Karin Alvtegen - Missing

She looked up from her bundle of paper and stared at the wooden planks in the wall opposite. So that was it – it was open season to use her and her mates. One man's meat is another man's poison, only the other way round. What would it feel like to have another's heart, especially if it was kept alive and beating only when you took medicines to stop your familiar old body from ridding itself of its heart? And the nearest and dearest, what did they feel? What was it like, knowing that your beloved's heart was still there, inside someone else?

Patrik's voice interrupted her musings.

'Found anything?'

'Not really. Have you?'

Since he didn't answer, she assumed he hadn't, and returned to her reading. Paragraph four.

Even if biological material can be removed as described in Paragraph three, section two, such procedures are not permitted in cases where someone close to the deceased is strongly opposed to the intervention. Close relations by blood or marriage must be informed about the planned intervention and about their right to forbid it. After such information has been provided, the informed must be allowed a reasonable period of time to consider it.

She read it all through once more. Then she put the paper down and rose, slowly turning the idea over in her mind. It was right, she could feel it all over.

Accursed are those who rob the innocents of their rights.

'Patrik!'

'Ummm.'

'I've got it!'

She heard him shuffling behind the wooden partition and the next moment he was with her. 'What? How can you be sure?' She was sure.

'The killer, it's someone who is regretting giving permission.' Regret was what she had not been given a chance to do once. Accursed are those who rob the innocents of their rights. The right to live. Or to die. 'It could be someone who wasn't asked at all.'

Patrik went back downstairs to commune with his computer. Meanwhile she was impatiently pacing the corridor to pass the time.

The donor must have died just before the 15 thMarch, 1998. How could they find out who he or she was? Maybe there were lists of donors in that secret world Patrik could access through his computer. If there were, she felt certain he would find it. Everything seemed to be connected by that strange Net of his.

He mustn't say anything to his mother. She had forbidden him, deciding that she preferred to stay chief suspect for however long it took to find the answer alone. The police might be on the same trail – but why would they be? They knew who the murderer was already.

When Patrik returned, he had no good news to bring. There were no officially available registers of dead individuals, only general mortality statistics. It was unhelpful to know that during the year, 93,271 people had died.

'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.