Литагент HarperCollins - The Complete Game Trilogy - Game, Buzz, Bubble

She’d already picked up the sweet smell of hash from the flat through the letterbox.

He didn’t answer, just walked into the kitchen ahead of her and started rattling about in the sink.

‘Will Nescafe do?’ he muttered, waving a brown glass jar.

‘Not really, but okay,’ she replied, shoving a pile of old Metro s off one of the kitchen chairs.

She saw that the flat was a complete mess. Clothes and all sorts of other stuff piled up in heaps. Old newspapers, full ashtrays and dirty glasses practically everywhere she looked. The walls and ceiling were yellow with cigarette smoke, and the greasy, overflowing plastic washing-up bowl in the sink told her it was a long time since any washing-up had been done. This was a couple of degrees worse, even, than Mum’s final days. It looked like a junkie’s squat, with the possible exception of the flatscreen television and the computer she had glimpsed in the living room.

How the hell could he live in this sort of filth?

‘So … how are you, sis?’ he asked a few minutes later, feebly and less grouchily as he served them instant coffee in mismatched mugs.

‘Depends what you mean,’ she replied abruptly. ‘Life in general or my current state of health?’

‘Er … you know,’ he nodded towards the plasters on her head. ‘After the crash, I mean.’

She sighed.

‘Oh, I’m okay, thanks for asking. A bit of a headache, some minor bruising and a few days off sick, but that’s pretty much it.’

‘And your partner?’

Her eyes narrowed but she couldn’t miss the embarrassed tone of his question. He certainly seemed concerned, almost for real.

‘A bit better, thanks, I called this morning and he’s making progress. Looks like he’s going to make it.’

‘Thank God!’

Both his body language and tone of voice told her he really meant it.

The question was: who was he most relieved for? She was pretty sure it wasn’t Kruse.

‘Okay, now we’ve got the pleasantries out of the way, maybe you’d like to explain to me what the hell happened yesterday? I called three different custody units for your sake and pretty much got laughed at each time.’

He looked down at once.

‘Nothing,’ he muttered.

‘Nothing?’ she repeated as sharply as she could.

‘Just a drunken prank, I’d had a few beers at Kvarnen and then had a smoke round at a friend’s. I saw it all on the news and heard it was you. When the others found out my sister was a cop they got me to call you and say I was the one who threw the stone and all that … They probably didn’t think I’d actually do it. And I shouldn’t have done.

‘Sorry!’ he added, looking up with a silly smile. ‘It was really stupid and immature, I know.’

He threw his arms out in a disarming gesture.

She didn’t answer, just looked at him for several seconds.

Henke had always been good at stretching the truth, making things up, telling white lies, or just lying through his teeth. First to their parents when they were little, mostly to Dad, of course: No, Daddy, I’ve got no idea where you left your wallet . Then to his teachers at school, and eventually to the rest of the world, with one exception. It wasn’t until after everything had happened and he had got out of prison that he started lying to her as well, which probably wasn’t that strange if you thought about it. Most of the time he was very good at it, so good that it usually took her a few days to work out that she’d fallen for one of his lies again. But not today.

Today there was something missing.

To start with, this lie lacked the right details and was far too easy to demolish with a few facts, such as the fact that the Security Police would never release her name to the media, so he couldn’t have known she was involved if he had seen anything about the crash on television. And she seriously doubted that a load of dope-heads would be sitting watching the news …

Oddly, his pathetic story only made her more annoyed. As if he were trying to blow her off and declare her an idiot at the same time. But then she realized that the details were of only secondary importance.

The main thing that was missing was his usual convincing smile and the glint in his eye that always made her believe him. His little brother look, she called it. Henke was nowhere near as self-confident as he usually was, she could see that clearly. That wasn’t just morning tiredness visible in his face. He also had a black-eye and a plaster over his nose that she had seen but not really picked up on until she started looking at him properly.

He’s been beaten up, her police instincts told her, but the big sister in her hoped that he’d just fallen down some stairs. But whatever the cause was, Henke looked worn out, shaken, almost as if he was seriously worried about something, which was unusual for him, to put it mildly. If she didn’t know better, she’d almost say he was … frightened?

‘Don’t lie to me, Henrik,’ she said calmly, trying to catch his wandering gaze.

‘What d’you mean, I’m not lying!’ He held up his hands and ran through his usual routine. But it wasn’t anywhere near as convincing as it usually was.

He could hear how unbelievable it all sounded. But what the fuck was he supposed to do? Tell the truth?

He’d broken rule number one once already, and twice in twenty-four hours would definitely not be a good idea.

Besides, what were the odds on her believing him?

I’ve been playing a reality game, they tested me and I lost. Sorry you got in the way, my bad!

As if!

It was fucking bad luck that he happened to hit her. Of all the cop-cars in the city, he had to go and hit his sister’s. What were the odds of that?

Actually …

Shit, he was stupid! What a complete fucking moron for not realizing …! Luck had nothing to do with it!

He flew up from his chair, grabbed her arm and tried to drag her towards the door.

‘You have to go!’ he muttered firmly, while she pulled against him.

‘Let go, Henke, what are you on about now?’

‘Please!’ he begged when he realized she was far too strong and he’d never manage to get her out by force.

‘Please, Becca, you have to go. Right now!’

She shook free of his grasp quite easily. What the hell was he up to now? He suddenly seemed to have gone mad. How much dope was he smoking these days, unless he’d moved on to something heavier?

‘Please, Becca, I’m begging you. You have to leave. I’m in a bit of trouble but it’ll get sorted, I promise. But if you don’t go … they’ve got people … You have to leave, right away!’

He could hear how frightened he sounded, but made no effort to do anything about it. He really was terrified. They’d used her to test him. Manipulated him into hurting his own sister, the only person that he … well … cared about.

And just for fun!

The more he thought about it, the more obvious it seemed. Yesterday everything had been far too hazy, but now he’d had time to sleep on it, he realized what it was all about. What he really was. A pawn in the Game, no more, no less. A fucking pawn!

And there he was, imagining he was some sort of superstar, when he was just one of the crowd. A pathetic little pawn that could easily be sacrificed so the Game could move on. And that was exactly what they had done. The footage of him spilling his guts to Bolin the pretend cop were probably already out there.

We got this idiot to almost kill his sister, then confess everything to the boys in blue! Cold-hearted bastards.

So what wouldn’t they be capable of if he carried on breaking the rules? If, in spite of the warning, he didn’t stick to rule number one?

‘Please, Becca, please! You’ve got to go, right now!’ he yelled.