'I've checked the sites of the Population Register and the Central Statistical Bureau, but they won't let you in on the actual lists without permission from the Data Inspection Office.'
He looked so young in his dejected disappointment that Sibylla had to smile.
'You've got to be an exceptionally smart fifteen-year-old!' He turned his head away but she had already noticed how he blushed. 'Bah.'
They sat in silence for a while. Chasing murderers from hiding places in attics wasn't easy. Then Sibylla remembered something.
'I've got it. What we need is access to the Donor Register.' 'What's that?'
She knew more than he did this time and the feeling made her smile inside, even though her superior knowledge was very recent. She wasn't as thick as he might have thought, no poor helpless soul he could save by his bravery. Besides, she was twice his age and she wanted him never to forget that simple fact.
She fetched the pile of papers from her armchair, leafing through them until she found what she was looking for.
'Here, in the documentation from the Health and Welfare Board. Information about donations. Listen to what it says.'
She read aloud.
'Question: Can relatives have access to information held in the register?
Answer: It is a criminal offence for outsiders to attempt access to the register. The routine precautions are designed to maintain the highest data security. Only a few people are authorised to search the register. Each authorisation refers to one individual, i.e. it is not transferable.'
She flicked the paper out of her hand and let it float away.
'Ah, well. It seemed a good idea at the time.'
He looked intently at her.
How much is it worth to you to find out what the register says?' 'A lot.'
'Several thousand?'
She hesitated for a moment. Several thousand might mean half a bedroom.
'What's this about?'
'I know a guy who might check it out. For a down-payment, a big one.'
'How do 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.'
She had decided to go there herself. It was her problem and besides, she definitely didn't want Patrik to get involved with 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 at 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 electrical 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 at 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? Jorgen 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 because he couldn't threaten to reveal her identity. If one on them talked, the other one would and they shared that knowledge.
She looked at him, reflecting on how his big muscles seemed matched by his brain. Just as she put her hand on the door-handle to leave, another thought occurred to her.
'Haven't you ever thought of getting a real job? You have all the qualifications for a good one, it seems.'
He was leaning against the door-frame to the main room, his bulging arms crossed over his chest. He was grinning openly at her now.
'No, I haven't. Have you?'
Then she left.
Thomas Sandberg. That was all it said on the note she showed Patrik. They were standing together in the street, reading the name over and over again, as if reading a long story rather than a sequence of fourteen letters.
'No address?'
'No.'
He looked disappointed. Obviously, he felt this was a poor show after an outlay of four thousand kronor.
'How many Thomas Sandbergs do you think there are in this country?'
She raised her eyebrows.
'No idea. All we do know is that there's one less now. Let's go.'
She started walking. She felt certain that what she was about to do next was the right thing, but even so she was troubled by the distance she would apparently callously create between them. If she kept walking she wouldn't have to look into his eyes, which would make it a little easier.
'Now what do we do?'
He had hurried to catch up with her.