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her wrists with a paper napkin.
    ‘I’m sorry, but I’d really prefer not to go into it. It brings it all back. I’ve worked hard to get my new life, and I want to use my experiences to help others.’
    Annika looked at Rebecka Björkstig, so cool and so soft at the same time.
    ‘Tell me about what you do.’
    Rebecka took a cautious sip of coffee.
    ‘The organization is set up as a non-profit-making foundation under the name Paradise. What we do isn’t really that remarkable, we just give people who have been threatened their everyday lives back. But for someone who has been stalked – someone who really knows what terror is – normal everyday life is paradise.’
    Annika looked down at her notebook, embarrassed by the cliché.
    ‘So how do you do that?’
    The woman gave a quick smile, sounding confident now.
    ‘The Garden of Eden was a safe place,’ she said. ‘It was surrounded by invisible walls that kept evil at bay. That’s how we work. The client comes to us, and they pass through our hands behind an impenetrable barrier. They get erased, so to speak. So when anyone tries to track our client, no matter how they go about it, they hit the same brick wall: us.’
    Annika looked up.
    ‘But aren’t you frightened?’
    ‘We’re aware of the risks, but the Paradise Foundation is in turn impossible to find. We have several different offices that we move between. Our telephones are routed through exchanges in different districts. There are five of us working full time at Paradise, and we’ve all been erased. The only way into Paradise is via an unlisted phone number.’
    Annika looked at the little porcelain woman as she sat there unconsciously fiddling with a napkin. The woman was completely wrong in this setting, so pure and white against the shabby bar and dowdy decor.
    ‘So how do you erase someone?’
    Someone turned on a ceiling lamp somewhere behind Rebecka’s head, casting a shadow over her face and making her expressionless eyes look like black holes.
    ‘I think we should leave it there,’ she said. ‘I’m sorry, but I’d like to wait a while before releasing any more information.’
    Annika felt a mixture of disappointment and relief, and let out a deep breath. Rebecka Björkstig pulled a card from her bag.
    ‘Talk to your editor and see if you can write about what we do. If you get the go-ahead, call me, this is our secret number. I’m sure I don’t have to tell you to be extremely careful with it.’
    Annika swallowed and muttered something that sounded like agreement.
    ‘If you can get authorization to publish, we can meet again,’ Rebecka said, getting up, petite and bright, yet still in shadow.
    Annika gave a meaningless smile and stood up. They shook hands.
    ‘Well, we’ll probably speak on the phone, then,’ she said.
    ‘If you don’t mind, I’m in a bit of a rush,’ Rebecka said. ‘I look forward to your call.’
    And then she was gone.
    The waiter glided over to their table. ‘That’s fifty-five kronor for the coffee.’
    Annika’s thoughts were racing as she took a taxi back to the office. The suburbs flew past outside the dirty windows, industrial estates, unrelenting blocks of flats, main roads and traffic lights.
    What did Rebecka Björkstig actually look like? Annika realized that she had already forgotten, and that her memories were vague and elusive.
    Vulnerable people, abused women. If there was one subject she ought to avoid writing about, this was it. She was permanently disqualified.
    What was that thing Rebecka had said about the Garden of Eden? Annika searched her memory, but she couldn’t remember. She took out her notes, leafing through and trying to read in the flickering yellow light of the motorway.
    That it was surrounded by invisible walls that kept evil at bay.
    She put the notepad down and watched the blocks of flats in Blåkulla flash past.
    What about the snake, then?
Annika thought.
Where did that fit into her theory?
6
    Berit Hamrin was