'Ugh, how can you stand to watch such trash? Why don't you read a book instead?'

Erica retaliated by turning up the volume on the TV. For a second she permitted herself to enjoy the satisfaction of such a spiteful response. But when she saw her mother-in-law's insulted look, she turned it back down. She knew she would pay a high price for any attempts at rebellion. She glanced at her watch. Good Lord, it was only a little before noon. It would be an eternity until Patrik came home. And then another day just like this one would follow, before Kristina packed her bags and went home, convinced that she had been of invaluable help to her son and daughter-in-law. Two more interminable days…

STRÖMSTAD 1924

The milder weather worked wonders for the mood of the stonecutters. When Anders arrived at work he could hear how his comrades had already started on their rhythmic work songs that accompanied the sound of their hammers striking the crowbars. They were busy making holes for the gunpowder to blast out the larger blocks of granite. One man held the crowbar, and two took turns striking it until they had made a substantial hole straight into the stone. Then the black powder was poured in and ignited. Attempts had been made with dynamite, but it hadn't worked properly. The pressure of the detonation was too great and pulverized the granite, making it shatter in all directions.

The men nodded to Anders as he walked by, without interrupting I he rhythm of their work.

With joy in his heart he went over to the place where he was working on carving out the statue. Progress had been painfully slow during the winter; on many days the cold had made it well-nigh impossible to work the stone. For long periods he had been forced to simply stop and wait for weather to improve, making it difficult to earn enough wages. But now he could get started in earnest on the huge piece of granite, and he wasn't complaining. The winter had brought other reasons to be happy.

Sometimes he could hardly believe it was true, that such an angel had come down to earth and crept into his bed. Every minute they had spent together was a precious memory that he stored in a special place in his heart. But at times, thoughts of the future could cloud his joy. He had tried to bring up the subject with her on several occasions, but she always silenced him with a kiss. They shouldn't speak of such things, she said, often adding that everything was bound to work out. He had interpreted this to mean that she, like him, still hoped for a future together. Sometimes he actually permitted himself to believe her words, that everything was going to work out. Deep inside he was a true romantic, and the belief that love could conquer all obstacles was firmly rooted in his soul. Of course they didn't belong to the same social class, but he was a skilled, hard-working man. He would undoubtedly be able to provide a good life for her if he only got the chance. And if she felt for him what he felt for her, then material things would not be so important to her. A life shared with him would be worth some sacrifices on her part. On a day like this, with the spring sunshine warming his fingers, he was convinced that everything would really turn out the way he hoped. Now he was merely waiting to receive her permission to speak with her father. Then he would set about preparing the speech of his life.

With a pounding heart he meticulously hammered out the statue from the stone. In his head the words kept spinning round. Along with images of Agnes.

Arne was studying carefully the obituary in the newspaper. He wrinkled his nose. He suspected as much. They had chosen a teddy bear as an illustration, and that was a custom that he really hated. An obituary should contain the symbols of the Christian church, nothing more. A teddy bear was simply ungodly. But he hadn't expected anything else. The boy had been a disappointment from beginning to end, and nothing he did surprised Arne anymore. It was really a crying shame that such a God-fearing person as himself should have progeny who had so stubbornly repudiated the right path. People who didn't know any better had tried to bring about a reconciliation between them. They had said that his son, from what they had heard, was a fine and intelligent man. He also had an honourable profession, since he was a doctor, after all. Mostly it was women who had come to their door spouting such nonsense. Men knew better than to comment on things they knew nothing about. Of course he had to agree that his son had taken on a proper profession and seemed to be doing well. But if he didn't have God in his heart it was all meaningless.

Arne's greatest dream had been to have a son who would follow his grandfather's footsteps and become a pastor. He himself had been forced to put aside such ambitions early on, since his father drank up all the money that was supposed to go for his seminary training. Instead he'd had to content himself with working as a verger in the church. At least that still allowed him to spend his days in God's house.

But the church was no longer what it had once been. Things used to be different. Back then everyone knew his place, and the pastor was shown the proper respect. People also followed the words of Pastor Schartus as best they could, and they did not occupy themselves with things that even pastors appeared to enjoy nowadays: dancing, music and living together out of wedlock, to name just a few vices. But the hardest thing for Arne to accept was that females now had the right to act as God's representatives. He just couldn't understand it. The Bible was perfectly clear on this point: 'Woman shall be silent in the congregation.' What was there to discuss? Women had no business being members of the clergy. They could offer good support as pastors' wives or even as deaconesses, but otherwise they should remain silent in the congregation. It had been a sorry time when that female had taken over Fjällbacka Church. Arne had been forced to drive to Kville on Sundays to attend worship service, and he had simply refused to show up for work. He had paid a high price, but it was worth it. Now the hideous creature was gone. Of course, the new pastor was a bit too modern for his taste, but at least he was a man. Now all that remained was to make sure that the female cantor became a temporary chapter in the history of Fjällbacka Church. A female cantor wasn't as bad as a female pastor, of course, but still.

Arne morosely turned the page in the regional paper, Bohuslaningen. Asta was continuing to go about the house with a long face. He knew that it was for the little girl's sake. It bothered her that their son now lived so close by. But he had explained that she had to be strong in her faith and true to their conviction. He could agree that it was a shame about the girl, but that just proved his point. Their son had not kept to the straight and narrow, and sooner or later he was bound to be punished. He paged back to look again at the teddy bear in the obituary. It was a crying shame, it certainly was…

Mellberg didn't feel the same sense of satisfaction that he usually did when he was the focus of media attention. He hadn't even called a press conference, but had simply gathered some reporters from the local newspapers in his office. The memory of the letter he'd received overshadowed everything else right now, and he was having a hard time concentrating on anything else.

'Do you have any solid leads to follow up on?' A cub reporter was eagerly awaiting his reply.

'Nothing that we can comment on in the present situation,' the chief said.

'Is anyone in the family a suspect?' The question came from a reporter from the competing paper.

'We're keeping all our options open right now, but we have nothing concrete that points in a specific direction.'