Åsa Larsson - Sun Storm aka The Savage Altar

“No,” replied Vesa Larsson again.

“What kind of work did he do for the church? He was a full-time employee, wasn’t he?” asked Sven-Erik.

“He did the work of God,” replied Gunnar Isaksson pompously, with considerable emphasis on “God.”

“And by doing the work of God he brought some money into the church,” Anna-Maria commented in measured tones. “What happened to the money from his book? What will happen to it now that he’s dead?”

Gunnar Isaksson and Vesa Larsson turned to their colleague, Thomas Söderberg.

“I don’t quite see what any of this has to do with your murder investigation?” Thomas Söderberg inquired in a friendly tone.

“Just answer the question, please,” Sven-Erik replied amiably, but with an expression on his face that brooked no argument.

"Viktor Strandgård made over all royalties from his book to the church long ago. After his death any income will continue to go to the church. So nothing will change."

“How many copies of the book have been sold?” asked Anna-Maria.

“Over a million, including translations,” replied Pastor Söderberg dryly, “and I still don’t really see-”

“Have you sold anything else?” asked Sven-Erik. “Posters or anything?”

“This is a church, not Viktor Strandgård’s fan club,” said Thomas Söderberg sharply. “We don’t sell pictures of him, but a certain amount of income has been generated from other sources-for example, video sales.”

“What sort of videos?”

Anna-Maria adjusted her position on the chair. She needed a pee.

“We’ve taped sermons given by the three of us, or Viktor Strandgård, or guest preachers. Meetings and services have also been recorded,” replied Pastor Söderberg as he removed his glasses and took a spotless little handkerchief out of his trousers pocket.

“You record your services on video?” asked Anna-Maria, altering her position on the chair yet again.

“Yes,” answered Vesa Larsson, since Thomas Söderberg appeared to be too busy polishing his glasses to reply.

“There was a service here yesterday,” said Anna-Maria, “and Viktor Strandgård was there. Was that recorded on video?”

“Yes,” replied Pastor Larsson.

“Right, we want that tape,” Sven-Erik said firmly. “And if there’s a service tonight, we’d like that tape as well. In fact, we’ll have all the tapes for the last month-what do you think, Anna-Maria?”

“Good idea," she answered briefly.

They looked up as the noise of the vacuum cleaner stopped. The woman who was cleaning had switched it off and gone over to the well-dressed woman; they were whispering to each other and looking over toward the pastors. The young man had sat down on one of the chairs and was leafing through his Bible. His lips were moving constantly. The well-dressed woman noticed that the conversation between the pastors and the police had ground to a halt, and seized the opportunity to come over.

“Sorry to interrupt,” she said politely, and when no one stopped her she went on, facing the pastors. “Before this evening’s service, what shall we do about…”

She fell silent and gestured with her right hand toward the bloodstained spot where Viktor Strandgård had lain.

“As the floor isn’t varnished, I don’t think we’ll be able to scrub away every single trace… Perhaps we could roll up the rug and put something else over the spot until we get a new one.”

“That will be fine,” answered Pastor Gunnar Isaksson.

“Just leave it, Ann-Gull, my dear,” interrupted Pastor Söderberg, glancing almost imperceptibly at Gunnar Isaksson at the same time. “I’ll deal with all that shortly. Just leave it for now. The police will soon be finished with us, I imagine?”

This last remark was directed at Anna-Maria and Sven-Erik. When they didn’t reply, Thomas Söderberg gave the woman a smile that seemed to indicate that their conversation was at an end for the time being. She disappeared like a willing handmaiden and went back to the other woman. Soon the vacuum cleaner was droning again.

The pastors and the detectives sat in silence, staring at one another.

Typical, thought Anna-Maria angrily. Untreated wooden floor, thick handwoven rug, chairs instead of pews. It all looks lovely, but it’s got to be damned difficult to keep clean. Good job they have so many obedient women who clean for God for free.

“There is a limit to how much time we can spare,” said Thomas Söderberg.

His voice had lost all trace of warmth.

“We have a service here this evening and I’m sure you will understand that we have a considerable amount of preparation to do,” he said when there was no reply from the two detectives.

“So,” said Sven-Erik thoughtfully, as if they had all the time in the world, “if Viktor Strandgård didn’t have enemies, I’m sure he must have had friends. Who was closest to Viktor Strandgård?”

“God,” replied Pastor Isaksson with a triumphant smile.

“His family, of course, his mother and father,” said Thomas Söderberg, ignoring his colleague’s comment. “Viktor’s father, Olof Strandgård, is chairman of the Christian Democrats and a local councillor. The church has a significant number of representatives on the local council, principally through the Christian Democrats, the largest party among the middle classes in Kiruna. Our influence throughout the whole community is growing steadily, and we expect to have a majority at the next election. We are also relying on the police not to do anything that might damage the trust we have built up among the electorate. And then there’s Viktor’s sister, Sanna Strandgård-have you spoken to her?”

“No, not yet,” replied Sven-Erik.

“Just be careful when you do; she’s a very fragile person,” said Pastor Söderberg.

“And then I should include myself,” continued Thomas Söderberg.

“Were you his confessor?” asked Sven-Erik.

“Well,” said Thomas Söderberg, smiling once again, “we don’t call it that. Spiritual mentor, perhaps.”

“Do you know whether Viktor Strandgård was intending to make some kind of revelation before he died?” asked Anna-Maria. “Something about himself, perhaps? Or about the church?”

“No,” replied Thomas Söderberg after a second’s silence. “What could it have been?”

“Excuse me,” said Anna-Maria as she stood up. “But I must just pop to your bathroom.”

She left the men and went to the bathroom right at the back of the church. She had a pee, then sat for a while resting her gaze on the white-tiled walls. One thought was pounding in her head. During her years with the police she had learned to recognize the signs of stress. Everything from sweating to dizziness. People were usually nervous when they were talking to the police. But it was when they started trying to hide their stress that it became interesting to watch them.

And there was one particular sign of stress that you only got one chance to catch. It only happened once. And she’d just heard it. Immediately after she’d asked whether Viktor Strandgård was intending to reveal something before he died. One of the three pastors, she hadn’t managed to work out which one, had taken a deep breath. Just once. Caught his breath.

“Shit,” she said aloud, and was surprised at how good it felt to swear secretly in church.

It didn’t necessarily mean a damned thing. Someone breathing. It’s obvious there’s something going on. Show me the board of a large organization where there isn’t. Even in the police. And this lot aren’t as pure as the driven snow either.

“But that doesn’t make them murderers,” Anna-Maria continued her discussion with herself as she flushed the toilet.