bored in here.”
He was quiet for a moment, but when neither of the young women spoke, he went on.
“Yes, well, I’d better be off, then.”
When he’d gone Sanna looked in the bag he’d given her.
“You bought much better sweets,” she said.
Rebecka gave a resigned sigh.
“You don’t have to think my sweets are better,” she said.
“But I do, though.”
After visiting Sanna, Rebecka went to find Anna-Maria Mella. Anna-Maria was sitting in a conference room in the police station and eating a banana as if somebody were about to take it off her. In front of her on the table lay three apple cores. In the far corner of the room stood a television showing a video of an evening service at the Crystal Church. As Rebecka came into the room, Anna-Maria greeted her cheerfully. As if they were old friends.
“Would you like some coffee?” she asked. “I went to get some, but I don’t know why. Can’t face it at the moment…”
She finished the sentence by pointing to her stomach.
Rebecka remained standing by the door. The past was coming to life inside her. Set in motion by the faces on the flickering screen. She clung to the door frame. Anna-Maria’s voice reached her from far away.
“Are you all right? Sit down.”
On the screen Thomas Soderberg was addressing his congregation. Rebecka sank down onto a chair. She could feel Anna-Maria Mella’s thoughtful gaze on her.
“This is from the service before the night he was murdered,” said Anna-Maria. “Do you want to watch a little bit?”
Rebecka nodded. She was thinking she ought to say something by way of explanation. Something about not having eaten, or whatever. But she remained silent.
Behind Thomas Soderberg, the gospel choir was standing guard. Some of them shouted out in agreement as he spoke. His message was accompanied by shouts of “Hallelujah” and “Amen” from both the choir and the congregation.
He’s changed, thought Rebecka. Before, he used to wear a striped shirt with a mandarin collar from Arbetarboden, jeans and a leather waistcoat. Now he looks like a stockbroker in his Oscar Jacobsson suit and trendy glasses. And the congregation is made up of cheap H & M copies of this image of success.
“He’s a talented speaker,” commented Anna-Maria.
Thomas Soderberg was switching rapidly between relaxed jokes and intense seriousness. His theme was opening your heart to the spiritual gifts of grace. Toward the end of the short sermon he invited everyone present to come forward and allow themselves to be filled with the Holy Spirit.
“Step forward and we will pray for you,” he said, and as if they had been given a sign, Viktor Strandgard, the two other pastors from the church and some of the elders were standing by his side.
“
A crowd of people surged forward. Within a few minutes there was a mass of people in ecstasy around the altar. Some were lying on the floor. Others stood like swaying grass, their hands stretched upward. They were praying, laughing, weeping.
“What are they doing?” asked Anna-Maria Mella.
“Falling under the power of the spirit,” replied Rebecka curtly. “Singing, speaking and dancing in the spirit. Soon some of them will start to prophesy. And the choir will start singing hymns to accompany the whole thing.”
The choir began to sing in the background, and more and more people surged forward. Many danced their way to the front as if they were drunk.
The camera frequently zoomed in on Viktor Strandgard. He was holding his Bible in one hand and praying fervently for a stout man on crutches. A woman was standing behind Viktor with her hands held up toward his hair, also praying. As if she were filling herself with God’s power.
Viktor went up to a microphone and started to speak. He began in his usual way.
“What shall we talk about?” he asked the congregation.
He always preached like this. He prepared himself by praying. Then the congregation was permitted to decide what he should speak about. Much of the sermon was a conversation with those who were listening to him. This had also made him famous.
“Tell us about heaven,” shouted someone from the congregation.
“What can I tell you about heaven?” he said with a tired smile. “Buy my book instead, and read it. Come on! Something else.”
“Tell us about success!” said someone else.
“Success,” said Viktor. “There are no shortcuts to success in the kingdom of God. Think of Ananias and Sapphira. And pray for me. Pray for that which my eyes have seen, and shall see. Pray that the strength of God will continue to flow from Him through my hands.”
“What was that he said just now?” asked Anna-Maria. “Ana…”
She shook her head impatiently before she went on.
“… and Sapphira, who were they?”
“Ananias and Sapphira. They’re in the Acts of the Apostles,” replied Rebecka, without taking her eyes off the television screen. “They stole money from the first church, and God punished them by killing them.”
“Wow, I thought God only struck people dead in the Old Testament.”
Rebecka shook her head.
When Viktor had been speaking for a while, the prayers of intercession continued. A man of about twenty-five wearing a hooded top and loose-fitting, well-worn jeans, pushed his way forward to Viktor Strandgard.
That’s Patrik Mattsson, thought Rebecka. He’s still there, then.
The man seized Viktor’s hands, and just before the camera switched to the gospel choir, Rebecka saw Viktor jerk backwards and snatch his hands away from Patrik Mattsson.
What happened there? she thought. What’s going on between those two?
She glanced at Anna-Maria Mella, but she was bending down and rummaging though a box of videotapes on the floor.
“This is the tape from yesterday evening,” said Anna-Maria as she popped up from behind the desk. “Would you like to watch a little bit?”
On the tape from the evening following the murder, Thomas Soderberg was preaching again. The wooden floorboards beneath his feet were stained brown from the blood, and there were piles of roses on the floor.
The performance was serious; he was fired up. Thomas Soderberg exhorted the members of the congregation to arm themselves in readiness for spiritual conflict.
“We need the Miracle Conference more than ever now,” he proclaimed. “Satan shall not gain the upper hand.”
The congregation answered with cries of “Hallelujah!”
“This just can’t be true,” said Rebecka, shocked.
“Think carefully about who you can rely upon,” shouted Thomas Soderberg. “Remember: ‘He who is not with me, is against me.’ ”
“He just told people not to talk to the police,” said Rebecka thoughtfully. “He wants the church to shut itself off.”
Anna-Maria looked at Rebecka in amazement as she thought of her colleagues who had spent the day knocking on doors and speaking to members of the congregation. During the course of their inquiries every single officer had complained that it had been impossible to get people to talk to them at all.
