I had forgotten about it, but now I can give you her message: Don’t forget baby swimming!” Fredrik laughed.
The superintendent said, “Okay. Get the address and drive out to Schyttelius’s parents’. I’ll stay at the station. The press will probably be in touch soon.”
IRENE WAS lucky: The pastor of the neighboring parish was home. His name was Jonas Burman, and he had a friendly voice. When he understood what it was about, he offered to accompany them and provide support when they delivered this news of the death of a son. He gave them detailed directions to his home. He would direct them from there to the rectory in Kullahult, where Rector Schyttelius lived.
They found Burman’s house in Slättared without any problems. A tall figure bent against the biting breeze stood outside the gate. The wind had picked up during the last few hours and brought with it a great deal of whirling snow, though the flakes melted as soon as they touched wet ground. Irene pulled in and put the transmission in park. Both she and Fredrik got out to greet Burman.
He was much younger than he had sounded on the telephone. His hair was light and rather long and kept blowing in his face. When he took Irene’s hand in greeting, his was cold but his handshake was firm. His slender fingers reminded Irene of a musician’s. Enlarged by the lenses in his rectangular, thin-framed glasses, the friendly look in his blue eyes was comforting.
The three of them drove off in the police car. During the ride, Fredrik informed him of what they knew of Jacob Schyttelius’s death. Jonas Burman listened without interrupting. When Fredrik was finished, the minister said, “I’ve met Jacob several times. He is . . . was . . . a very nice guy. It’s completely incomprehensible that someone would want to shoot him. Why? Could it have been a burglary?”
“No idea,” Fredrik replied. “We’re going to try to find out both why, and who. But right now we don’t have the faintest lead. His parents may know something.”
“You aren’t going to question them tonight, are you?” Jonas asked, concerned.
“Only if they are up to it. Otherwise we’ll wait,” Fredrik said.
The minister pointed at a sign. “That’s where we turn off.”
The sign read “Kullahult 2.”
IN THE growing twilight, the floodlit church could be seen from far away. It was situated on a partly snow-covered hill and towered over the small town of Kullahult.
“The rectory is located right next to the church. Just steer toward it,” said Burman. At the foot of the hill, he directed them onto a gravel road. Irene could see the cemetery wall a short distance above them. They left it behind as the road went straight ahead instead of continuing around the hill.
They could see a large white house down a driveway in a park-like, snow-covered yard. Irene drove in through the open gates. Coarse gravel crackled under the tires.
“Strange that—” Jonas started to say. He looked around after they had parked the car. They could hear the rattling of the wind and sleet in the tops of the trees.
“Sten and Elsa usually light the garden lamps and turn on outdoor lights and a lot of lights in the house as soon as it gets dark. It’s very isolated here at the back of the church hill,” he continued. “They like to illuminate the house.”
Wet snowflakes slapped them in the face when they stepped out of the car. Darkness wrapped the big trees and bushes. A tall, depressing spruce hedge circled the garden impenetrably. The black windowpanes of the house seemed rejecting.
“Could they be out of town?” Fredrik asked.
“No. We always tell each other if we’re going to travel,” Jonas answered.
“Even if it’s only for the day?”
“Yes. There’s only one pastor in each parish, so we have a schedule for the pastor who’s on call . One of us is always available on weekdays in case something urgent comes up. But we always inform each other if we’re going to be out of town, even if we aren’t on call. There are two other parishes that are part of this system. Four pastors in all. It works well.”
Irene remembered to take the flashlight, which was in the glove compartment, before they started toward the house’s grand entrance. Four wooden columns held up a roof which protected the steps and the entry from rain and snow. It enhanced the feeling of an old country estate. The front door consisted of two