The Glass Devil: A Detective Inspector Huss Investigation, Vol. 3

by Helen Tursten

  “We have to give her protection right away!” Irene burst out.

  “Why?” said Andersson.

  “Because of what’s happened to her family. She’s the only one still alive. We don’t know the motive for the murders yet, but it seems as if someone wants to wipe out the Schyttelius family.”

  “But she lives in London—” the superintendent began. He was interrupted by Tommy Persson.

  “The Schytteliuses seem to have died at about the same time as their son. The murderer has more than a day’s lead on us. He could be in London right now.”

  The superintendent muttered something inaudible, but then nodded. “Okay. You’re right, we’ll have to find her address and get in touch with our colleagues in London. Can you do it, Hannu?” This was clearly an order, not a question. Superintendent Andersson nodded at Fredrik to continue.

  “There were no signs of a struggle in the bedroom. Both Irene and I believe that they were shot in their sleep. Each body lay with its head on a pillow. What’s left of its head, I should say. And both of them were shot from the front.”

  “Did the neighbors hear anything?” the superintendent asked.

  “We have the same problem there as we did at the cottage: There aren’t any neighbors near the church. The rectory is located on the back of the church hill, so it’s in an isolated area,” said Irene.

  “We’ve found a possible murder weapon,” Fredrik put in.

  This was news to the superintendent, who said, impatiently, “And you’re only mentioning it now! What was it?”

  “A Husqvarna 1900. It was lying under the bed. I saw the barrel sticking out, but of course I didn’t touch it.”

  “I see. Our dear old Husqvarna,” the superintendent sighed.

  Irene understood why he sighed. When it comes to firearms in Sweden, Husqvarna, with its various types of shotguns and sporting rifles, is the most common brand for homicides, and in particular suicides. The explanation is simple: They are the most common sporting weapon.

  “Svante Malm called me just before we got back to the station. The technicians have found an unlocked gun cabinet, brand name Zugil, in the rector’s work room,” said Fredrik.

  “The work room on the second floor, or the one on the first floor?” Irene asked.

  “The one with the computer on the second floor. Svante says that he’ll come to morning prayers and make a report about what they’ve found. Two technicians are still at the cottage, but they should be finished late tonight.”

  “How old were the Schytteliuses?” Tommy asked.

  “He was sixty-four and she was sixty-three. He was going to retire this summer,” Fredrik answered. He looked down at his papers. “I asked Jonas Burman how old Rebecka is, but he isn’t sure. He thinks she’s about twenty-five.”

  “What does she do in London?” Irene asked.

  “She works as a computer consultant, according to Burman.”

  “He was informative, that Burman,” the superintendent muttered.

  “Yes. He was in shock but tried to answer my questions. Nice guy.”

  “What else did he say?” Tommy asked.

  “Not much. He thought that we should speak with the deaconess. She has worked with Schyttelius for several years. Her name is . . .” He flipped through his pad of paper until he found what he was looking for. “. . . Rut Börjesson. Then there are people at the parish registration office who we can question.”

  “Okay. I already have four guys going around Kullahult knocking on doors. And two other guys have been at it out by Norssjön since this afternoon. They’ll call me if something comes up. Tomorrow after morning prayers, the three of you are going out to Kullahult to start questioning those people. Hannu and Jonny will head for Norssjön,” the superintendent said, ending the meeting.

  THE CLOCK on the old Saab’s instrument panel showed 22:41 when Irene stopped in front of her garage. The row-house garages created their own rows in the outskirts of the area. She opened the heavy garage door and parked the car inside, not out of fear that the thirteen-year-old automobile would be stolen but for fear that it would be freezing when she got into it the next morning.

  When she had closed the door, she felt the fatigue in her back and shoulders. She decided to try to work out the next day. Then she realized that there would hardly be any time for working out; the questioning would probably take the whole day and part of the evening. She would have to settle for an early-morning jog, even though early mornings were not her strong suit. In truth, she was terribly tired early in the day. But if that was the only time available, it would have to be a morning run.

  If you’ve turned forty, you have to be disciplined about exercising. She was proud of being in good shape, and she worked out whenever the opportunity arose. Twenty years ago, she had won the gold at the European Ju-jitsu Championship, which had given her high status at the police academy in Ulriksdal. About a year later, she met Krister and had almost immediately become pregnant. The birth of twin girls had meant a temporary setback for her figure, but she had gotten into training again pretty quickly. These days, she did strength exercises once a week, jogged a few times, and trained a group of female cops every Sunday in ju-jitsu.

  Keeping in shape was harder on her as the years passed. Old injuries started making themselves known. She had to wear a knee brace now when she ran. But she didn’t feel well mentally or physically if she didn’t work out. So morning jogs, the only type of exercise she could do during heavy periods of work, were essential.

  When she opened the door to their row house, she was enthusiastically greeted by Sammie. He bounced with joy and tried to lick her face when she bent down to pet his golden-brown coat. The best thing about dogs is that they’re happy no matter what time you get home; they never reproach you for being late, thought Irene.

  A note from Krister was lying on the table informing her that there was vegetarian lasagna in the fridge. Irene sighed. The Huss family diet had been perfect, as far as Irene was concerned, until Jenny had become a vegan a few years ago. At the same time, Krister had decided to go on a diet, and after a while he adopted their daughter’s new food habits with enthusiasm. These days, the Huss family ate vegan food three times a week and meat and fish the rest of the time. On those days, Jenny lived on leftovers or fixed her own food. Irene sighed loudly again and thought longingly about a large bloody steak with a creamy garlic-scented potato casserole.

  She microwaved a slice of lasagna and drank a glass of milk standing at the kitchen counter. After a quick shower, she went up to the second floor. When she opened the doors to the girls’ rooms, she saw that they were sleeping in their beds. Only a little more than a year left of high school, and then they’d probably move away from home as soon as possible. Irene felt a pang in her heart at that thought. Then it would just be her and Krister left in the house. And Sammie.

  When she padded into the bedroom, she could hear Krister’s heavy breathing. He would start snoring any minute. Naturally, Sammie had placed himself in the middle of Irene’s side of the bed. He was lying on his back with his paws in the air, pretending to be asleep. Irene was too tired to coax him down. Instead, she resolutely put him on the floor. Deeply insulted, Sammie went out and lay down on the rug in front of the TV.

  When she closed her eyes, she saw alternating images of the bloody scenes from the cottage and the rectory. Who wanted to wipe out the Schyttelius family? And why? Was Rebecka Schyttelius also in danger? Reason said that she was. But maybe the threat was local and she was safe because she lived in London. Why had the murderer written the symbol in blood on the computer screens?

  Questions swirled around in Irene’s head before she fell into an uneasy sleep.

  Chapter 4

  SVANTE MALM LOOKED AS if he hadn’t slept a wink during the last twenty-four hours. His usual happy, horse-like face was ashen with exhaustion, and even his freckles looked faded. He blinked and ran his fingers through his salt-and-pepper red hair several times. If it w
as in an attempt to give some shape to his nonexistent hairstyle, it was completely in vain: He looked even more like an over-aged punk.

  We’re all starting to get older and more worn down, thought Irene. Lucky that we have Fredrik. She glanced at him. He sat upright and, as far as Irene was concerned, seemed almost brazenly alert. His thin light-blue cotton shirt matched his eyes, and he smelled nicely of body lotion and aftershave. Even though she might be newly showered after her morning jog, she never managed to achieve that bright-eyed and bushy-tailed look.

  Svante Malm began to show signs of wanting to get started. He cleared his throat and said, “I’ve spoken with Åhlén. He’ll be here at any moment and will give an account of what has materialized out at the cottage. I’ll go through what we’ve found so far at the rectory. Professor Stridner was actually nice enough to come out last night to look at the bodies. She said that they had probably been dead less than twenty-four hours. It was cold in the bedroom, not more than seventeen degrees,* and that, of course, impacts the process. She promised to give these autopsies priority this morning.”

  He stopped to take a gulp of coffee. Irene noticed that his hand shook slightly as he brought the mug up to his lips. Forensics was more understaffed than usual since this year’s flu season was still reaping victims. Two of them worked in the Forensics department of the Göteborg Police Department. There were no substitutes for those positions.

  “The victims were shot at point-blank range with at least one shot each, right in the forehead. You don’t get a small, neat little hole when you shoot someone between the eyes with large-caliber ammunition. The back of the skull is torn away. They died immediately. No signs of a struggle. Based on the injuries, the rifle which was lying under the bed is probably the murder weapon. There were no fingerprints on the rifle. It had been wiped carefully. The murderer probably wore gloves.”

  “How did he get in?” Superintendent Andersson interrupted.

  “The door was open when Irene and Fredrik arrived at the crime scene, the key in the lock.”

  Tommy whistled softly and said, “So the murderer had a key to the house.”

  “That’s not certain,” Andersson replied. “Irene and I found a key to the cottage under a flower pot on the outside steps. Was there one like that on the steps to the rectory?”

  Irene tried to remember but before she could answer, Fredrik beat her to it.

  “There was a large white ceramic pot with pine needles or something like that on the outside stairs. The key may have been under it.”

  The superintendent nodded and shrugged at the same time. No one could know for certain but the family may have been in the habit of putting an extra key under potted plants, the most common place for Swedish families to leave a spare key.

  “There is no apprarent damage in the rest of the house. Which brings us to the computer. The lab did a quick test; the symbol on the monitor was written in human blood. We’ll know whose blood a little later. But when I tried to start up the computer, it was completely dead. It beeped when the power was turned on, but the monitor remained blank. We’ve brought it in to the station. Ljunggren is good with computers. Åhlén brought in the other computer, from the cottage. The last thing I did before I came up here just now was to try to boot it up. Exactly the same thing happened: It beeped but wouldn’t start up.”

  Svante pulled out some Polaroid photos from an envelope and handed them to Tommy Persson. “Here are pictures of the symbol.”

  The photos were divided quickly among the officers present. Irene felt uneasy when she saw the five-pointed star surrounded by the ring. Svante had written “the cottage” and “the rectory” in one of the top corners. From what Irene could make out, the symbols were almost identical.

  “These stars are called pentagrams. A pentagram is a fivepointed star that can be drawn in one pass with five straight lines. One point faces up, two down, and two to the sides.”

  Svante stood. He pulled down the white screen from the ceiling and turned on the overhead projector. He drew a fivepointed star in blue ink.

  “This is a pentagram. Compare it with the pictures. Do you see any differences?”

  “Yes. On the computer screens, they’re upside down,” Fredrik said quickly.

  “Exactly. Now I’ll turn my picture as well.”

  With a quick movement of his hand, Svante rotated the picture a hundred and eighty degrees.

  “Do you see that the appearance of the star changes? Now it has two points going up and one down. Drawn this way, it becomes a magic symbol. I’ve come across it a few times in the past. And now I’ll fill in the two top points and the lower one.”

  He quickly colored in the three points and the space in the middle of the pentagram with a red pen. The spectators saw a triangle with two points facing upward. Svante took a new gulp of coffee before he continued: “This is the Devil’s face, with two horns and the goatee.”

  He paused to see the effect of his words. All the officers looked surprised, but Superintendent Andersson suddenly woke up. “What kind of crap is this? The Devil’s face!? Are you messing with us?” he asked angrily.

  Svante attempted a smile. “No. As I said, I’ve come across this before, twice at church fires and once at a murder. The murder was never solved, but everything pointed to it being a Satanic sacrifice. I’m thinking of the Purple Murder. Do you remember?”

  Everyone but Fredrik nodded. Svante looked at him and said, “You are too young: It was more than twenty years ago.

  “We found the victim in an apartment. The neighbors called the police when they began smelling him in the summer heat. When we got there, it appeared to be a completely ordinary apartment. The hall, kitchen, and living room looked normal. But the bedroom was a house of horrors. The floor, walls, and ceiling were painted black. The window was covered with a thick black curtain. He had covered the walls with a lot of symbols. Different whips and masks were hanging in there too. There were candleholders everywhere, but all the candles were black and made of wax. A large ceramic basin, which he had filled with strange objects, had been placed in the middle of the room. There were pieces of bone, tufts of hair from humans and animals, a snakeskin, and I can’t remember what all. He was lying on top of the bed with his throat cut. The murder weapon was never found, but it must have been a hunting knife with a large blade. Extremely sharp. The murderer had drawn a pentagram on his stomach.”

  “Why was it called the Purple Murder?” Fredrik wondered.

  “The man was only wearing a purple cloak. Underneath, he was naked.”

  “Why was it purple? Did the color mean something in particular?” Irene asked.

  “Black, white, and red are the colors used during black masses. Sometimes they may have a little silver as well. When they use red, it’s a purplish red. Also, the ring around the pentagram symbolizes a snake which is biting its own tail. Exactly what the significance of that is, I don’t know.”

  “Hadn’t the neighbors heard anything?” Irene asked.

  When the Purple Murder happened, she had been an alternate in the field and had been driving a police car in Angered. All she’d known about that murder was what she had read in the papers.

  “Nothing. But the murder occurred during vacation time, when most people were out of town. And this fellow was pretty odd and kept to himself. He rarely said anything to his neighbors, but he didn’t bother anyone either. Not until he started smelling.”

  “So you mean we’re going to be chasing Satanists? . . . who murder pastors? But why did they murder the son? He was a teacher, not a pastor. And why Mrs. Schyttelius?” Jonny asked.

  Svante gestured tiredly. “I’m not saying that the murderer is a Satanist. I’m saying that the symbol on the computer screens is supposed to be magical and is common in occult and Satanic contexts.” He pointed his finger at the blue star with the three red-colored points that was projected on the screen and continued. “I’ve also seen it painted on church doors, churches burned down by
Satanists. In one case, we caught the perpetrators. When Kålltorp’s old church burned down, two guys and two girls had set the fire. They said they were confirmed Satanists and had done it in the Devil’s honor. The existence of an older leader surfaced during the investigation; he was the one who had ordered the fire set. We never got our hands on him. The kids didn’t know his real name or what he looked like.”

  “They must have seen what he looked like,” Jonny objected.

  “No. He always had a silver mask over his face when they met him. They had a ‘church,’ as they called it, an old storage facility out on Ringön. A perfect remote location. The congregation consisted of about ten youths, and these four were given the honor of an assignment to burn down the church in question. Neither we nor his ‘congregation’ saw any trace of the leader after the fire. It was as if he vanished from the face of the earth. The kids were taken care of by Social Services, and this specific congregation dissolved. But a new one may have been founded; maybe the leader came back and started over again. What do we know?”

  “Was the pentagram written in blood?” Tommy Persson wondered.

  “Yes. The kids had killed a cat and drawn the symbol before they started the fire. They had used hamster blood at the other church fire.”

  “Which was the other church where you saw the pentagram?”

  “Norssjön’s summer church.”

  “Norssjön! That’s where Schyttelius’s summer cottage is located!” Irene exclaimed.

  Svante Malm nodded. “Exactly. But the church was on the other side of the lake and burned down almost two years ago. It was a small wooden church that was only used during the summer since there wasn’t any heating or electricity in it.”

  “So it couldn’t have been an electrical fire,” the superintendent concluded.