The Glass Devil by Helene Tursten Read Free Book Online Page A

eyes. His white teeth gleamed in his weather-beaten face. Obviously, he spent a lot of time in the fresh air. There was a trace of gray here and there in his dark hair. Irene estimated his age to be around forty. He must have realized that his smile was inappropriate, because it quickly faded and he peered nervously at the man behind him.
    The latter had been leaning against the wall, but now he stepped into the light. Like Bengt Måårdh, he wore a black shirt with a white pastor’s collar, but over the shirt he wore a short black coat, similar to a blazer. He introduced himself as Assistant Rector Urban Berg of Bäckared.
    His handshake was dry and cool. His entire person radiated self-control verging on stiffness. His gray-speckled blond hair was perfectly combed. A bald spot on the very top of his head was barely perceptible. He and Bengt Måårdh seemed to be about the same age.
    Now there was only one woman left who hadn’t been introduced. She was small and dainty. It was hard to guess her age, probably between twenty-five and thirty-five. Her long blond hair was held in place by a leather headband which showed off her beautiful features. Her large violet-blue eyes were shadowed by long eyelashes. Not the slightest trace of makeup could be seen on her face. She wore a dark-blue linen dress with puffed sleeves, and low black boots. The cemetery caretaker gave her a look, and Irene could see that it was one of admiration. And maybe something else. Even the restrained Urban Berg’s eyes gleamed a bit when he let his gaze sweep over this woman.
    “My name is Eva Möller, and I am the cantor and organist,” she said in a soft, melodic voice.
    Irene had thought that a cantor always was also the church organist, but the way Eva phrased this showed that it wasn’t the case.
    The portly man seated on a loudly creaking chair by the door was Nils Bertilsson, sexton part of the time in Bäckared parish and the other half at Slättared. His worn black suit was tightfitting, and he wiped his forehead and bald spot with a large handkerchief. When he rose to be introduced, Irene saw that he was almost as tall as she was but certainly weighed more than twice as much.
    Irene was assigned to question deaconess Rut Börjesson, the Måårdhs, and the housecleaner, Rosa Marqués.
    “You can use my office,” Louise Måårdh offered.
    She opened a french door which led into a pleasant office space. Two pots containing miniature Easter lilies stood on the window sill, framed by sun-yellow curtains. Combined with the bouquet of red tulips on the desk, they evoked a feeling of spring, even though it might as well have been November outside. A framed poster from the Göteborg Theater’s production of Les Misérables hung on the wall.
    Irene decided to start with the deaconess. She asked Rut Börjesson to follow her into the room. The black-clothed woman sat in a comfortable-looking visitor’s chair and gripped the armrests with both hands.
    Irene began with routine questions. She determined that the deaconess was fifty-eight years old, married with no children, and that she had worked in Kullahult parish for seventeen years.
    “Did you work here before Pastor Schyttelius came to this congregation?” Irene asked.
    “Rector. Sten Schyttelius came here as the rector exactly twenty years ago. So he was here three years before me.”
    Irene realized that she had a very poor understanding of the titles bestowed by the Swedish church. Cautiously, she asked, “Was he the boss of the other pastors?”
    “Yes. Ledkulla, Bäckared, and Slättared each have an assistant rector. Because Kullahult is the largest parish with the largest church, the rector has always had the church here.”
    The deaconess answered all questions put to her but she hugged the armrests of her chair so hard that her knuckles turned white. Irene put it down to indignation. She must have known her boss well after having worked with him for so many years. That’s why