“Mrs. Ritzman has asked me to videotape her testimony about what took place on the night in question, and early that morning. She believes she’s ill enough that there’s a chance she might be. . gone. . when the time comes for the trial of Asko Pihlainen,” Tommy’s voice said.
“I’m going to be dead. I should be already, but I’m tough.” Resolutely, the little woman took the initiative and explained how she had seen Asko Pihlainen and his neighbor, Wisköö, pull up in front of the houses right across from her own on the morning in question. The time was almost five thirty. There was no way they could have been playing poker with their wives at around five o’clock, as they claimed.
Inez Collin asked a few questions in order to check how well Gertrud Ritzman was aware of dates and times. There was never the slightest hesitancy in her answers. Her memory was sound as a bell. The group asked a few supplementary questions. Toward the end, her clear gaze clouded somewhat and her voice shook noticeably between her wheezing breaths. She was completely worn out and wouldn’t last much longer. Tommy must have realized this as well, because he finished the questioning with a pan shot of the people present in the room. Then the TV screen turned black.
Andersson broke the silence. “Will this hold up?” he asked.
“According to the prosecutors, it will hold up in court,” Tommy replied.
“How is it going for Narcotics?”
“They are in the process of tracing some leads. Where the narcotics have gone after being brought ashore, and so on. But you know how Narcotics is: They don’t say much.”
“Okay. Keep in touch with them,” said Andersson.
Irene asked permission to speak and told them what Lisa Sandberg at Save the Children had said. She finished by explaining her own theory. “Apparently, the pictures are terribly disturbing and those who have seen the material have not felt well afterward. Rebecka’s depression in the fall started during her work on this pedophile ring. I’m starting to wonder if she came across something that threatened a certain person. Maybe she told her parents and brother. I think they revealed their knowledge to this person. Maybe they didn’t realize that it could be dangerous. The person felt so pressured that he-or she-killed all three of them.”
“But then why won’t Rebecka tell us what it’s about?” Fredrik exclaimed.
“I don’t know. Maybe she doesn’t know herself. Or maybe she’s been frightened into silence.”
“Hell, she wouldn’t protect her own family’s murderer!” Andersson exploded.
“I agree that it sounds strange. But that’s the only conclusion I can reach.”
Finally, Fredrik said, “Rebecka is the key to everything. You will have to try to talk with her again. She must be made to understand that she might be the next victim.”
The superintendent drummed his fat fingers on the table. The color in his face rose and he moved his lips as he was thinking. Suddenly he slapped the palm of his hand on the tabletop. “Okay. Rebecka has to start talking, Irene. You’ll have to get in touch and try to arrange a new meeting with her.” He pursed his mouth thoughtfully. “There’s something that doesn’t add up about that girl. Could she have done it?” he asked.
Irene had just realized that Andersson’s words meant that she would get to go to London again. She was surprised by his follow-up question. The thought had never occurred to her. When she had recovered from the shock, she said, “No. Rebecka has an alibi. Christian Lefévre says that she worked all day. Then she had a headache and went to bed. And she was at work when Lefévre arrived on Tuesday morning. Jacob and her parents were killed during the night. No. There’s no chance.
“And furthermore, I honestly don’t think she could kill another person.”
“And Lefévre?” Tommy asked.
“Hardly. He has never met Rebecka’s family. And he went to his usual pub right after work and worked on a betting pool with his friends. That can be checked out.”
“Check it, then,” the superintendent decided.
The meeting was finished.
“HEY, GLEN,” said Irene.
After many fruitless telephone calls, she managed to reach him. He sounded sincerely happy when she said that she would be coming back to London for supplementary questioning of Rebecka Schyttelius. Irene told him about the information that Save the Children had provided. Glen reflected on what she had told him.
“It’s a possibility. In a way, I think it’s more plausible than the Satanist lead. Or maybe the search for Satanists on the Internet got the same result as the search for the pedophiles. That is to say, that Rebecka found something troublesome about a person who absolutely didn’t want it revealed.”
“You mean we can’t drop the Satanic theory?”
“Well, there were the pentagrams.”
He was right. Irene thought the pedophile theory was likelier, since Rebecka’s depression had started during the fall while she was working on that investigation. But then there were the bloody pentagrams. The murderer must have known about the Schyttelius family’s Internet search for Satanists. A pedophile could hardly have known that. Unless he was close to the family.
Irene had to admit that they couldn’t rule out the Satanists entirely.
They agreed that Glen would check Christian Lefévre’s visit to the pub, just as a formality to placate Superintendent Andersson. Irene would get in touch with the pastor of the Swedish Seaman’s Church, Kjell Sjönell. When she knew the dates she would be in London, she would contact Glen again.
“I ACTUALLY haven’t had time to call Dr. Fischer as I promised. Since Rebecka is so sick, I thought there wasn’t any hurry,” Kjell Sjönell apologized.
“There isn’t. But it’s of the utmost importance that I meet with Rebecka again. You and I didn’t have time to talk much, the last time I called you. How did Rebecka react when she found out about what had happened to her family?” Irene asked.
It struck her that she hadn’t asked Glen about this either.
“I’ve thought a great deal about poor Rebecka. To deliver news of a death is one of the worst jobs I’ve had. And still I’ve performed this service many times.” Sjönell’s voice was filled with compassion.
“How did she react?”
“At first it seemed like she didn’t understand what I had said. When she realized what had happened, it was as if ice-cold fear enveloped her and froze her.”
“What do you mean?”
“All color left her face. She sat there with her mouth gaping, with a terrified look in her eyes. As if frozen in the moment. Nothing else happened. She just sat there, in the armchair. The question is whether or not that scream is still frozen inside her. I think it never came up out of her throat.”
He was probably right. This man had seen a great deal and met a lot of people at different stages in their lives. Irene sensed that he possessed a good knowledge of human nature. He was putting into words what she had suspected when she met Rebecka.
“Did you and Inspector Thompson meet her in her apartment?”
“Yes. She has an amazingly beautiful home. But it seems a bit minimalist. Don’t misunderstand me: It’s as consciously minimal as the decor in home design magazines. But I got a feeling of. . loneliness. It didn’t feel like she ever had large parties or entertained a lot of people in her apartment. If you know what I mean.”
“Yes. You see Rebecka as a lonely person.”
Sjönell seemed to weigh his words before he answered. “As a pastor, I often run into human loneliness. It’s an illness in today’s society. Yes, I think she’s solitary. The only ones she seems to have faith in are the young man she works with and Dr. Fischer. She asked us to call Dr. Fischer when she finally managed to say a few words.”
“So he came to her apartment?”
“Yes.”
“Have you and Dr. Fischer had any contact regarding the practical details surrounding the funerals?”
“No. But I can call him this afternoon. I have a good friend who runs a ve
ry well-regarded funeral home in Göteborg. He can best help Rebecka with all the arrangements. Might it be better to postpone the funeral for a few more weeks? The possibility exists that Rebecka will become well enough to be able to travel home.”
“Yes, it may be best to wait a bit longer,” Irene agreed.
She didn’t think Rebecka would ever be able to come home, but decided not to say anything.
A CERTAIN calm had fallen over the unit before the approaching Easter weekend. It would probably last for a few days, then be broken by chaos on Easter Eve. Domestic disputes, drunks, assaults, rapes, murder; everything that usually went along with the celebration of a holiday would occur. If there was a murder, then the inspectors who were on duty would have to take care of it. For the first time in many years, Irene was going to be off duty the whole weekend. Four days free. It felt too good to be true. On the other hand, she had been on duty the whole Christmas weekend and would have to work over Midsummer, so being free for Easter was only fair.
“It seems appropriate to talk about ashes today on Ash Wednesday,” said Svante Malm.
He had shown up around three o’clock in the afternoon to make a report. Irene suspected that he had smelled the coffee all the way down in the lab. Either that, or it was the smell of the freshly baked Tosca cake. It was Tommy’s treat, since his birthday would fall on Easter Monday. The next day, Maundy Thursday, he was going to go with his whole family to Åre for the season’s last ski-and-snowboarding trip. Irene didn’t envy him. Four hundred and eighty miles in an old Volvo with two adults, three children ages nine to fifteen, and a lively dog-incidentally, a daughter of Sammie’s-plus a lot of luggage, didn’t seem like a dream vacation. Even if the car was a station wagon, it would be a tight fit. Personally, she was looking forward to a relaxing weekend off with her family.
“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 thin
k 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.
“When you visit next week, it would be better if you didn’t arrive on Tuesday or Wednesday. I’ll be out of town and will return late Wednesday night. Thursday and Friday are better for me.”
“That works for me.”
Glen promised to book a room at the Thompson Hotel for Thursday night in case she was going to stay overnight.
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