“What was she like when she was sick?”
“When she was sick, she became withdrawn. Didn’t want to see people and didn’t have the energy to do practical things. She just stayed in bed.”
“Did you know Jacob and Rebecka?”
“Of course. When I came here, Jacob was a teenager and Rebecka had just started school. Such wonderful children. Well-behaved. In appearance, Jacob is most like his mother, but his personality is probably more like his father’s. It’s the opposite with Rebecka.”
“Does she also suffer from depression?”
“No, but she is also a bit reserved. Jacob is . . . was as open and happy as Sten. And now someone has . . . Sten and Jacob and Elsa. ...”
Her self-control cracked and she started sobbing. Irene waited for her to calm down, then asked, “Are you able to answer a few more questions?”
Rut Börjesson nodded and blew her nose in her wet handkerchief. In a thin, trembling voice she said, “I would so very much like to help if I can.”
“Do you have any suspicions whatsoever as to what could be behind these murders?”
The deaconess seemed to be thinking intensely before she shook her head. “No. It’s incomprehensible!”
“Did anyone in the Schyttelius family say anything that would make you think that he or she felt threatened?”
Again Rut Börjesson hesitated before answering. Finally, she said, “The only things I recall are Sten’s words last summer and fall. After the Satanists had burned down the summer chapel in Norssjön, he tried to find out who was responsible for that atrocity. You could almost say that he was obsessed with it.”
She stopped in order to dry her eyes and nose again. Irene could see that her hands were shaking.
“One afternoon, I was forced to speak with him about an important matter. Sten hadn’t come to the Fellowship Hall, so I went over to the rectory. Elsa let me in, and I remember that it was obvious that she was in the middle of one of her episodes. In any case, she pointed up to the second floor when I asked where Sten was. She said that he was in the office behind the billiard room. Actually—”
She stopped and looked uncertainly at Irene before she continued. “Actually, I didn’t know that he had an office on the second floor as well. But, of course, the one downstairs is large and old-fashioned. When I knocked, the door was locked. Sten called ‘One second,’ and then he unlocked the door. He pointed at the computer and said that he was on the trail of the Satanists. From what I understood, he had found some clues on the Internet. And he said that he had to be very careful so they didn’t become suspicious, because that could be dangerous.”
“Did he say in what way it could be dangerous?”
“No, just that it could be dangerous. I thought it sounded nasty. Who knows what those fools might come up with?”
“Did it seem as though Sten Schyttelius was afraid of the Satanists?”
Again Rut Börjesson looked hesitant. “‘Afraid’ . . . I don’t know . . . he said that one had to be very careful.”
“Was the computer on?”
“Yes. I went up to the desk in order to lay out some papers that he was going to sign, and I remember that there was a very beautiful picture on the screen. There were a lot of colorful fish swimming around a coral reef.”
So Sten Schyttelius had put on the screen saver before he opened the door for the deaconess. Was the information on the Internet really dangerous? Irene made a mental note to contact someone who could help her find out.
“Do you know if he continued searching for the Satanists?”
“Yes. Jacob knows . . . knew a lot about computers, and he was here about a month ago helping Sten—”
“Sorry for having to interrupt. But were they using the computers here in the Fellowship Hall?” Irene asked, pointing at Louise Måårdh’s computer on the desk in front of them.
“No. No, they were using the computer over in the rectory. I was invited there for afternoon coffee. Elsa was feeling quite well at that time and asked me to come. When I arrived, Jacob was also there. Elsa said something about them having spent the whole morning with the computer, and then Sten said that he and Jacob had something big going on. I asked if they were on the trail of the Satanists, and Sten nodded.”
“He nodded? He didn’t say anything?”
“No. But he and Jacob exchanged a look, as if they were . . . conspirators.”
Conspirators. Father and son were on the trail of Satanists, who had burned down the chapel. According to Rut Börjesson, the rector had been obsessed with the idea. Despite their caution, had they gotten too close? Even if the murder method was not typical of Satanism, the symbol on the computer screens and the upside-down crucifix pointed to a connection. As Sten and Jacob Schyttelius had hunted the church arsonists via the computer, it might explain why the computers had been marked with the pentagrams.
“Were there many people who knew that they were seeking the Satanists via the Internet?” Irene continued.
Rut Börjesson shook her head. “I don’t think so. Right after the fire, he spoke of catching the guilty ones and punishing them severely. But as time went on, there were more important things to take care of. I was actually quite surprised when he said that he was still looking for them.”
“And was it a complete coincidence that you found out about it?”
“Yes.”
There was a short silence while Irene reflected. Finally, she decided to move on to something else and let go of the Satanic angle for a while.
“What kind of a person was Sten Schyttelius?” she asked.
The deaconess’s sorrowful expression vanished. Her face lit up. “Deeply pious, good-hearted. He hadn’t had an easy time through the years with Elsa’s illness, but he never complained. He took care of the kids and did his job. They’ve always had help with the cleaning, but otherwise he did most things himself. He enjoyed mealtimes and was a good cook and a wine connoisseur. He was an avid hunter as well. Each year, he took a break from work for the moose hunt.”
“And Jacob was like his father?”
“Yes. Except maybe not quite as good at cooking, but he was also a hunter. Very nice and friendly. The last few years, both of them became heavily involved with Sweden’s Ecumenical Children’s Villages. Mostly it was Sten, but last fall Jacob also started working actively.”
“What would they do?”
A blush suffused Rut Börjesson’s pale cheeks as she described the absorbing work of father and son Schyttelius. “They traveled with aid groups to war- and catastrophe- stricken countries in Africa to help needy children. Various Christian organizations in Sweden have set up several villages for orphaned children, about ten in all. For the most part, all work is done by volunteers, and both Sten and Jacob helped wholeheartedly. The expense of the trip and room and board was paid by the parishes, but otherwise they weren’t compensated.”
“Did Rebecka also help?”
“No. She has lived in London for the last two years, where she works as a computer consultant, or whatever it’s called. I don’t think she’s active in the church.”
“Was Elsa Schyttelius involved in the children’s villages?”
“No. Elsa had more than enough to occupy her with her illness.”
Irene saw that Rut was exhausted and decided to end the questioning. She followed her to the door and asked the cleaning woman, Rosa Marqués, to come in.
ROSA WAS short and rather plump. Her dark hair was gathered in a thick braid hanging down her back. Her face was pretty, dominated by a wide mouth which looked like it broke into a smile readily. Right now, neither her mouth nor her dark brown eyes were smiling; rather, they mirrored grave sorrow.
She seated herself on the edge of the chair with her hands folded in her lap. Irene started with personal information. It turned out that Rosa was thirty-eight years old, married, and had four children. She had not had close contact with the Schytteliuses during the four years she had cleaned their house once a
week. She had never met their children, because they were both adults and had moved away from home before she started working at the rectory. She spontaneously mentioned Elsa Schyttelius’s periods of illness, during which Mrs. Schyttelius had locked herself in the bedroom and Rosa wasn’t allowed to clean in there.
“Do you clean the whole house every week?” Irene asked.
“No. I only clean the large fancy rooms on the first floor every week. When it’s needed, I do some of the rooms upstairs.”
“How do you know when it’s needed?”
“The rector tells me.”
“Have you ever cleaned the office upstairs?”
Rosa raised her dark eyebrows in surprise. “The office is on the first floor.”
“Sten Schyttelius has a smaller room with a computer on the second floor. It’s located behind the billiard room.”
Now Rosa frowned. Finally, she shook her head decidedly and said, “No. I’ve never cleaned in that room. The door is always locked.”
Over a period of four years, Rosa Marqués had never cleaned the computer room. Irene recalled that there was a gun cabinet in the room. It would be interesting to know what kind of weapons had been kept there. Is that why the room had always been locked? But if the cabinet had been kept locked, according to law, then locking the door to the room itself would have been unnecessary.
“Do you remember if anything was hanging on the wall in the bedroom?”
“The crucifix. The beautiful cross,” Rosa said.
“There was a cross hanging on the wall?”
“Yes. I always look at it when I’m cleaning the room. It’s so beautiful. Mrs. Schyttelius says that it’s very old. From Italy.”
“How big is it?” Irene asked, mostly out of curiosity.
“About like this,” said Rosa, indicating about a foot and a half in height and a few inches less in width. “And Jesus Christ is in silver,” she added.
This was the antique crucifix from Italy that had been turned upside down during or after the murders. Was this completely irrelevant, or was it important? Irene was unsure. But maybe that was the murderer’s intention.
THE FIRST of the Måårdhs whom Irene interviewed was Louise, the church accountant. She sat down in the armchair across from Irene and smiled faintly. “I can hardly remember ever sitting in this chair.”
“It doesn’t matter to me which chair I sit in. Do you want to trade?” Irene asked.
“No, no! I just meant that sometimes you become a little blind to your own surroundings. This chair is actually really comfortable.”
Louise Måårdh leaned back and crossed one slender leg over the other. Irene observed her. Her expression was serious and her gaze sorrowful, but she wasn’t nearly as distraught as the deaconess had been. Her black pinstriped suit, worn with a white silk blouse, was formal and appropriate. A necklace of large pearls shimmered at her throat.
She was actually quite attractive. And she had become the wife of a pastor in a country parish. Amazing.
Here, too, Irene commenced with general personal questions. Louise and Bengt Måårdh had two sons, twenty-five and twenty years old. The family had lived in Kullahult for almost ten years and Bengt had been the assistant rector in Ledkulla parish the entire time.
“And have you worked as the church accountant the whole time?” Irene asked.
“Yes. Earlier, I had handled the finances at a small company in the town where we used to live. But when we came here, this position was open and Sten asked if I was interested. I thought that I could always try it out and, well, I’m still here.”
“A thought just struck me. If your oldest son is twenty-five, then maybe he knows Rebecka Schyttelius?”
“Of course. They were classmates in high school.”
“Did they spend a lot of time together?”
“They are far too different. My Per is an outgoing boy who always had a large group of friends. Rebecka is more reserved. Even in high school, she preferred to spend time with her computers.”
Suddenly she stood. “Wait. I’ll show you. . . .”
She walked around the desk and pulled out a drawer. Two thick colorful envelopes were lying on top.
“Pictures from two Christmases ago. I dropped off the film, picked up the pictures and brought them here, and they’re still here.” She started flipping through the photos. At regular intervals, she would place one on the desk. When she had gone through both piles, ten pictures were lying on the desk.
“Rebecka wasn’t home this Christmas. She had apparently come down with the flu. But she was here the Christmas before. Our tradition is that all the pastors’ families eat breakfast together after Christmas Day services here in the Fellowship Hall. Of course, the rest of the staff is also welcome to join us, if they want. Both of my boys were home, so I brought the camera with me to the Christmas breakfast.”
As she was speaking, she laid out the pictures in a particular order. When she was satisfied, she said, “In the first pictures you have the Schyttelius family. And there is our family. And in the later ones you can see the rest of the staff.”
For the first time, Irene saw what the Schyttelius family had looked like when they were all intact and alive. Sten Schyttelius was smiling in three of the four pictures. In the fourth, he was laughing as he raised a schnapps glass to Bengt Måårdh in a toast.
“Is the early service the only thing a pastor does on Christmas Day?” Irene asked.
“No. Then there is High Mass and Evening Service. Why?”
“Sten Schyttelius and your husband are drinking schnapps in the morning.”
“Just a small one, to go with the herring. Don’t worry, it would have worn off before High Mass. The service is divided among the pastors and the churches. It would be too much otherwise.”
Sten Schyttelius had been a tall, impressive man. His large hand which grasped the foot of the schnapps glass looked more as if it belonged to a day laborer than a clergyman. His face was powerful, dominated by a large, meaty nose. His hairline had receded, but his steel gray hair was thick, worn en brosse. His smile in the pictures seemed warm and heartfelt. His eyes almost disappeared in laugh lines in the photos where he was beaming at the camera.
Next to the rector was his wife. She looked plain next to her sparkling husband. A dark-blue suit jacket and a high-necked gray blouse added to that impression. Her thinning gray hair was cut short and lay flat on her head. Irene thought that she looked a bit like Rut Börjesson, but the deaconess had at least some sense of life about her. Elsa Schyttelius had none. She was looking straight into the lens in one of the pictures. Her gaze was empty and her facial expression stiff. Had she been sick during that Christmas season?
A young woman was seated next to Elsa. It had to be Rebecka. She was also big, and the contrast made Elsa look even smaller and more colorless. The similarity to her father was apparent. Rebecka wasn’t heavy like him, but her large bone structure was like his. She wore a light-brown suit jacket, under which a yellow turtleneck could be seen. Her thick hair was dark and shoulder-length. Loose curls softly framed her face. Based on what Irene could make out, she wasn’t wearing makeup, but her own coloring was strong enough to accent her distinct features. When she saw Rebecka’s face, Irene thought of a Mediterranean movie star from the fifties. She didn’t fit the twenty-first century ideal of anorexic good looks, but she was a beautiful woman.
“She must be tall,” Irene said, looking up at Louise Måårdh.
“We are exactly the same height: One hundred seventy-eight centimeters,” Louise responded.
She smiled faintly when she saw Irene’s surprise at this exact reply.
“We started talking about it during breakfast. She had bought that nice brown jacket at a London shop. Long Tall Sally, I remember it was called. You, of course, will appreciate how difficult it can be to find clothes,” she said.
Irene nodded. She knew the problem well. The church accountant placed a long well-manicured index-finger nail on
one of the photos and said, “Jacob is sitting there next to my Per. Jacob and Rebecka were the same height.”
Jacob Schyttelius smiled at the camera and looked happy and relaxed. He had light hair and a slender build. Irene couldn’t see the slightest resemblance to his father or sister, but it was possible to see some similarities with his mother. The only thing the siblings had in common were brown eyes and dark eyebrows.
In the last three photos, Irene saw the people she had met a little while ago in the hall, but also a number of others whom she hadn’t met.
“Who are these people?” she asked.
“The church association’s employees. The secretary of information, the parish hostess, parish assistants, childcare workers, activity director, youth director, and our three preschool teachers.” Louise pointed at each as she identified them.
“Childcare workers? Secretary of information? Are all of them employed by the church?” Irene asked.
“We have a Christian preschool and a good youth program. The church is a large employer here in the municipality. And I’m the one who tries to find the money to pay for it all. The churches themselves also need renovations, as well as the fellowship halls, the rectories, and other properties. I’m in charge of paying all the bills and salaries, and I do the bookkeeping as well.”
Irene had never thought of the church as an employer with a large economic impact, but that’s apparently exactly what it was. And Sten Schyttelius had been in charge of it all, the commander of the parish or association or whatever it was called. She said out loud, “So you’re financially responsible, but Rector Schyttelius was the boss. What was he like as an employer?”
For the first time, Louise thought before she answered. Then she said, hesitantly, “Sten was a pleasant person, but as a boss he had certain . . . bad sides. He was actually ready for retirement, so you can understand that he was relatively old-fashioned and authoritarian. He was difficult to deal with sometimes. He had a short fuse and could get very angry. He saw women as personal assistants, not as colleagues. We had some clashes. . . . The woman who held this position before me actually quit. There was a lot of talk about harassment, but it didn’t come to anything. Not to mention his controversies with the vestrymen! The new director and Sten never got along.”
The Glass Devil: A Detective Inspector Huss Investigation, Vol. 3 Page 5