Åsa Larsson - Sun Storm aka The Savage Altar

“What if we don’t find a weapon,” said Sven-Erik, slowing down as he noticed that Anna-Maria was out of breath. “Can you get a conviction for murder these days if there’s no technical proof?”

“Just remember what happened to the guy everybody said had murdered Olof Palme,” puffed Anna-Maria.

Sven-Erik gave a hollow laugh.

“Oh, that’s made me feel so much better.”

“Have you found the sister yet?”

“No, but von Post says he’s arranged for her to come in at eight o’clock this evening to be interviewed, so we’ll see what comes of that.”

A nna-Maria Mella and Sven-Erik Stålnacke entered the church of The Source of All Our Strength at ten minutes past five in the afternoon. The three pastors were sitting in a row right at the front of the church, their faces turned toward the altar. There were also three other people in the church. A middle-aged woman was dragging an unwieldy vacuum cleaner as it droned and roared over the carpets. Anna-Maria thought she looked skinny in her old-fashioned tights and a pale lilac knitted cotton sweater that almost came down to her knees. From time to time the woman had to switch off the vacuum cleaner and get down on her hands and knees to pick up bits of rubbish that were too big for the hose. Then there was another middle-aged woman, much more elegant, in a smart skirt, well-pressed blouse and matching cardigan. She was walking up and down the rows of chairs and placing a photocopied sheet on each seat. The third person was a young man. He appeared to be wandering aimlessly around, talking to himself. He held a Bible in his hand. Every so often he stopped in front of a chair, reached out his hand and seemed to be talking to it in an agitated manner, but no sound came from his lips. Or he stopped dead, raised the Bible up toward the ceiling and gabbled out loud a series of phrases that were completely incomprehensible to Sven-Erik and Anna-Maria. When they walked past him, he gave them a filthy look. The blood-soaked rug was still lying in the aisle, but someone had moved the chairs so that it was easy to get by without walking where the body had been.

“So, this is the Holy Trinity, then,” said Sven-Erik in an attempt to lighten the atmosphere as the three pastors rose to greet them, their faces serious.

None of them gave the slightest hint of a smile.

When they were seated Anna-Maria jotted down their names with a short description in her notebook so that she’d remember afterward who was who and who said what. A tape recorder was out of the question. It was probably going to be difficult enough to get anything out of them as it was.

“Thomas Söderberg,” she wrote, “dark, good-looking, trendy glasses. Forty-something. Vesa Larsson, forty-something, the only one who isn’t wearing a suit and tie. Flannel shirt and leather waistcoat. Gunnar Isaksson. Pudgy, beard. About fifty.”

She thought about their handshakes. Thomas Söderberg had pressed her hand firmly, met her eyes steadily and held on for a moment. He was used to inspiring trust. She wondered how he would react if the police indicated that they didn’t quite believe something he said. His suit looked expensive.

Vesa Larsson’s handshake was flaccid. He wasn’t used to shaking hands. When their hands met he had actually made his greeting through a brief nod that preceded the handshake, and he was already looking at Sven-Erik.

Gunnar Isaksson had nearly crushed her hand in his. And it wasn’t the unconscious strength you sometimes find in men.

He’s just afraid of seeming weak, thought Anna-Maria.

“Before we start I’d like to know why you wish to be interviewed together,” asked Anna-Maria by way of introduction.

“This thing that’s happened is just terrible,” said Vesa Larsson after a short silence, “but we feel very strongly that the church must stand together in the days to come. This applies to us, the three pastors, most of all. There are powerful forces that will attempt to sow discord, and we intend to give these forces as few openings as possible.”

“I quite understand,” said Sven-Erik in a tone of voice that conveyed quite clearly that he didn’t understand in the slightest.

Anna-Maria looked at Sven-Erik as he pushed his lips forward, his moustache protruding like a big scrubbing brush beneath his nose.

Vesa Larsson fiddled with a button on his leather waistcoat and glanced sideways at Thomas Söderberg. Thomas Söderberg didn’t look at him, but nodded thoughtfully at what had just been said.

Aha, thought Anna-Maria, Pastor Söderberg approves of Vesa’s reply. It isn’t difficult to see who’s pulling the strings in this particular setup.

“Can you explain how the church is actually organized?” asked Anna-Maria.

“God is at the top,” replied Gunnar Isaksson in a loud voice full of faith, pointing upward. “The church has three pastors, that’s us, and five elders. If we were to compare it with a company, you could say that God is the owner, we three are the managing directors and the elders form the board.”

“I thought you wanted to talk to us about Viktor Strandgård,” interrupted Thomas Söderberg.

“We’ll get to that, we’ll get to that,” Sven-Erik assured him, almost humming.

The young man with the Bible had stopped beside a chair, and he was praying in a loud voice and waving his hands at the empty seat. Sven-Erik looked confused.

“Could I just ask…?” he said, jerking his thumb toward the young man.

“He’s praying for this evening’s service,” explained Thomas Söderberg. “Speaking in tongues can seem a little strange when you’re not used to hearing it, but I can promise you it isn’t some kind of hocus-pocus.”

“It’s important that the church is prepared with the spirit world,” explained Pastor Gunnar Isaksson, stroking his thick, well-groomed beard.

“I understand,” said Sven-Erik again, looking helplessly at Anna-Maria.

His moustache was almost at a ninety-degree angle to his face.

“So, tell us about Viktor Strandgård,” said Anna-Maria. “What kind of person was he? What did you think of him, Pastor Larsson?”

Pastor Vesa Larsson looked troubled. He swallowed vigorously before answering.

“He was dedicated. Very humble. Loved by everyone in the church community. He simply allowed himself to be used by God. Despite his, how shall I put it, elevated status within our community, he wasn’t slow to serve, even when it came to practical matters. He was on the church cleaning rota, so you’d often see him dusting these chairs. He made posters for our services…”

"Looked after the children," added Gunnar Isaksson. "We have a rolling program so that parents with very young children can listen in a completely focused way to the word of God."

“Like yesterday, for example,” Vesa Larsson continued. “He didn’t join everyone for coffee after the service, instead he stayed here to tidy the chairs. That’s the disadvantage of not having pews, it can soon look a mess if you don’t put the chairs back into neat rows.”

“That must be a huge job,” said Anna-Maria. “There’s an awful lot of chairs in here. Nobody stayed behind to help him?”

“No, he said he wanted to be alone,” said Vesa Larsson. “Unfortunately we never lock the door when someone is in here, so some madman must have…”

He broke off and shook his head.

“Viktor Strandgård seems to have been a gentle soul,” said Anna-Maria.

"Yes, you could say that." Thomas Söderberg smiled sadly.

“Do you know if he had any enemies, or had fallen out with anyone?” asked Sven-Erik.

“No, no one,” replied Vesa Larsson.

“Did he seem worried about anything? Anxious?” Sven-Erik went on.