Missing

their minds. I am the murderer. They won’t believe a thing I say.’
    She put her head in her hands, speaking quietly to the ground in front of her.
    ‘Worse, I can’t hack being locked up.’
    He sounded less convinced now.
    ‘But you’re just telling them what really happened.’ Then she told him about Jörgen Grundberg. About how her fingerprints got on to his keycard, about the wig and the Swiss army knife she’d left behind in the hotel room. About everything in her past that had combined to make her the prime suspect. Former patient in a mental hospital, homeless and without any kind of social network, she was so utterly perfect that the police must be rubbing their hands with glee. No question about her guilt.
    Anyway, to have a chance of finally persuading them of her innocence, they would have to keep her under lock and key for the duration of the inquiry. That would drive her insane. She had been there before and knew what she was talking about.
    ‘The murderer has got the idea too. I’m a perfect scapegoat for him. He even left a confession in my name after the Västervik murder.’
    He nodded gently.
    ‘He did the same in Bollnäs.’
    ‘Was that where he struck last night?’
    ‘The night before. I don’t know where he was last night.’
    She was slumped against the backrest of the bench. The night before last as well, while she was tucked up in the attic. Now they suspected her of four murders.
    He stared at her.
    ‘You didn’t know, did you?’
    She sighed.
    ‘No. I didn’t.’
    Silence. He was thinking. The complications must be dawning on him.
    ‘I know. Let’s go to my house and check everything they’ve written about you.’
    ‘How do you mean?’
    ‘We’ll surf the net.’
    Ah, the Internet. She had read about it in the papers, a fantastic new world she knew nothing about. She felt as doubtful about it as she did about being invited home by this helpful fifteen-year-old.
    ‘Why would that be any good?’
    ‘Maybe we’ll find something that proves it couldn’t have been you. I bet you haven’t read everything they’ve written.’
    ‘Right enough.’
    He got up.
    ‘Let’s go.’
    What other option was there?

    They crept through the hall. She felt like a thief and her heart was pounding.
    ‘This way.’
    They were outside a door in his flat. A metal sign had been stuck on it. It said: ENTER AT YOUR OWN RISK.
    Fine. She hadn’t wanted to come here in the first place.
    They passed an open doorway to a spacious living room and then the closed door to his parents’ bedroom. Patrik had put his finger to his lips as a signal to be quiet. His father was asleep in there. Then Patrik opened the door to his room and waved her on. All this was very awkward, but she followed to please him.
    His room looked as if it had been in the path of a storm-force gale. The floor was practically invisible under a tidal wave of clothes, old comics, CD boxes and books. She dumped her rucksack in the middle of it all, looking quizzically at him.
    ‘I know, I promised Mum to keep my room tidy. I just kind of forget.’
    ‘Tell me about it.’
    They were speaking in whispers.
    He pushed a button on the PC and when it came alive with a little melody, she told him to turn it down. While the computer started up, she looked around the room. Apart from the desk, there was an unmade bed and a bookshelf. She pulled the cover over the bed to make the place look less messy.
    When the screen on his desk had filled with symbols, he sat down to work. She wandered across to an apparently empty aquarium by the window, because something moved inside it.
    ‘That’s Batman, my Greek land-tortoise.’
    Batman had crawled into a corner to munch on a lettuce leaf. He looked quite content, so the world must seem quite agreeable to his tiny mind. She felt momentarily envious.
    Patrik was using the keypad to write something.
    serial killer sibylla
    He clicked, the computer started working and after a few seconds produced the results. 67 hits. He was smiling.
    ‘Great.’
    ‘What does it all mean?’
    ‘We’ve got 67 pages to search for stuff about you and your manic killing spree.’
    She was amazed at having become unwittingly a part of this strange ‘online’ world that she had been reading about. Patrik was already scrolling through what looked like pictures of newsprint.
    ‘I’ll print the lot and then we can read it when we like.’
    It was all new and weird to her, but he seemed to know what he