The Glass Devil by Helene Tursten Page A

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