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.
“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
“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.
“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
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