Missing

you know people like that?’
    ‘I don’t, but his brother goes to my school. The kid brother is like royalty after the big guy served time for hacking data.’
    This was not easy. However much she wanted the information, she wanted even less to risk having Patrik involved in breaking the law.
    ‘How old is “the big guy”?’
    Patrik shrugged.
    ‘Don’t know. Like, twenty?’

    She thought it over. This was their one chance to move on. They had come so far already. She sighed.
    ‘You’re on. He gets three thousand for the name.’

S he had decided to go there herself. It was her problem and, besides, she definitely didn’t want Patrik to get involved in this shady affair. He had helped enough by anonymously arranging the deal using his father’s mobile phone. The price had been agreed. Four thousand kronor.
    Sibylla touched the purse round her neck, feeling its shrinking bulge. It was hard, but what choice did she have?
    Patrik had asked why she was hauling the rucksack along, and was told the simple reason. She never left it anywhere, except in the Left Luggage at Central Station. It meant she had security in the shape of a locker key or a receipt.

    The master hacker lived on Kock Street, only a few minutes’ walk away. Patrik stopped outside the door and pressed the buzzer. The door clicked open at once.
    ‘Are you waiting round here?’
    He was still disappointed that she wouldn’t let him join her.
    ‘Patrik, this is the best idea – honestly.’

    The door slammed behind her. She walked upstairs to the second floor, where a young man with sleek blond hair stood waiting at the door to a flat. Sibylla stopped and they examined each other in silence.
    After a few seconds of this, he opened the door wide for her. He was wearing a white T-shirt, revealing muscular arms with prominent veins. He must have worked out hard in prison. As he walked ahead of her into the flat, she noticed that his hair had been pulled back in a long pony-tail.
    The flat was small, just a single room with a kitchenette. The sink was so full of dishes she wondered if he ever washed up. There was a rack with a set of dumb-bells in a corner. Next to it, a yellow electric guitar was leaning against its amplifier. A long window wall was entirely taken up by computer equipment and other electronic goods she couldn’t even guess the function of. Presumably, this was the kind of kit self-respecting hackers simply couldn’t live without. Two of the screens showed a series of letters and numbers scrolling past quickly. She moved towards them to see what was going on.
    He stepped into her path.
    ‘Not so fast. It’s practically ready. Let’s do the paying first, shall we?’
    She was clutching the notes in her pocket.
    ‘No problem.’
    He took the bundle without checking it.
    ‘Sit down over there.’
    He was pointing to a stool well away from the computers, in fact almost inside the small hallway. She did as she was told, keeping her rucksack on her back but resting it a little against the wall behind her.
    She couldn’t see much from where she was sitting, but by leaning forward it was possible to watch him working on one of the computers. He was writing things using the keyboard and his fingers were moving at an incredible speed. She marvelled at his skill and wondered how his huge hands could work with such precision.
    ‘You’re in luck.’
    He was muttering, not taking his eyes off the screen.
    ‘Someone went in for a search just now, so all we need to do is hang on.’
    He stopped keying and she sat upright again, looking at the wall. She didn’t want to be caught out spying on him.
    Would he recognise any of the names from the newspapers? Jörgen Grundberg’s name had been used a lot, almost as often as her own.
    When she heard him get up from the chair, she rose too. Then he come over, holding out one folded sheet of A4 paper.
    ‘Done.’
    She took the paper without taking her eyes off his face.
    ‘You’re sure it’s the right person?’
    He smiled, clearly never having heard such a stupid question before.
    ‘Yes, don’t worry.’
    He sounded soothing.
    ‘Depends, of course. But he’s the guy whose organs were transplanted into the names on your list.’
    He looked quizzically at her.
    ‘Weren’t they all murdered afterwards? By some character called Sibylla?’
    She didn’t answer. He smiled broadly.
    ‘Just so that we know where we are, you know.’
    She put the paper in her pocket, unafraid