloody black comedy, Justin thought as Chivers looked over to Conrad and nodded, looking flustered.

  ‘Let me see.’ He looked up. ‘About one hundred thousand US, I suppose, give or take.’

  ‘It’s worth a hundred thousand dollars?’ Daniel scoffed.

  ‘Perhaps more.’

  ‘So he lied – Thomas?’ Ulrika looked at Justin.

  Before he could reply something split the air.

  Something slammed into the wall behind them. It threw a shower of wooden splinters in all directions, followed by the sounds of splintered glass.

  ‘Down!’ Conrad was the first, throwing himself to the floor, before the others had even registered what was happening.

  Another bullet split the air, smashing out through one of the windows. Ulrika screamed, jumping up from the kitchen table. Another impact split one of the floorboards, small fragments of wood flying in all directions, stopping her.

  Conrad watched her fall to her knees, eyes frantic. The shots came from the direction of the lake.

  Daniel lay on the floor, Chivers struggling to get himself under the kitchen table. Ash had taken position in a blind spot by the cupboards, half lying, half kneeling.

  ‘What are we going to do?’ Justin shouted from the floor by the outside wall. ‘They could come straight in here!’

  Chivers was cowering under the kitchen table, holding his hands above his head, as if the roof was about to collapse on top of them at any moment.

  Justin looked at Conrad, every feature in his face receptive.

  ‘We have to get out of here. No cover!’ He looked around, eyes resting on the kitchen door leading to the yard and the outhouse. Conrad turned to Justin, pointing at the painting. ‘Hide it in a good place, understand? Not the bed!’

  Justin ran for the painting laying in the middle of the table, then sprinted for the door, but was blocked by Ash.

  ‘Here,’ he said, ‘I know a place.’

  ‘Back door... out the back door, through the kitchen into the cover of the bush!’ Conrad yelled, making for the door, beckoning for Justin to follow as he ran to the door, opening it. It looked out onto the lake behind the house and a path upwards along the incline leading to the top, brush and trees offering degrees of cover. He held it open for Ulrika. ‘The shots are coming from the front...’ He took another look, eyes scanning for signs of danger, and only when he was sure did he turn to her. ‘Just keep to the undergrowth!’ He hissed.

  ‘Where are the police?’ Daniel said, still crawling across the floor.

  Another bullet slammed into the wall behind them, hitting a photograph, showering the floor with crystals of glass.

  Daniel stopped, his nose centimeters from the glass fragments. Seeing his route barred, he stood up and ran to the door, keeping to one side as he looked outside for any sign of immediate danger.

  This shot came from the parking yard. They were being closed in. Co
nrad looked around, finding Justin who stood unsure what to do, looking for guidance. ‘Justin, take Ulrika, keep her close. Go – now!’

  Justin took her by the hand. Ulrika took one last look at Conrad, then they both ran outside together, running as fast as they could. Daniel waited a few seconds, then ran after them as Ash ran to join them, clearly dismayed to see only Chivers and Conrad left inside. ‘Where the hell are they going?’ Conrad shouted.

  Outside, Ulrika was skirting the edge of the lake towards the rock, Justin sprinting after her, closely followed by Daniel.

  ‘They’re out in the open!’ Ash yelled, looking frantically over to Conrad, then Chivers, who was still cowering under the kitchen table.

  ‘Chivers!’ Conrad shouted. Seeing no response he sprinted forward, taking hold of his arm, then kicking a chair to one side, pulling him forcefully across the smooth floorboards, he lifted him into a standing position. He turned and pointed out of the open door. ‘The tree cover is better, over there –’ Conrad watched in despair from the shelter of the house as Ulrika scrambled desperately up the rock, running for the trees in an erratic, confused manner, Justin and Daniel following blindly behind her. ‘She’s taking them in the wrong bloody direction...’ he groaned.

  Ash was standing on the opposite side of the room, keeping an eye on the windows overlooking the cars. Conrad turned to see how dangerously exposed she was, his heart skipping a beat as he realizing they were losing control. ‘She’s going straight into the line of fire,’ he said matter-of-factly, turning to run back into the kitchen, brushing Ash aside, snatching up the biggest of the knives from the block.

  Ash scrambled after Daniel, working hard to close the distance. He altered course, choosing a straighter line, jumping over smaller shrubs rather than around them. He sprinted through the level open ground, passing the campfire and lake to his left, the outhouse to his right, arms and legs pumping. He watched Daniel stumble ahead losing his balance, legs flailing as he tried to prevent himself falling over. He overcompensated then finding his balance, headed towards cover behind the boulders on the edge of the slope and the first of the pine trees.