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,
“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,
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