The Complete Game Trilogy: Game, Buzz, Bubble. Литагент HarperCollins USD

which were appearing more and more often, then Henke going crazy, and then Micke, who had suddenly broken their usual pattern without warning. She had to get a grip on things, regain control over her own life. She couldn’t put it off any longer, she had to do it now. And she had to start with Nilla.

      HP had actually stuck to the truth. Almost, anyway. The only thing he left out was the small fact that his sister had been in the cop-car that he hit over at Lindhagens. But otherwise it had pretty much been nothing but the truth … Possibly with one or two minor exceptions. Manga would never buy the fact that he wanted to carry on playing. Which wasn’t so strange. He could hardly believe it himself, that he was even considering anything like that. And Manga was no longer the gambling type. Apart from the occasional World of Warcraft session, where he kept on going with his tired old Paladin character, nowadays he played it safe. Wife and child, flat in the suburbs and all that.

      He’d forgotten the kick you got from gaming, the rush from the adrenalin coursing through your body, and, even more important: Manga had no idea what it was like to feel chosen, appreciated, and to get loads of cred from an entire fucking world!

      So he ended up covering his motives with a little white lie …

      He said he wanted to find out who was behind the Game, maybe give an anonymous tip-off to one of the evening papers, or Crimewatch or something like that? A bit of payback for all the shit he’d had to take. Manga bought it without question, and why not? It could very easily have been true.

      He was able to dig out a server address more or less instantly, but after that things ground to a complete halt. HP got a bit down-hearted but Manga wasn’t the sort to give up just like that. From what they could work out, the server appeared to be in Sweden, and if it was, then that meant that somewhere in cyberspace there was someone who had sold, installed and configured it. The odds that such a person would be somewhere in Manga’s network of contacts were pretty good.

      He’d put out a few tentative feelers and they’d have to wait to see if there was any response. That wasn’t quite the scenario HP had been hoping for. Patience and waiting were definitely not his bag, but on the other hand he didn’t really have much choice.

      He’d just have to grin and bear it.

      A GroupWise message was really all it took to get going. She soon found Nilla’s email address on the internal contact list, even though she had a different surname, but it had been thirteen years and she had almost counted on Nilla being married by now.

      So what was the best way to put it?

      It took Rebecca over an hour to compose the email, and in the end she realized that if she was ever going to send it, she would have to keep it short.

      But when she moved the cursor to the send button, she suddenly felt hesitant. Her index finger was left hanging in the air above the mouse button. Was this really such a good idea?

      What sort of answer was she expecting? Sure, I’d love to talk to you, Rebecca. Let’s meet for coffee and chat about old times. Maybe you could tell me what happened the night my brother was murdered?

      She moved the mouse away. She’d have to leave it for another day when she’d had time to think it through more thoroughly. Thirteen years had passed already, so a few more days wouldn’t make any difference.

      When the telephone rang HP sat up with a jerk. It took him a few seconds to work out where he was, and what the stupid tune resounding through the flat actually meant.

      Manga, correction, Farook’s flat, with him on the sofa, the room still dark. He blinked a few times to see the clock on the television. Who the hell was calling the Al-Hassan residence at 02:10 at night?

      The ringing stopped, they must have answered in the bedroom. Then the baby started to scream. A couple of minutes later a bleary-eyed Manga appeared in the living room, wearing one of those full-length white nightshirts that he seemed to wear all the time these days.

      ‘The burglar alarm has gone off in the shop, you can come with me into the city,’ he slurred as he buttoned his harem trousers.

      ‘The security company and the cops are already there, so it’s kind of urgent. Get your clothes on while I go to the toilet …’

      HP crawled off the sofa and pulled on his jeans and trainers without protest.

      Just before they set off, Betul the witch stuck her head out of the nursery and gave him the evil eye, but that wasn’t the reason HP felt an uneasy lump in his stomach.

      ‘Has this happened before?’ he asked with feigned nonchalance while Manga beat the crap out of his little Polo as they crossed the Liljeholmen Bridge.

      ‘A couple of times over the years,’ he muttered through his teeth as he swerved through a red light. ‘But not since we put bars on the windows and installed a camera inside. According to the security company the thieves didn’t get in, but apparently the cops want me there straightaway. Wonder why?’

      HP kept quiet and clung on to the handle above the door. The lump in his stomach was growing exponentially.

      Four minutes later Manga pulled up sharply outside the shop. The security firm’s car and two cop-cars were parked outside, and a bit further away stood a fire-engine.

      To HP’s relief, the shop seemed to be undamaged.

      ‘Hello,’ one of the policemen said as they arrived. ‘Selini, Södermalm Police.’ He pulled a notepad from his trouser pocket and nodded to HP. ‘Are you the owner?’

      ‘No, I am, Farook Al-Hassan.’

      The policeman gave Manga and his middle-eastern appearance a long look, but said nothing.

      ‘Okay, we’ll need a few personal details and so on in a bit, but I’d like to show you this first.’

      He led them towards the entrance. The door of the shop was open and the cop explained that the security guards had opened it up, as well as the roller blind, to check for damage inside.

      ‘We were just round the corner when the alarm went off,’ he went on chattily, ‘so we came close to catching them red-handed. Two blokes on a moped. My partner reckons one of them was watching while the other one broke the window, possibly filming the action. Crime videos like that are getting more and more common, happy-slapping and all that …’

      HP had suddenly gone ice-cold. He opened his mouth to say something but the policeman interrupted him.

      ‘Either way, there wasn’t much action, they ran and we pursued them until they turned into a cycle path through Tantolunden.’

      They reached the front door and the policeman indicated a fist-sized hole in the window alongside. ‘They must have used an emergency hammer or something like that to break the glass.’

      The window was full of what looked like snow, like a Christmas display. All that was missing were a couple of plastic reindeer and a chocolate Santa Claus, HP noted, almost in amusement.

      ‘I emptied our fire-extinguisher through the hole so it never caught properly. There’ll be a bit of cleaning up, but that’s better than the alternative …’ The policeman shrugged.

      HP’s stomach had clenched solid and he was having trouble breathing. The cop’s voice sounded like it was slowed down.

      ‘A few soaked rags and probably some more paraffin through the hole. It doesn’t look like they were planning a robbery, just wanted to start a fire. I don’t suppose you happen to have acquired any enemies recently, Mr, er … Al-Hassan?’

      ‘No, not as far as I know,’ Manga replied, giving HP a long look.

      They both sat in silence on the way home. Thoughts were whirling through HP’s head, he was desperate for a fag but knew he’d make himself even less popular if he lit up in the car.

      This was the second warning, albeit something of a failure, but still. If the cops hadn’t happened to come round the corner when they did, the computer shop wouldn’t