Mellberg shut his eyes. In his mind he saw his whole career slipping away. All the years of hard work… maybe not with the daily police work, but with navigating the political jungle and staying on good terms with those who had influence while stepping on those who might put obstacles in his way. All this rendered meaningless because of a stupid fucking hick cop.

Slowly he turned back to Ernst. In an icy voice he said, 'You are suspended pending investigation. And if I were you, I wouldn't expect to be coming back.'

'But, sir…' said Ernst, preparing to protest. He shut up abruptly when Mellberg raised his index finger in the air.

'Shut up,' was all he said, and with that Ernst knew that the game was lost. He might as well just go home.

GÖTEBORG 1957

Agnes stretched out lazily in the big bed. There was something about the glow right after making love with a man that made her feel alive and vibrant. She looked at Per-Erik's broad back as he sat on the edge of the bed pulling on his well-pressed suit trousers.

'Well, when are you going to tell Elisabeth?' she said, scrutinizing her red-painted fingernails for imperfections. She found none. The lack of a reply from him made her look up from her nails.

'Per-Erik?'

He cleared his throat. 'I think it's a bit early. It's hardly been a month since Äke died, and what would people say if…' he let the rest of the sentence remain unspoken.

'I thought that what we have meant more to you than what "people" might think,' she said with a sharpness he hadn't heard before.

'It does, darling, it does. I just think we ought to… wait a little,' he said, turning to caress her bare legs.

Agnes gave him a suspicious look. His expression was inscrutable. It bothered her that she could never really read him, the way she'd always been able to read other men. Yet that might be why, for the first time in her life, she felt that she'd met a man who could live up to her expectations. And it was about time. Of course she looked extremely good for fifty-three, but the years had brought unwelcome changes even for her. Soon she might not be able to rely on her looks any longer. The thought frightened her, and that's why it was so important for Per-Erik to keep all the promises he'd made to her. During the years their relationship had lasted, she had always been the one who was in control. At least that was how she viewed it. But for the first time Agnes felt a pang of doubt. Maybe she had let herself be duped. She hoped for his sake that wasn't the case.

Harald Spjuth was content with his life as a pastor. But as a human being he sometimes felt a little lonesome. Although he was forty years old, he had not yet found anyone to share his life with, and that was something that pained him deeply Perhaps his pastor's collar had created an obstacle, because nothing in his personality indicated that he would have any difficulties in finding love. He was a genuinely pleasant and good person, even if those might not be the terms he would use to describe himself, since he was also both humble and shy. Nor could his looks be blamed for his loneliness. While he didn't exactly qualify as a cinema hero up on the silver screen, he had pleasant features and a full head of hair. He also possessed the enviable trait of never gaining an ounce despite his fondness for good food and the many coffee klatsches that life as a pastor in a small town entailed. And yet things hadn't really gone his way.

But Harald had not despaired. He wondered what his congregation would say if they knew how industrious he had been when it came to placing personals ads recently. After trying both square dancing and cooking courses with no success, he had sat down in the late spring and written his first classified ad. Since then things had just rolled along. He hadn't met the love of his life yet, but he had gone to several enjoyable lunch meetings and had acquired a couple of very nice pen pals in the bargain. At home on the kitchen table lay three more letters waiting for him to have time to read them. But duty first.

He'd been to visit some of the elderly folks who appreciated the opportunity to chat for a while and often passed by the parsonage on their way to church. Many of his more ambitious colleagues would probably have thought that the congregation was a trifle too small, but Harald was flourishing. The yellow parsonage was a lovely home, and he was always struck by how imposing the church was as he walked up the little hill on the tree-lined lane. When he passed the old church school that stood across from the parsonage, he reflected for a moment over the vitriolic debate that had flared up in town. An estate developer wanted to tear down the extremely dilapidated building and put up a block of flats. But the project had immediately generated a number of articles written in protest, as well as letters to the editor from people who wanted the building to be preserved as it was at any cost. In a way Harald could understand both sides, but it was still remarkable that most of the opponents were not year-round residents but summer visitors with residences in Fjällbacka. Naturally they wanted their retreat to remain as gloriously picturesque and cute as possible. They enjoyed wandering about town on the weekends and counted themselves fortunate that they had such a pleasant refuge far from the workaday world in the big city. The only problem was that a town that did not develop would die sooner or later; the image couldn't be frozen for ever. Flats were needed, and it was impossible to make everything in Fjällbacka a national landmark without affecting the very lifeblood of the town. Tourism was fine, of course, but there was a life after summertime as well, Harald reflected as he ambled up the hill towards the church.

Before he entered he was in the habit of stopping to look up at the tower, with his head tipped back as far as he could manage. In windy weather like today he had the illusion that the tower was swaying, and the imposing sight of thousands of tons of granite about to fall on him always made him feel respect for the men who had built the majestic church. Sometimes he wished that he had lived in those times and been one of the stonecutters of Bohuslän. Those men who lived in obscurity and yet had used their hands to create everything from the simplest roads to the most magnificent statues. But he was wise enough to know that this was all a romantic dream. Life had probably not been much fun for those men, and he appreciated the comforts of the present day far too much to fool himself into thinking he'd be better off without them.

After permitting himself a moment of daydreaming, he opened the port. Guiltily he caught himself crossing his fingers that Arne wouldn't be there. There was nothing really wrong with the fellow, and he did a good enough job, but Harald had to admit that he had a problem with the old adherents of Schartau's pietistic Lutheranism, and Arne was one of the worst. One would have to search far and wide to find another the likes of this gloomy man. He seemed to revel in misery and constantly sought the negative in everything. Sometimes when Arne was standing next to him, Harald could feel all joy in life being literally sucked out of him. Nor did he have much patience for the man's eternal harping about female pastors, either. If Harald had five Kronor for each time Arne had taken offence over his predecessor, he would be a rich man today. Honestly, he couldn't understand what was so terrible about a woman preaching God's word instead of a man. Whenever Arne launched into one of his tirades, Harald had to stifle a desire to say that it didn't require a penis to preach God's word, but he always bit his tongue just in time. Poor Arne would probably drop dead on the spot if he heard a pastor say anything like that.