Åsa Larsson - Sun Storm aka The Savage Altar

She looked at Lova’s hair, hanging in sticky clumps. The dog sat down and tried to reach round and lick its back. Rebecka crouched down and called to the dog in the same way as her grandmother used to call the dogs at home.

“Here, girl!”

The dog came straight over to her and showed her submissiveness by attempting to lick Rebecka’s mouth. Rebecka could see now that she was some sort of spitz crossbreed. The thick black coat stood out like a woolly frame round the narrow feminine head. Her eyes were black, shining with happiness. Rebecka ran her hands through the fur and sniffed at her fingers. They smelled of carbolic.

“Nice dog,” she said to Sara. “Is she yours?”

Sara didn’t answer.

“Two-thirds belong to Sara and one-third belongs to me,” said Lova, as if she had learned it by heart.

“I want to talk to Sanna,” said Rebecka, and stood up.

Lova took her hand and led her into the other room. The accommodation on the upper floor consisted of the big kitchen with the alcove for the sofa bed, and another room. This had been the children’s bedroom. Grandmother and Grandfather had slept in the alcove in the kitchen. Sanna was lying on her side on one of the beds, her knees drawn up so that they were almost touching her chin. Her face was turned to the wall, and she was wearing only a T-shirt and a pair of flowery cotton knickers. Her long blond angel hair was spread over the pillow.

“Hello, Sanna,” said Rebecka carefully.

The woman on the bed didn’t reply, but Rebecka could see that she was breathing.

Lova picked up a blanket that was lying folded at the foot of the bed and spread it over her mother.

“She’s in the bubble,” she whispered.

“I understand,” said Rebecka through clenched teeth.

She poked Sanna hard in the back with her forefinger.

“Come with me,” said Rebecka, and took Lova back into the kitchen.

Virku trotted after them once she had checked that her mistress, lying immobile and silent on the bed, was in no danger.

“Have you had anything to eat?” asked Rebecka.

“No,” replied Lova.

“You and I used to know each other when you were little,” said Rebecka to Sara.

“I’m not little,” shouted Lova. “I’m four!”

“Now, this is what we’re going to do,” decided Rebecka. “We’re going to tidy up in the kitchen, I’ll cook us a meal, then we’ll heat up some water on the stove and we’ll wash Lova and Virku.”

“And I need a new top,” said Lova. “Look!”

She opened the blanket and revealed a soap-smeared T-shirt.

“And you need a new top,” sighed Rebecka, exhausted.

An hour later Lova and Sara were sitting eating sausage and mashed potato. Lova was wearing a pair of jeans belonging to one of Rebecka’s cousins and a washed-out pale red top with cartoon characters on the front. Virku was sitting at their feet waiting patiently for her share. The wood in the stove crackled and sparked.

Rebecka glanced at the clock. Seven already. And she and Sanna had to go to the police station. The stress gnawed at her stomach.

Sara sniffed at Lova’s top.

“You smell disgusting,” she said.

“No she doesn’t,” said Rebecka with a sigh. “The clothes smell a bit funny because they’ve been folded up in a drawer for such a long time. But her own are even worse, so we’ll just have to put up with it. Give Virku your leftover sausage.”

She left the girls in the kitchen, went into the other room and closed the door.

“Sanna,” she said.

Sanna didn’t move. She lay in exactly the same position as before, her face turned to the wall.

Rebecka went over to the bed and stood there with her arms folded.

"I know you can hear me," she said harshly. "I’m not the same person I used to be, Sanna. I’ve become nastier and more impatient since then. I have no intention of sitting by you, stroking your hair and asking you what’s wrong. You can get up right now and get some clothes on. Otherwise I shall take your daughters straight to Social Services and tell them that you’re unable to look after them at present. Then I’ll get the next plane back to Stockholm."

Still no answer. Not a movement.

“Okay,” said Rebecka after a while.

She took a deep breath as if to indicate that she had finished waiting around. Then she turned and walked toward the kitchen door.

That’s it, then, she thought. I’ll ring the police and tell them where she is. They can carry her out of the house.

Just as she placed her hand on the door handle she heard Sanna sit up on the bed behind her.

“Rebecka” was all she said.

Rebecka hesitated for half a second. Then she turned round and leaned on the door. She folded her arms again. Like somebody’s mother: Now let’s get this sorted out once and for all.

And Sanna was like a little girl, chewing on her lower lip, pleading with her eyes.

“Sorry,” she mumbled in her husky voice. “I know I’m the worst mother in the world and an even worse friend. Do you hate me?”

“You’ve got three minutes to put your clothes on and get yourself out here to eat something,” ordered Rebecka, and marched out.

Sven-Erik Stålnacke had parked outside the hospital Emergency department. Anna-Maria leaned on the car door when he fumbled in his jacket pocket for the keys. It wasn’t that easy to take deep breaths when the air was so cold it actually took your breath away, but she had to try and relax. Her stomach had grown as hard as a snowball on the short walk from the autopsy out to the car.

“The Church of All Our Strength has three pastors,” said Sven-Erik, groping in his other pocket. “They have informed us that they are available to receive the police for the purpose of interrogation. They are setting aside one hour, no more. And they have no intention of being interrogated individually; all three of them will talk to us together. They say they wish to cooperate, but-”

“But they have no intention of cooperating,” supplied Anna-Maria.

“What the hell do you do?” wondered Sven-Erik. “Go in hard, or what?”

“No, because then the whole community will just shut up like a giant clam. But you have to wonder why they’re not prepared to speak to us one-on-one.”

“No idea. One of them did explain. Gunnar Isaksson, his name was. But I hadn’t a clue what he was talking about. Maybe you can ask when we meet them. Bloody hell, Anna-Maria, I should have had them dragged out of bed first thing this morning.”

“No,” replied Anna-Maria, shaking her head thoughtfully. “You couldn’t have done anything differently.”

The Aurora Borealis was still swirling its veils of white and green across the sky.

“It’s just unbelievable,” she said, tipping her head backwards. “It’s been like this all winter. Have you ever known anything like it?”

“No, but it’s these sun storms,” replied Sven-Erik. “It looks fantastic, but any day now they’re bound to decide it causes cancer. We should probably be walking around with a silver parasol to protect us from the radiation.”

“Now, that would really suit you,” laughed Anna-Maria.

They got into the car.

“On that particular subject,” Sven-Erik went on, “how are things with Pohjanen?”

“I don’t know, it wasn’t really the right time to ask.”

“No, of course not.”

He can ask Pohjanen himself, thought Anna-Maria crossly.

Sven-Erik parked below the church and they began to walk up the hill. The piles of snow by the side of the path had disappeared, and the tracks of both people and dogs crisscrossed the snow all around the church. The whole area had been searched for the murder weapon, in the hope that whoever had murdered Viktor Strandgård would have thrown away the weapon outside the church, or perhaps buried it in a mound of snow But nothing had been found.