Free The Savage Altar by Åsa Larsson

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.
    But there were other inconsistencies. Why, for example, had Vesa Larsson said that nothing was troubling Viktor Strandgård if Thomas Söderberg was supposed to be his "spiritual mentor," and therefore must have been the one who knew him best?
    When Sven-Erik and Anna-Maria left the church and were making their way down to the car park, the woman who had been vacuuming came running after them. She had only socks and clogs on her feet, and half ran, half slid down the slope to catch them.
    “I heard you asking if he had any