“Yes.”
“Then it was used for a Satanic purpose. The pentagram, in and of itself, is a strong tool, but it’s only Satanists who turn it upside down. My pentagram isn’t turned the wrong way. But. …”
Eva pressed her lips together and looked Irene steadily in the eye. She quickly got up and walked over to the shelf above the stove. She took down the paperweight and pressed it hard against her chest as she walked back toward the kitchen table.
“This is my pentagram,” she said. She set the glass object in front of Irene and motioned for her to look closer. She could see that it wasn’t just a paperweight, but a rounded glass dome with a pentagram engraved in its bottom.
“The pentagram in and of itself isn’t a symbol of evil but, like all magical implements, it has strong powers that can be abused. It’s easy to turn my pentagram and then-poof-you have the devil’s face.”
She turned the glass dome so that two of the points faced up and one down.
The devil’s face looked up at Irene from the glass.
The glass devil.
The phrase etched itself on Irene’s brain, though she didn’t really understand why. The pentagram’s power depended on how you used it. And if you believed in it. Clearly, Eva Moller believed. Was she nuts, or was she messing about with funny New-Age foolishness?
“How do you reconcile a belief in the pentagram’s power with your work in the church?” Irene continued.
The cantor looked sincerely surprised. “They don’t have anything to do with each other. Music is my work, and I love it. I love the church as a place of holy energy. But I feel the power of the pentagram as a tool.”
Tool? What kind of tool? Suddenly, Irene was irritated with Eva, batting her eyes and trying to make herself interesting with her New-Ageism.
The worst thing was that it worked. Fredrik sat as though under a spell, with a ridiculous grin on his face.
Unnecessarily brusquely, Irene asked, “What are your opinions about Elsa and Jacob?”
Eva was grave as she said, “Elsa was a very tragic person. There was only darkness within her. She carried a grief which she had bottled inside. Periodically, she became better, but I saw the shadow standing right behind her, just biding its time. It had her in its power. Sometimes she was close to taking her life, but she didn’t have the strength to do that.”
“How do you know she was contemplating suicide?”
“I felt it. For some people, it’s the only way out.”
Eva sat, calm and relaxed, with her hands loosely folded in her lap. Her long hair shone like a halo around her head, adding to her image as a lovely angel. Irene started to wonder how crazy this cute cantor actually was.
“And Jacob?”
“I didn’t know him at all. We only met twice. The association’s employees usually eat breakfast after Christmas Mass. . ”
“I’m aware of that. That’s the only place you met?”
“Yes. The first time he had his wife with him. They were newlyweds then.”
“What impression did you get from them?”
Eva sat quietly for some time. “There was no energy between them at all. No fire. Only cold.”
Irene was surprised. Had it been bad from the beginning of the marriage? She composed herself; that’s what Eva Moller was claiming.
“You never spoke with Jacob?”
“I did, at Christmas. But only a few words.”
“How did he seem to you then?”
Eva wound a strand of hair around one index finger while she thought back. “Neutral. Low energy. He didn’t make much contact.”
A look at Fredrik was enough to determine that full contact had been made there. His face was aglow. To finish the questioning, Irene asked, “Have you ever met Rebecka?”
“Yes. At the same time I met Jacob and his wife.”
“What impression did you have of Rebecka?”
Again Eva was quiet for some time. “She has a great deal of inner energy. It isn’t darkness, like her mother. But she hides it. Inside she is more like her father, but on the outside no likeness is visible.”
“Oh, Rebecka is very much like her father in appearance,” Irene objected.
“In appearance, yes. I’m not speaking about appearances, but about her spirit. On the surface, she’s very reserved. She never lets anyone inside. Not a single person.”
Irene started thinking that it was high time to say good-bye. Fredrik still bore a smile that didn’t show any signs of fading away.
Irene thanked Eva for the coffee. Fredrik reluctantly got up as well. They walked over to the front door and put on their coats, taking their muddy shoes with them to the porch before putting them on. Irene’s zipper got stuck. Sweat broke out on her back while she stood and yanked at it. Fredrik wandered over to the car. Then Eva touched Irene’s shoulder lightly and said, “You have the right energy and you can reach your inner being. Contact with your spirit is strong. You can meditate and lose yourself.”
Astonished, Irene could only nod. How could Eva know that she used meditation in jujitsu?
“Together we can discover Sten Schyttelius’s hidden depths. I can’t do it alone, because it requires too much energy. Contact me when you want to try.”
Before Irene had time to gather her thoughts, Eva stepped backward across the threshold. She smiled and waved at Fredrik, who happily waved back. Then she closed the blue door.
“THE GLADIATOR Gym on Molndalsvagen has confirmed that Jacob Schyttelius was there and worked out from eight to ten thirty on Monday night. No cashier at Hemkop remembers whether he shopped there. But since they close at ten o’clock, he must have been there before he worked out. What did you get from the questioning of Jacob and Rebecka’s cousins?” Superintendent Andersson asked Hannu.
“The cousins barely knew each other. Too much of an age difference. The youngest of the brothers is nine years older than Jacob.”
“Could they tell us anything about their uncle?” Irene asked.
“Not much. Sten Schyttelius was a surprise child. Didn’t spend a lot of time with his sisters as an adult. Their father was a pastor in a small congregation outside Skovde.”
“So Sten came from a pastor’s family?”
“Yes. Just like Elsa. Her father was a pastor in a neighboring parish. She was the only child. Elsa and Sten knew each other from childhood.”
Irene took a bite from her cheese sandwich while she pondered over the new information from Hannu. Aside from the two of them, only Sven Andersson and Fredrik Stridh were present. The sun was setting, and Friday evening began to descend on Goteborg. Soon, happy expectations would be followed by dashed hopes and drunkenness, police sirens would begin to sound, and everything would be as it always is on any ordinary Friday night.
Hannu broke the silence. “I’ve received Rebecka’s telephone number. I’ve not spoken with her directly. Chief Inspector Thompson has apparently tried to get Rebecka to talk. She says that she isn’t up to it. Thompson has been in touch with her doctor, who says that she’s very fragile. It’s going to take some time before she bounces back.”
He handed a note with Rebecka’s address and telephone number to Irene. The street she lived on was called Ossington Street, which didn’t mean anything to Irene. In London she’d heard of Carnaby Street and Oxford Street, and of a few famous places: Piccadilly Circus, New Scotland Yard, and Buckingham Palace. That was about it.
“If she works with computers, she should have an E-mail address,” said Irene.
“Probably, but Thompson didn’t give it to me,” Hannu replied.
“I’ll wait to telephone her.”
Irene folded the note and put it in her jeans pocket.
“How do we proceed?” Andersson asked shortly.
