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‘Isn’t there some way to remove addresses from all lists and directories? To obtain new personal ID numbers and things like that?’
    The woman let another faint sigh escape her lips.
    ‘Sure, there are other ways. The problem is that they don’t work. Our group has designed a way to wipe people completely off the record. Did you know that there are more than sixty different public computerized directories that list practically everyone residing in Sweden?’
    Annika uttered a negative response and made a face – the coffee was truly disgusting.
    ‘For the first six months I was completely occupied with mapping out the different directories. I worked out plans and approaches to get around them. There were lots of questions, while the answers would sometimes be a long time in coming. The method we have worked out is completely unique.’
    That last sentence reverberating in her mind, Annika swallowed a mouthful of the grey sludge, spilling a drop or two when she set down her cup.
    ‘Why are you involved in this?’ she asked.
    The silence became oppressive.
    ‘I’ve been exposed to threats myself,’ the woman replied.
    ‘Why was that?’ Annika wondered.
    Rebecka cleared her throat, hesitated and wiped her wrists with the tissue.
    ‘I’m sorry, but I really don’t want to talk about it. Fear is such a paralysing feeling. I’ve worked hard to make a new life for myself, and I want to put my experience to good use.’
    Annika looked at Rebecka Björkstig, so cold and so soft at the same time.
    ‘Tell me about the foundation,’ she said.
    Rebecka carefully sipped her coffee.
    ‘Our operations are conducted in the form of a non-profit organization, a foundation that we decided to call Paradise. We don’t really do anything all that remarkable, we just give our clients back a regular life. But for anyone who has ever been stalked and knows the meaning of terror and fear, for a person like that, a new lease on life is like paradise.’
    Annika looked down at her pad, embarrassed by the hackneyed cliché.
    ‘And how do you accomplish that?’
    The woman smiled slightly, her voice confident.
    ‘The Garden of Eden was a sheltered place,’ she said. ‘It was surrounded by invisible walls that kept evil out. That’s how we operate too. The client comes to us, passes through our set-up and disappears behind an impenetrable wall. They simply vanish. Whenever anyone tries to trace a client of ours, no matter which route they try, they will run up against a great big wall of silence: us.’
    Annika looked up.
    ‘But aren’t you afraid?’
    ‘We’re aware of the risks, but the Paradise Foundation is impossible to trace as well. We maintain several different offices that we alternate between. Our phone connections are directed through other stations in other provinces. Five of us work full time for Paradise – we’ve all had our records wiped clean. The only route into Paradise is an unlisted telephone number.’
    Annika studied the tiny porcelain-figurine lady unconsciously twisting a tissue around her fingers. She was so out of place in this environment, so pale and pure in the shabby bar with its shady decor.
    ‘How do you manage to get them removed from all the different records?’
    Someone switched on an overhead lamp diagonally behind Rebecka Björkstig, shadowing her face and turning the pale inexpressive eyes into black holes.
    ‘I think that will be all for now,’ she said. ‘I hope you don’t mind, but I’d like to wait a bit until I give you the rest of the information.’
    Feeling a mixture of disappointment and relief, Annika exhaled. Rebecka Björkstig pulled a card out of her purse.
    ‘Talk to your publisher and ask if your paper would like to write about our endeavour. Then give me a call – this is our unlisted number. I guess I don’t have to tell you that you need to be extremely careful with it.’
    Annika swallowed, stammering in agreement.
    ‘As soon as you’ve got the go-ahead,