The Glass Devil (28 page)

Andrew turned and looked at them.

“There may be an explanation. My passport was stolen during a break-in sometime in March. I don’t know the exact date of the break-in because I didn’t discover it right away. It’s been reported to the police.”

“When did you discover the break-in?”

“April first. I actually was asked if I was joking when I called the police.”

“Did the burglars leave any traces?”

“No. Nothing. The police don’t have any explanation as to how he, or they, got in and out.”

“Did they take anything in addition to the passport?”

“Yes. A Beretta 92S, with ammunition, and a very valuable antique dagger. I had just purchased it, and it was unique.”

“I assume the staff was questioned regarding the break-in?”

“Naturally. Altogether, there are six people who take care of me and the house.”

They had no problem realizing that it would require
at least
six people to look after this portion of the castle. When one had fin-ished cleaning one end of the house, it was time to start again at the other. Irene saw the benefit of growing old in a one-bedroom apartment, with cable TV as the only luxury.

“Is there any theory about how the thief or thieves got in?”

“No. When I’m not home, I always close the gate at the port arch. You probably didn’t notice it when you drove in, but it’s there alongside the wall. It closes automatically from inside the house. At night it’s always electrified. As are the wires at the top of the wall. All windows and doors are equipped with burglar alarms. Despite that, he got in.”

“There is no one you suspect?”

“No.”

But when he replied, his eyes shifted away from them. Both Glen and Irene saw it. Glen looked at her quizzically. Oh yes, she had a question she wanted answered.

“When was Christian here last?” she asked.

Andrew jerked. Maybe he was surprised that she had spoken instead of depending on her English colleague. He made a noticeable effort to think before replying. “He was here in March.”

“When in March?” Irene continued relentlessly.

His gaze wandered. “In the beginning or the middle . . . I don’t remember.”

“Can you find out?”

Now Andrew was staring at them, and they could see clear fear in his face.

“But . . . you can’t seriously be thinking that Christian. . . .”

His inspection of the police officers convinced him that they were serious. He sank back and said, almost inaudibly, “In the middle of March. Aunt Mary’s birthday is the eighteenth, and he came home on the evening of the sixteenth. It was a Friday.”

“He stayed at his mother’s house, right?”

“Yes.”

“Was he here at the castle at any time?”

Andrew nodded. “We ate dinner here on Saturday evening. Christian, Aunt Mary, my fiancée, and myself. John couldn’t come. That’s Aunt Mary’s boyfriend.”

He smiled a bit at the last sentence. Apparently, John wasn’t a boy any more.

“Did Christian know where you kept your passport?”

“Yes. He knows the house as well as I do. We grew up here, after all.”

He sank down into the armchair again, as if all of the strength had been sucked out of him. Irene continued, “Did he know where you kept the gun and the dagger?”

“Of course! I had just shown him—”

He stopped and stared helplessly at Irene.

“You had just shown him your newly purchased dagger. Correct?” Glen added.

Andrew nodded. Suddenly he sprang to life. “But this is unbelievable! You’re getting me to imply that Christian stole my passport, my gun, and my dagger. And then that he flew to Göteborg and shot Rebecka’s parents and her brother. He has never met them! The whole idea is absurd! In the first place, he couldn’t have gotten the gun through Customs.”

“The victims were shot with Rebecka’s brother’s rifle. Both the rifle and the ammunition were found at the scene. All a person familiar with weapons had to do was load and shoot,” Glen said.

The wild look in Andrew’s eyes disappeared. He leaned forward and took off his glasses, leaned his elbows heavily on his knees, and hid his face in his hands.

“This cannot be true,” he mumbled.

Fumbling, he put his glasses back on and looked at the clock. “You’ll have to excuse me, but I need to leave for Edinburgh,” he said, pulling himself together.

They stood at the same time. Glen and Irene thanked him for the wonderful lunch and the whisky. They walked together in silence through the museum-like rooms and into the enormous hall. Andrew went up to the carved cabinet and took out their jackets, as well as a plaid scarf in the same pattern as the pants he wore, and began to wind it around his neck. Irene couldn’t keep from exclaiming. Andrew stopped, and both he and Glen looked at her.

“Excuse me. The scarf. Is it yours?” Irene got out.

Andrew looked even more surprised. “Yes, of course. It’s the St. Clair plaid.”

Irene stared as if bewitched at the scarf, which was bright red, blue, and green. Fringe hung along its edges. The pieces of yarn that Irene had found in the bushes at the cottage could well have come from the fringes of this scarf. And later Fredrik had found yet another tuft of yarn in the spruce hedge at the rectory which could also have come from the scarf.

“Is there something in particular bothering you?” Andrew asked, a little irritated.

“Yes.”

Irene explained about the finding of the fragments of yarn. With a tired gesture, Andrew took off the scarf saying, “Here. Take it. Analyze it, or do whatever it is you do. But I promise that this scarf has never been in Göteborg.”

He handed the scarf to Irene.

“There are other scarves that might have been in Göteborg. I gave all my customers, employees, friends, and relatives one of these as a Christmas present last year. Rebecka also has one, since she was here last Christmas. And Christian, Mary . . . every one of them has a scarf like this,” Andrew added.

Glen nodded and said, “But only one has been to Sweden.”

“Not mine,” was Andrew’s final reply.

They walked out to the courtyard and to their respective cars. Their red Range Rover looked middle-class and boring next to Andrew’s silver-colored Porsche. He was in a hurry and threw himself into the sports car with a quick “good-bye,” then disappeared through the gate.

“I understand why he became upset,” said Irene.

“Me, too. He seems to be a nice guy. But we have to follow—” HE WAS interrupted by his cell phone ringing. He took it out of his pocket and answered it. After a few abrupt “Yesses” and “I understands,” he ended the conversation. He stared at Irene before he said, “Now things are happening. That was my boss. Christian Lefévre has kidnapped Rebecka. No one knows where they are.”

Chapter 19

IRENE CALLED SUPERINTENDENT ANDERSSON on her cell phone. It took quite a while to explain everything that had happened, but in the end he understood. After many protests, he finally gave in. Irene had permission to stay in London and keep an eye on the new developments in the case.

“As soon as we send you out, there’s always so damn much fuss,” he grumbled.

Irene became angry and said, sharply, “I’ve only been abroad for work once before!”

“Exactly. And don’t you dare say that there wasn’t any fuss that time!” Andersson exclaimed triumphantly.

She had no good response. But the superintendent’s criticism was unfair. She had not
caused
any of the developments in this investigation. But maybe the questions she and Glen had asked had provoked a reaction?

She ended the conversation and asked Glen, “What happened at the hospital?”

“According to my boss, Christian came to the clinic during regular visiting hours, between one and two. There are always more people moving about then, so it took nearly a half hour after visiting hours were over for the staff to discover that Rebecka was gone. At first they searched the ward and the clinic. When they couldn’t find her, they contacted the police.”

“Did he remove her by force?”

“We don’t know for sure, since no one saw them leave the clinic. But there’s nothing to indicate that he used force.”

“Have they searched their apartments? And the office?”

“Of course. That was the first place they went. They aren’t there.”

“Where can they be?”

“No idea.”

They were approaching the airport, and traffic increased. Irene wondered who might know where Rebecka and Christian were. She took out her wallet and, after some rummaging around, found the note she was looking for. It was worth a try, she thought, as she punched in Kjell Sjönell’s cell phone number.

Irene quickly explained the situation to the pastor and asked him, “Do you have any idea where they may be?”

“No idea. But why would Christian kidnap Rebecka? There’s no ransom money to ask for. What is his motive?”

“We don’t know. But a great deal of evidence points to Christian having murdered Rebecka’s family. And now he has taken her.”

“Good Lord! Is he crazy?” Kjell Sjönell exclaimed.

“Possibly, although the impression he gave me was that he was mentally stable. What was your reaction when you met him?”

“The same as yours. Obviously, he was upset and concerned about Rebecka, but that’s only natural.”

“Have you any suggestion to offer?” Irene asked.

Glen had parked the Rover in front of the Avis office and gotten out of the car, but Irene remained to finish the conversation.

“Call each of their friends and every family member that you can come up with. Maybe one of them will have an idea about where they might be. Otherwise, the only advice I can give is to wait and hope that they’ll get in touch somehow.”

Irene realized that he was right. It felt frustrating to have to accept it, but she thanked the pastor and hung up.

Glen had already called Estelle and arranged for a new room for Irene. Irene called home, but there was no answer. She reached Krister at the restaurant. He calmly accepted the news of his wife’s extended stay in England. “Take care, honey.”

AFTER ENDURING bumper-to-bumper rush-hour traffic, they finally made it to the Thompson Hotel. It felt like coming home to Irene. A young girl with spiky red hair stood behind the reception desk and smiled in welcome. Irene explained who she was and was given a key. To her joy, they had given her a room on the second floor this time. Two fewer floors to climb. She threw her bag down and went to the bathroom before she rushed to the lobby again.

Glen was sitting on the sofa with a cigarette in one hand and his cell phone in the other. He looked up and smiled when Irene came up to him.

“I have been looking for Andrew St. Clair, but I haven’t managed to reach him. His secretary has promised that he’ll contact us as soon as he has a chance. But I did speak with Dr. Fischer. He was furious. I hope we find Christian before he does.”

“Did he have a theory about where they might be?”

“No. Not the faintest idea.”

Irene sat down on the sofa next to Glen. Together they tried to think of another person who might know where Rebecka and Christian could be. Glen had asked Andrew’s secretary if she knew at which company Mary Lefévre worked as financial manager. She knew; but when they telephoned the company, the Edinburgh Tweed Company, her male assistant informed them that Mrs. Lefévre had just left on a business trip to Germany and wasn’t expected back until next Wednesday. Unfortunately, he didn’t know which airport the plane would land at. According to him, she was going to spend the weekend with German friends, but he didn’t know what their names were or where they lived. He promised to contact the companies Mrs. Lefévre was going to visit and leave a message for her to contact Glen Thompson right away.

“We have to find Andrew. He may know who his aunt is going to visit in Germany,” Irene exclaimed.

“Perhaps. But there isn’t much we can do right now. Let’s go to Vitória and eat. Kate and the boys are also coming,” said Glen.

AS USUAL, Donna was ebullient. She pulled Glen and Irene into her plump arms and chirped how happy she was that they had made it home safely. She acted as though they had been wandering around the Scottish heath for several weeks, rather than having been gone just part of one day.

Kate and the twins arrived soon after, and it became a real family dinner with very good food. To be on the safe side, Irene and Glen didn’t drink any wine, just beer. When coffee and ice cream with exotic fruits were brought in, Irene sensed that her fatigue was about to overwhelm her. It had been a hectic and eventful day. She had arisen extra early two mornings in a row, and she was starting to feel it. Thanks to four cups of strong coffee, she started to revive. It was just after nine o’clock.

Kate gathered together her sons, kissed her husband and mother-in-law, and gave Irene a hug. “If we don’t see each other again before you go home, then we’ll be in touch about the summer vacation. I am looking forward to seeing the midnight sun.”

Kate and Glen probably don’t realize how big Sweden is, Irene thought, nor how far it extends from north to south. Nor did they realize how many mosquitoes there were in Norrland. And, even worse, that one never falls asleep there in the summer: Who can sleep when the sun is shining in the middle of the night? Still, she remembered her family’s vacation in a rented trailer in Norrland as the best one they had had. That was almost ten years ago. The trip had taken three weeks, and they had seen a great deal of Sweden.

Irene was telling Glen about her own trip to Norrland when her cell phone started ringing.

“Irene Huss,” she answered.

“This is Christian Lefévre. Where are you?”

“At a restaurant. I’ve eaten dinner.”

She gestured at Glen and pointed at the cell phone. She mouthed, “Christian.”

“Are you alone?”

She was uncertain whether she should lie but decided not to. “No. Inspector Thompson is here as well.”

“Good. How long will it take you to get to Ossington Street?”

“Well . . . maybe fifteen minutes. Is that where you are?”

Glen leaned forward and tried to hear what Lefévre was saying. Irene pulled the phone a little away from her ear so he could hear better. While he was eavesdropping, he pulled out his own cell phone and started looking for a number in the address book.

“Forget about where we are. You won’t find us. Be at the office on Ossington Street exactly fifteen minutes from now. The key to the red door is under a cement block beneath the steps. Lift the block and you’ll see it.”

“How is Rebecka?” Irene asked, trying desperately to lengthen the conversation.

“She’s okay. Fifteen minutes, starting now.” He hung up.

“We have to be at Ossington Street in fifteen minutes,” she told Thompson.

He spoke into his cell phone as they rushed out. That conversation ended before he started the car and began to drive fast to the computer company’s office.

“They may be able to trace that phone call. It will take a little bit of time, but they may be able to tell which area the call was placed from,” he said.

Traffic was rather light, and they got there in just seven minutes. Irene had one eye glued to the clock on the car’s instrument panel. When they turned onto Ossington Street, Irene caught a glimpse of the sign above the old pub on the corner. She couldn’t keep from exclaiming, “Glen! The matches came from Shakespeare!”

“Impossible. He died in the sixteen hundreds.” Glen grinned.

“Not him. The pub!”

She pointed at the black sign written in gothic script.

“But why did it say ‘Mosc’ under ‘Pu’?” she asked, confused.

“Because the pub is located at the intersection of Ossington Street and Moscow Road.”

The tires squealed when Glen parked at the curb. Irene jumped out of the Rover before it had completely stopped and rushed over to the stairs leading to the bright red door. Just as Lefévre had said, there was a light concrete block under the steps, perhaps forgotten after the renovation of the house. The key was lying exactly where he had said. She and Thompson raced up the stairs and unlocked the red door.

It smelled stuffy inside, as if no one had been there for a few days. The door to the office was half open, and they walked into the white office. The green plants drooped in their designer pots. It was silent and close. Irene and Glen split up and quickly looked through all the rooms of the office. When they met again, in the large room, they shook their heads. Irene was just about to suggest that they make their way into the apartments above when one of the computers turned itself on.

After a moment, Christian Lefévre’s face appeared on the screen. Although the picture was small, he was clearly visible.

“Webcam,” Glen said softly to Irene.

In the background they could glimpse a bookshelf with book spines neatly arranged in a row, nothing else. Lefévre looked straight into the camera. He dialed his cell phone; a second later, hers rang. Hastily, she fumbled it out of her jacket pocket.

“Irene Huss.”

“Are you in place?”

“Yes.”

“Do you see the picture on the screen?”

“Yes.”

“Good.”

He ended the conversation with a click, which Irene confirmed by a glance at the screen. Glen searched his own coat pockets and took out a pocket tape recorder. He turned it on and set it in front of the computer speaker.

Lefévre sat erect, looking straight at the camera. He cleared his throat before speaking.

“Now I’m going to tell you what actually happened. It’s important that this should conclude in the right way. And it’s just as important that you know why Sten and Elsa Schyttelius had to die. Not to mention Jacob.”

When he spoke Jacob’s name, his expression hardened and Irene thought she could detect pure hate in his eyes. In the next moment it was gone, and he continued. “I know that you’ve asked Mamma if Rebecka and I are a couple. She denied it because I asked her to do so. But she’s the only one who knows the truth. When she called me, she told me that you were on your way to interview Andy. So I know that you’re getting closer . . . and I’ve decided that it’s time to bring this to an end. There’s no happy ending for us. But first everything must be ready.”

Christian cleared his throat again and took a large gulp from a tumbler, which he set down on the table again with a bang. He grimaced slightly, which might mean that the drink was strong.

“Rebecka and I love each other. Once in your life, you may be lucky enough to meet a person who speaks directly to your heart and you know that it’s forever. Rebecka is that person for me. Almost exactly a year ago, we realized that we were in love with each other. That summer was the most wonderful time of my life. We traveled to Sweden. Rebecka wanted to show me where she came from. But she didn’t want us to meet her parents. That’s why we chose exactly those days when she knew her parents wouldn’t be home. I didn’t understand then why she didn’t want us to see them, but I accepted her explanation that they weren’t on good terms with each other.”

He fell silent and glanced to the side. Irene and Glen heard a low mumbling.

“Rebecka.” Glen’s whisper in Irene’s ear was barely audible.

Suddenly, Rebecka’s pale face popped up next to Christian’s. He shifted to the side, out of the picture, to make room for her. Her hair hung, dirty and disheveled, around her sunken face. Her eyes were vacant. In vain, she tried several times to form words with her dry lips. Ultimately, she managed to speak.

“I shouldn’t have . . . told. . . . Everything is my . . . fault,” she stuttered, in Swedish. “My fault . . . could never tell . . . anyone,” she whispered, still in Swedish.

For a long time she stared into the camera with a blank expression.

They could hear Christian mumbling, but it was hard to tell what he was saying. Rebecka turned her head and rose. Her clothes rustled as she disappeared from the picture. They could hear her sit heavily in a chair very close to the camera and the microphone.

Christian’s face reappeared on the screen.

“When we were in Göteborg in July, Rebecka showed me the house where her parents lived. There wasn’t any problem getting inside, since they always left a spare key under a pot next to the steps. She showed me the weapons cabinet and the rifles. Of course, she was aware of my interest in hunting. I also saw where her father had hidden the key to the summer cottage. She took it out. We drove out there. It was a warm day, so we went down to the lake and bathed. She told me how close the rectory was to the cottage if you went through the woods. She had done this many times. Later, in her apartment here in London, she showed me a map of the exact area where the houses were located. I took it with me when I. . . .

“But first I’m going to tell you about our visit to the cottage. Here, too, we found the key under a pot by the steps. Then we went inside. And there she showed me the secret space behind the panel. A rifle with cartridges was hidden there. Rebecka told me that her brother was in the process of moving into the cottage and that the rifle was probably his. He had brought down a load of things a few days earlier. He was going to come again the next day, but we weren’t going to stay that long.