“No, nor those. Is it some sort of code or what?”
Mia didn’t answer. For more than twenty minutes she had tried to get Lena to explain the weird combinations they had found in Hans Juhlén’s computer. She thanked Lena for her help, even though she hadn’t got any, and left the Migration Board.
In her car she thought about how tired the secretary had looked. Her face was pale, the area around her eyes was a purple-blue color. With slow movements, she had pushed around the documents lying spread out on her desk. Mia had asked how things were, and Lena had answered that she was depressed.
What a pathetic woman, Mia thought. Bloody useless that she couldn’t tell us anything!
On her way back to the police station, Mia got caught in the long line of cars on St?th?gav?gen. The traffic was crawling along and that irritated her even more. But what made her most angry of all was that she was broke. Yesterday’s evening out had cost more than she had intended. And she had treated too. Two beers for some bloke she didn’t even know. Somebody who on top of it all was married.
So unnecessary. So. Bloody. Unnecessary.
Her mobile suddenly made a shrill noise.
It was Ola S?derstr?m.
“How did it go?” he said.
“It didn’t. She didn’t know anything about the combinations.”
“Oh, great.”
“Yes, isn’t it just!”
Mia became silent. She pinched her upper lip with her index finger and thumb.
“But Ola,” she then said, “I thought that perhaps, have you tried turning the numbers around?”
“No. But I have tried combinations with the numbers first and the letters afterwards.”
“But if you reverse them, what then?”
“You mean I should search on 900014 instead of 410009?”
“I don’t have the combinations in front of me, but it sounds like you get what I mean.”
“Hang on...”
Mia heard how Ola pressed the keyboard. She turned her head back to see if she could change to the left lane. But the cars there were going just as slowly. She sighed out loud just as Ola’s voice came back.
“All I get is pages with ISO 900014, that’s international standards. And a report about X-ray from Harvard.”
“But what about the other combinations?” said Mia.
“Let’s see, 106130 becomes 031601. No, that’s a hex code. 933028 is a hex code too, but I don’t think he was interested in colors on internet.”
“No, nor am I.”
Mia tried to get a glimpse of how many cars there were in front. The queue was hopelessly long.
“How did you get on with the department of transportation and their cameras?” she said.
“Still waiting. It all depends on whether the driver exceeded the speed limit or not. If he did, then there will presumably be an image. And then that image will be compared with photos on passports and driving licences. If it can be matched, then we’ll have an identification. If not, then at least we shall have the name of the owner of the van and we can hope that it’s the same person who drove where the boy was found,” said Ola.
“But that depends on whether he or she drove too fast,” said Mia.
She straightened her back in the driving seat and put her hand on the wheel. The traffic had started to move.
“Yes, the cameras only react to speed violations and the department of transportation are now checking their logs. The information must be decrypted first before we can get it. If there is any, that is.”
“Jesus, what now...!”
“What’s the matter?”
“The traffic! I hate lines. Get a bloody move on!”
Mia banged her hand against the steering wheel and then gesticulated wildly at the driver in front who had stalled his engine.
“And you’re in a good mood today?” said Ola.
“None of your fucking business.”
Mia immediately regretted her harsh words.
“Okay,” said Ola. “It’s none of my fucking business but you might be interested to know that we’ve got an answer from the National Forensics Lab.”
Ola was in a bad mood too, she could hear. She didn’t say anything and let him go on: “The boy was shot with a .22 Sig Sauer. The gun has not been used in any criminal activity in Sweden earlier. But only the boy’s fingerprints were found on the Glock that was found next to him. All technical evidence points to him being the person who fired the gun that killed Hans Juhlén.”
Ola ended the call abruptly.
She had irritated him and now she was sitting here in a lousy mood and he was in a lousy mood. Useless fucking morning, Mia thought.
CHAPTER
TWENTY-FOUR
THERE WERE SEVEN of them in the beginning. Now only Hades and she were left. She had shot Minos, and Hades had killed his opponent in the cellar. One boy had got a deep knife wound between his ribs during an exercise and he died some days later from his injuries. One girl had tried to escape and then been locked up in the cellar, and when they opened it again she had starved to death.
A weakling, that’s what Papa had called her.
Then there was Ester, who disappeared when they got to the farm. But it was her own fault. If only she had listened to Papa and done as he had said, then she would certainly have still been with them. Alive.
The girl stroked her head with her hand. She had no hair. The trainers had shaved her. It was so that she would create a stronger identity of her own, they had said. Hades, too, had a shaved head and he rubbed the bare top of his head, back and forth. They were sitting opposite each other in the middle of the stone floor and staring at one another. Neither of them said anything, but Hades smiled at her when her eyes met his.
Spring had come and the rays of the sun sought their way in through the cracks between the wall planks. They had been given a new set of clothes but the girl wasn’t interested in that. She was longing to get her hands on the weapons that lay in front of them. The sharp blade glistened now and then, reflecting the sharp light that came from outside. Next to the knife lay a gun, and the girl had never seen it as well polished before. Hades had done a good job with that. He must have polished it for hours.
Hades had once been extremely fond of technology. On the garbage heap he had found lots of broken machines and tried to repair them. He had dreamed of finding a telephone. But he never did.
She knew that, because she had helped him go scavenging.
The girl’s thoughts were interrupted by the door being opened. In came Papa, closely followed by the lady trainer and another man whom they didn’t know. Papa stopped in front of them, bent down and examined their shaved heads. With something that resembled a look of satisfaction, he stood up and ordered the girl and the boy to do the same.
“Well,” he then said. “Now it’s time. You’re going on a mission in Stockholm.”
CHAPTER
TWENTY-FIVE
JANA BERZELIUS REMAINED sitting in her car in the dock area with the engine running. She had spent several hours planning her work, considered and dismissed various methods until she had reduced them to a selection of realistic scenarios to choose from.
She had finally decided that her private investigation must fulfill certain conditions. She must never be linked to the actions she carried out. She must be wary of telephone calls and email. She had to be extremely thorough in everything she did. Absolutely never act on impulse. If it came out that she was carrying out a private investigation parallel with that of the police, then not only would she be suspended, but her name—Ker—would be the object of the next investigation. That would presumably mean the end of her career.