The Glass Devil dih-3

by Helene Tursten

  “You can actually make the trip in one day. Even if that is a bit stressful,” he said.

  “It would be too stressful,” Irene decided.

  It was a matter of seizing her opportunity, now that she had a second chance at visiting London. Furthermore, it was critical that she speak with Rebecka in peace and quiet. She couldn’t predict when during the day would be suitable for the lady. Just as well not to be pressed for time.

  IRENE BOOKED the same flight times. She already dreaded the ungodly early-morning departure from Landvetter, but it was necessary if she wanted to have time to get anything done in London. The later flight didn’t arrive until one thirty in the afternoon. Even if English time was an hour behind Swedish summer time, it would still feel like the whole day was over.

  Louise Måårdh called in the afternoon to say thank you. “I have no idea how you managed to get that damn journalist to write his article. I think it’s important that the same journalist wrote both. When he described how Urban manipulated and fooled the two of you, it felt great. I’ve gotten justice, even if we have to live with anonymous letters and phone calls a while longer. If Bengt doesn’t get the position as rector, Urban won’t either. That’s the only thing that matters!”

  It wasn’t possible to miss her vindictive tone. Louise’s overflowing gratitude left a sour taste in Irene’s mouth after the she had hung up the phone.

  She’d gotten interesting glimpses of church life during the investigation. Before this case had begun, she had had a faint impression of pastors devoted to their calling of caring for souls; but that picture had been altered. Pastors, she had found, are like everyone else, with faults and weaknesses. The difference is that they can conceal them behind their pastor’s garb and people’s inherited reverence for the church. If you lift the gold-embroidered chasubles and scrape at the pious surface, then you find everything from compassion to ordinary human feelings. It was a relief to meet a pastor like Kjell Sjönell. He seemed sincerely interested in other people’s fates and tried to be there for his fellow man. But of course, this took its toll. Irene remembered how tired he had sounded on the phone.

  ANDERSSON CAME into Irene’s office just as she was leaving to pick up Krister. Sven seemed washed out. His face looked like it had been quickly put together out of dough. Irene was already on her way out of her office; but when her boss sank into the visitor’s chair, she sat back down as well. Andersson lifted his reading glasses and pinched the flesh between his eyes with the thumb and index finger of one hand.

  “It’s as if everything is going wrong. The Speedy case is moving forward and we’ve bagged the post office robbers in Lerum. But in the investigation of the Schyttelius murders, we still don’t know much more than when the investigation started. It’s as if everything is fizzling.”

  “I think that feeling is pretty familiar. It always shows up at a certain point in an investigation. It’s supposed to work that way.” Irene smiled encouragingly at the superintendent, but he didn’t acknowledge it.

  Instead, he continued. “And then Jonny’s wife called a little while ago. He’s in the hospital. Something is wrong with his stomach. She didn’t know what it was.”

  He looked guiltily at Irene. “That means that we need to divide his shift over the weekend. I already have Friday and Saturday, and I can take Sunday as well. Tommy is already on his way to the mountains. Could you think about taking Easter Monday?”

  There went her long weekend. Bitterness toward Jonny swelled within her. It was always something with that incompetent fool! Stiffly, she said, “Put me down for Sunday and Monday. You need to have time to recover as well. Jonny will have to rest up in his sickbed. His poor liver will need it. His ‘stomach.’ Call it what you want!”

  “Liver? Oh, you think. . ”

  Andersson avoided making eye contact. He tried to feign ignorance, but everyone in the unit knew that Jonny had a drinking problem. Andersson didn’t hesitate to go after people who in his eyes mismanaged their jobs, but he thought it beneath him to discuss personal problems. “Fuss,” he would mutter and quickly start talking about something else.

  He rose clumsily from the chair and started toward the door. Before he reached it, he turned and said, “It’s nice of you to take Easter Sunday and Monday. This investigation is probably taking more out of me than I’ve realized. I actually met Sten and Elsa once, a long time ago.”

  His shrunken figure disappeared down the corridor. Irene was reminded of an old potato sack, shuffling around the house. Old. Andersson had really gotten old. It was increasingly evident that he wouldn’t be able to head the unit forever.

  The thought frightened her. Who would become boss in his place?

  “SO YOU’RE free on Good Friday and Easter Eve then? I work late on Easter Eve and all day on Easter Sunday. Easter Monday I’m free, but you’re working. We’ll have to aim for Good Friday,” Krister concluded.

  They sat in an endless traffic jam on Södra vägen heading toward Mölndal. They had realized too late that it wasn’t a good idea to take this road toward Korsvägen, which was just one single chaos of roadwork and blockades. The idea had been to drive to Frölunda Torg and shop for the weekend. Irene would have preferred to avoid being squashed together with thousands of tired and stressed people on exactly the same errand; she would rather have driven straight home. But according to Krister, there was a threat of starvation in the pantry and refrigerator, so there was no choice.

  Krister was driving. Irene leaned her head back against the headrest and closed her eyes. Thoughts swirled around aimlessly in her tired brain.

  Her comfort level had suffered when Krister began to work full-time five years earlier. Before that, he had worked thirty hours a week and everything had run more smoothly at home. During the whole time the twins were young, he had had a reduced work schedule, since there were no part-time positions for detective inspectors and Irene hadn’t wanted to take a desk job. The deciding argument had been that she earned more as a policewoman than he did as a cook. When he got the offer to take over as head of the kitchen at Glady’s Corner, Irene had energetically supported him. It was his turn to focus on his career. She had regretted this many times since, but would never have told him so. He loved his work, even if he was often tired to the point of exhaustion when he came home. And who wasn’t, thought Irene. The worst thing was that they didn’t see each other very often. Now, with the twins living their own lives, it was more and more common that she came home to an empty house. Good thing Sammie was around.

  They split up inside the shopping mall according to a well-rehearsed strategy. Irene had a list on which her husband had written what she should buy at the State Liquor Store. He went and botanized in the fruit and vegetable aisles, toured at the fishmonger, and rounded things off with a visit to the delicatessen. According to Krister, cheeses had to be tasted before they were purchased. He could stand and sample for fifteen minutes before he made up his mind. When Irene was doing the shopping, a plastic-covered Herrgård’s mild cheese went right into the basket without further ado, or maybe a tub of soft cheese flavored with shrimp.

  IT WAS almost seven o’clock when they finally dragged themselves and their heavy bags over the threshold of their row house. Sammie jumped and bounced around them, eagerly investigating what was in the bags. He stuck his nose into a bag and sniffed. Little wieners? Liver paté? Grilled chicken? Yes! Grilled chicken!

  Irene tripped over him when he was fussing around her legs. With repressed violence, she shooed him away from the grocery bags and went into the kitchen.

  She made sure that she remedied the threat of starvation by filling the cupboards. Krister had purchased fresh baguettes which were still a little warm, a piece of whiskey cheddar, and a perfectly aged Brie. The cheese was going to be enjoyed with the evening’s salad. Because Jenny didn’t eat meat or fish or anything of animal origin whatsoever, all members of the family got to make their own salads. A base of tomatoes, onions, corn, cucumber, black
olives, lettuce, and fresh basil was set in the middle of the table in a large bowl. There were smaller bowls with feta cheese, chicken pieces, and Thousand Island dressing around it. The dressing was made light with crème fraiche, which was the reason Jenny wouldn’t eat it but used vinaigrette instead.

  Both girls were at home, and they helped slice the ingredients of the salad. Naturally, Jenny refused to involve herself with the chicken cadaver, so Krister had to do it himself. He paused in the middle of cutting up the chicken and said, “Girls. As usual, Mamma and I are working at different times this weekend-”

  He was interrupted by Katarina, who exclaimed, “But you were supposed to have the weekend off!”

  She looked at Irene accusingly. Irene knew full well that she worked too much, but with the occupation she had, there wasn’t much she could do about it. When there was a lot of work to do, there was also a lot of overtime.

  “Had you planned on being home?” Irene asked Katarina.

  Katarina didn’t answer, but merely shrugged. Recently she had turned eighteen, giving her the right to vote, the right to marry without parental permission, and the right to drive a car, but still sometimes she was just a child. At least she couldn’t buy alcohol at the State Liquor Store yet, thought Irene.

  “Katarina probably planned on driving practice. Just like me,” said Jenny.

  “We’ll arrange it. When are you going to take the test?” Irene asked.

  “In three months. There’s a waiting list,” Katarina said sulkily.

  Both girls had had their learner’s permit and had driven, accompanied by their parents, for more than a year. They were very good. The driver’s test would certainly go well. But it would be difficult financially, since both of them were going to obtain their much-desired licenses at the same time.

  Krister cleared his throat. “If I may return to what I was saying earlier, we’re going to have Easter dinner on Good Friday. It’s the only day both myself and Mamma are free at the same time. And I start work at five o’clock on Easter Eve. But I should have time for a smaller Easter lunch before I start.”

  Jenny stopped in the middle of chopping onions and said hesitantly, “Is it okay if I invite Martin?”

  “Of course, sweetheart,” Krister said, smiling wide.

  Irene was pleasantly surprised. Katarina had dragged home various boyfriends over the years, but Jenny had never brought anyone home. There had been romances in Jenny’s life, but nothing more serious ever seemed to develop. They had died and gone to glory at an early stage and quietly disappeared without leaving any noticeable marks on their daughter. Martin must be special.

  “How long have you been together?” she ventured to ask, curious.

  Jenny answered, “A few months.”

  A few months! Irene had heard about him for the first time last week.

  “Grandma is coming, right?” Katarina asked.

  “Oh, good thing you said that! I need to call and change the day. Otherwise she’ll think it’s Easter Sunday,” Irene exclaimed, hurrying out of the kitchen to the telephone in the hall.

  GOOD FRIDAY dawned with sunshine and a clear blue sky, even if it was cool. Irene and Krister devoted the morning to their sorely neglected garden. What did it matter if last year’s leaves were raked up only at the beginning of April? Irene used to convince herself that it was healthy for the lawn to have a protective cover of leaves in case it was a cold winter. And some nutrients went into the ground when leaves decomposed. On the other hand, those were the only nutrients the lawn ever got. If you thought about it, their little garden plot was actually ecologically managed, completely without artificial fertilizer.

  Krister started fixing the Easter buffet around lunchtime. He had started preparing the herring at the beginning of the week. He had finished the coriander-preserved salmon and the shellfish paté then as well. Now he was baking the chicken filets, which he was going to serve cold with various sauces. Irene had greedily circled him like a barracuda and noted a delicious mango chutney sauce and a crème fraiche sauce with fresh basil and garlic.

  The seductive smell of Jansson’s Temptation-with its spicy anchovies-came from the oven. It was Irene’s favorite dish at both the Christmas and Easter buffets. As usual, a rootstock casserole stood simmering next to it. Jenny had told them that Martin was a lacto-vegetarian. He wasn’t orthodox in Jenny’s vegan eyes, but apparently she could put up with this. She had also promised to make a large tomato and onion salad and chick-pea pilaf-red peppers filled with rice and chick peas, her specialty. The rest of the family also thought the chick-pea-filled peppers were delicious, and therefore the dish was included on the Easter buffet table. The obligatory hard-boiled eggs were cooling in cold water. Later they would be peeled and halved. The egg halves were decorated with mayonnaise, caviar, and shrimp.

  The dessert had even been ready for a few days; Krister’s punch parfait was in the freezer. He served it with his chocolate sauce made according to a secret recipe. Irene had managed to work out that it contained coffee, and she knew that he made it with dark chocolate of the finest quality. This was Glady’s Corner’s signature dessert, and if it wasn’t on the menu, the regulars would grumble.

  Irene’s mother, Gerd, and her significant other, Sture, arrived at about five o’clock. The air was still warm enough that they could drink a glass of sparkling wine in the garden. They had to wear sweaters and over-shirts, but the air felt pleasant and spring-like. They were standing and chatting on the patio when Jenny and her Martin appeared in the doorway.

  Irene quickly looked down at her right hand in order to make sure that her grip on her wineglass was firm. She understood why Jenny had looked hesitant when she spoke about Martin the day before. Conversation stopped completely, and everyone looked at the lanky figure in the doorway.

  Martin was a few years over twenty. His shoulder-length hair was dyed black. His T-shirt was also black with a bright pink legend across his chest: “Fuck me, I’m famous!” He wore black jeans with large rips through which his pale knobby knees stuck out. A thick metal stud pierced his lower lip, and there was another in one eyebrow. He had used black eyeliner to draw heavy outlines around his eyes. A wide tattooed pattern encircled his neck in blue and red. He had taken off his shoes and stood uncertainly on the threshold in tattered black socks that his big toes stuck out of.

  Irene’s mother was the first to pull herself together. She smiled happily and walked up to the young man. “Hello! I’m Jenny’s grandmother, Gerd.”

  Martin took her outstretched hand and said politely, “Martin.”

  Irene also went over to him to introduce herself and the rest of the family. Katarina didn’t have her new find, Johan, with her. According to what Irene had discovered, he was in Norway with some friends, skiing. Despite this, Katarina looked beamingly happy. She introduced herself to Martin, who looked confused.

  “Didn’t you say you were twins?” he asked Jenny.

  “Yes, but she’s adopted,” Jenny replied quickly.

  The girls were used to this reaction. They smiled at each other in understanding.

  “We have to leave by seven at the latest,” Jenny told Irene.

  “Why?” Krister asked before his wife had time.

  As a craftsman in the culinary arts, he loved long enjoyable dinners and detested stress and haste during mealtimes.

  “Martin’s band is playing tonight.”

  Gerd opened her eyes wide in surprise.

  “Do you have school dances on Good Friday these days?”

  Then Martin smiled, and Irene saw why her daughter had fallen for this rocker. His blue eyes were mischievous but friendly. “It’s been several years since we played at school dances. Tonight is bigger. More like a concert.”

  “Concert? Do you play classical music?” Sture wondered.

  “Nah. It’s got more of a beat to it, and it’s really popular,” Martin replied, still polite.

  “But, hello! Don’t you recognize Mackie in Black
Thunder?” Katarina exclaimed and rolled her eyes.

  A quick look at the gathered group of older relatives revealed their ignorance.

  “They’re huge! How many records have you made? Four?” she asked Martin, alias Mackie.

  “Five,” Martin answered and looked almost embarrassed.

  “And it’s going really well in Germany. They have a hit there now. Top of the charts with ‘The Eagle Said,’” Katarina continued.

  “Even if one is a rock star, might he want to have a glass of bubbly before dinner?” Krister asked, filling an empty glass that was standing on the tray. He didn’t pour anything for Jenny, because she was absolutely drug-free and didn’t even drink light beer.

  “No, thank you. I don’t drink alcohol,” Martin declined.

  Yet something else that united them, in addition to music, thought Irene.

  “Okay. But you need food in your stomach. Especially if you’re going to give a concert tonight. I suggest that we start eating,” Krister said, gesturing toward the house.

  Irene noted during the dinner that Katarina ate relatively little. Hadn’t she also become much thinner in the face? The wide neck of her black cotton top showed considerably sharper collarbones than Irene could remember. It still seemed as though she was dieting, despite the new boyfriend and her decision not to participate in the beauty contest. She had to talk with Katarina about this. What was wrong?

  EASTER WEEKEND was busy. The two biggest motorcycle gangs’ feud about the division of prime drug and sex districts exploded into violence. On Easter morning, one of the gang leaders, and his girlfriend, were shot when they left a night club at about four o’clock. The gang had celebrated quite a bit on Easter Eve and, in their drunken state, their security precautions had slipped. A man from a passing car had loosed a rain of bullets from an automatic weapon at their leader. The driver pulled away before any of the drunken bodyguards had time to get their weapons out. Both the gang leader and the girlfriend had suffered life-threatening injuries.