The Rabbit Hunter

by Lars Kepler

  ‘You found the connection,’ she says.

  ‘Absalon did some casual work as a groundskeeper at Ludviksberg School during William and Teddy’s senior year.’

  ‘So it’s about the school?’

  ‘One way or another.’

  Joona goes over to a thirty-year-old school photograph and sees that the two future politicians were not only classmates, but were also on the same rowing team: eight boys dressed in white, with big shoulders and bulging biceps.

  ‘Someone else who went to that school has already cropped up in the investigation,’ Saga points out.

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Rex Müller.’

  ‘I recognise the name.’

  ‘Yes, he’s a TV chef … I know he’s hiding something, but he has an alibi for all of the murders,’ she replies quickly. ‘We spoke to him because he was caught on camera when he was drunk, taking a piss in the Foreign Minister’s pool.’

  ‘There’s nothing about that in here.’

  ‘Janus has taken over that part.’

  ‘The truth is always etched in the details,’ Joona says.

  ‘I know.’

  ‘Why was he pissing in the pool?’

  ‘A stupid provocative prank when he was drunk.’

  ‘First it looks like a stupid prank … then another piece of the puzzle falls into place and suddenly Rex Müller ends up the centre of attention,’ Joona says.

  68

  Rex and Sammy are alone in the large kitchen of Smak restaurant. The wide stainless steel counters have been washed and wiped down. Saucepans, sauté pans, ladles, whisks and knives are all hanging on their hooks.

  Sammy is wearing a baggy sweater. He’s coloured his eyebrows black and is wearing a lot of eyeliner. Rex is wearing a pink rose in his buttonhole, picked from a bouquet that Edith, the pretty journalist, sent him yesterday.

  The restaurant will be changing its menu in two weeks, and Rex has been coming in to test each new element of it before the restaurant opens.

  Absolute precision under extreme time constraints only works if the prep cooks, line cooks and head chef all do their part perfectly. When the kitchen closes for the night, cooks finally discover the bruises, small burns and cuts that they’ve suffered during those hours of intense work.

  Today Rex is preparing a mushroom consommé with pan-fried rye bread, pickled chanterelles and herb oil; asparagus with béarnaise sauce; and medallion steak from the Säby estate. Just before he left the flat, Sammy asked him out of the blue if he could come along.

  While the meat is cooking sous vide, Rex shows Sammy how to slice the small tarragon leaves and whisk together the egg-yolks, veal stock, mustard and tarragon vinegar.

  With a look of concentration, the boy tips an egg-yolk from one half of the shell to the other.

  ‘I didn’t know you were interested in cooking,’ Rex says weakly. ‘I’d have brought you here earlier if I’d known.’

  ‘No worries, Dad.’

  Sammy looks up at him shyly through his long, bleached fringe. He’s drawn a tear at the corner of his eye with eyeliner.

  ‘Well, you’re very good at it,’ Rex says. ‘I wish …’

  He trails off, the words catching in his throat, and remembers that it’s his own fault he knows next to nothing about his own child.

  While Sammy is chopping shallots, Rex makes a consommé of chanterelles, shiitake, celeriac and thyme.

  ‘Some people only filter the stock through layers of cheesecloth,’ he says, looking at his son. ‘But I always use egg-white to pick up any impurities.’

  ‘Aren’t you supposed to be going away soon?’ Sammy asks, putting the knife down.

  ‘I’m meeting a group of investors up in Norrland this weekend … just a bit of schmoozing really, to make them feel special.’

  ‘Does that mean you can’t let them see that your son is gay?’

  ‘I just assumed … if even I’m balking at the idea of a bunch of old men talking shop and hunting reindeer, then I thought that you’d …’

  Rex mimes throwing up over the stove, sink and his shirt.

  ‘OK, I get the idea,’ Sammy smiles.

  ‘But as far as I’m concerned …’

  He breaks off when he hears the swing-door squeak. He thinks his sous-chef is early, but when the kitchen door opens he sees the beautiful Security Police officer, Saga Bauer, with Janus Mickelsen.

  ‘Hello,’ she says, then gestures towards the man by her side. ‘This is my colleague, Janus Mickelsen.’

  ‘We’ve met,’ Rex says.

  ‘Old orders from Verner,’ Janus explains to Saga.

  ‘This is my son, Sammy,’ Rex says.

  ‘Hi,’ Sammy says, holding out his hand.

  ‘Are you a chef too?’ Saga asks in a friendly voice.

  ‘No, it’s … I’m nothing,’ he says, blushing.

  ‘We’d like to talk to your dad for a few minutes,’ Janus says, poking at a lime on the counter.

  ‘Should I go into the restaurant?’ Sammy asks.

  ‘You can stay,’ Rex says.

  ‘Up to you,’ Saga says.

  ‘I’m trying not to have as many secrets,’ Rex says.

  He gently removes the egg-white from the consommé and lowers the heat.

  ‘I saw you talking about the Foreign Minister on television,’ Saga says, leaning against the counter. ‘It was good, very touching …’

  ‘Thanks, it …’

  ‘Even if it was all lies,’ she concludes.

  ‘What do you mean?’ Rex says.

  ‘You pissed on his deck chairs, and—’

  ‘I know,’ he chuckles. ‘That was a little over the top, but we—’

  ‘Just be quiet,’ she says tiredly.

  ‘That was just our way—’

  ‘Shut up.’

  Rex falls silent and looks at her. A tiny muscle below his eye starts to twitch. Sammy can’t help smiling as he looks down at the floor.

  ‘You were going to say that it was just part of your friendship,’ she says quietly. ‘That you shared a wacky sense of humour, played lots of practical jokes … but that isn’t true. You weren’t friends.’

  ‘He was my oldest friend,’ Rex tries, even though he realises there’s no point.

  ‘I know you haven’t seen each other for thirty years.’

  ‘Maybe not regularly,’ he replies weakly.

  ‘Not at all. You haven’t seen each other at all.’

  Rex looks away and sees Janus pick a white cat-hair from the wrist of his leather jacket.

  ‘But you did go to the same boarding school,’ Saga says calmly.

  ‘My dad used to run the Handels Bank. We were wealthy, so I should have fitted in very well at Ludviksberg School.’

  ‘But you didn’t?’

  ‘I became a cook, not a company director,’ Rex replies, lifting the pan from the water-bath.

  ‘What a disappointment,’ she smiles.

  ‘I am, actually, in all sorts of ways.’

  ‘Is that what you think?’

  ‘Sometimes … sometimes not,’ he says honestly, and glances at Sammy. ‘I’m a sober alcoholic, but I’ve had a few relapses. One thing that happens when I’m drunk is that I remember I can’t stand our fancy Foreign Minister because … well, what the hell, he’s dead now. Because he was a bastard when he was alive.’

  Janus flicks his hair from his face and smiles, revealing the laughter lines at the corners of his eyes.

  69

  Rex’s relief at finally telling the truth lasts only a matter of seconds before he starts to feel like he’s been caught in a trap. He slices the rye bread, but can feel that his hands aren’t quite steady, so he carefully puts the knife down on the chopping board. He can’t understand what the Security Police want from him.

  Maybe they knew about the security-camera footage the whole time?

  Did Saga see the blood on the chair when she visited him?

  Rex wonders if he should be cautious, w
hether he should contact a lawyer or just tell them about DJ’s fight with the drunk.

  ‘I thought you wanted to talk about Teddy Johnson’s murder,’ he says after a brief pause.

  ‘Do you know anything about that?’ Janus asks.

  ‘No, but I was there when it happened.’

  ‘We already have a lot of witnesses,’ Janus says, rubbing one of his ears.

  ‘So what is it you really want to talk about?’ Rex asks, clearing his throat.

  ‘I want to know why you called the Foreign Minister a bastard, and why you pissed in his swimming pool,’ Saga replies.

  ‘OK,’ he whispers.

  ‘Sammy, I want you to know that we don’t suspect your dad of any crime,’ she says.

  ‘He’s only my dad on paper,’ Sammy says.

  Rex washes his hands and dries them on a napkin.

  ‘When he was younger, our Foreign Minister was – how should I put it? Wille couldn’t bear the fact that I always got better grades than him. I mean, obviously he got good grades because his family had helped support the school financially for a hundred years, but that wasn’t enough for him … When Wille found out I was going out with a girl, he was determined to sleep with her … just to wreck our relationship, and to show how powerful he was. So that’s what he did.’

  ‘Maybe she wanted to sleep with him?’ Saga suggests.

  ‘I’m sure she did, but I was actually in love with her … and she didn’t mean anything to him.’

  ‘How can you be sure he wasn’t madly in love with your girlfriend?’ Saga says.

  ‘He said so. He called her horrible things – groupie, fuck-bucket …’

  ‘Sounds like a bastard,’ she nods.

  ‘I’m very aware that anyone who gets to go to Ludviksberg School is privileged,’ Rex goes on. ‘But behind the walls, the school was very clearly divided between us nouveau riche kids and the few whose special status had been guaranteed for generations … everyone knew there were special rules, scholarships and clubs just for them.’

  ‘Poor Daddy,’ Sammy says sarcastically.

  ‘Sammy, I was seventeen years old. It’s a sensitive age.’

  ‘I was kidding.’

  ‘I just want to point that out,’ he says, then turns back to Saga again. ‘Anyway … our future Foreign Minister was the chair of a very exclusive club on the school campus. I don’t even know what its real name was, but I remember him calling the place where they met “the Rabbit Hole”. After Grace got in with the gang that hung out there, I knew I didn’t mean anything to her any more. I get that, and of course she didn’t know what they were saying behind her back, she saw them as stars, as school celebrities.’

  He notices that Saga’s face has stiffened slightly, as if something he just said has caught her attention.

  ‘Who else was in this Rabbit Club?’ she asks.

  ‘Only they know that. It was all very secret. I really don’t care.’

  ‘So you don’t know who the other members were?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘This is important,’ Saga says, raising her voice.

  ‘Take it easy,’ Janus whispers, picking up a wine-glass from the shelf.

  ‘I never got close to them,’ Rex replies. ‘I have no idea. I’m just trying to explain why I couldn’t stand the Foreign Minister.’

  ‘But Grace must know who the members were?’ Saga says.

  ‘Of course.’

  Janus Mickelsen drops the glass on the floor. It shatters, spraying splinters of glass across the floor.

  ‘Sorry,’ Janus says, his pale eyebrows now white with agitation. ‘Do you have a dustpan and brush?’

  ‘Don’t worry about it,’ Rex says.

  ‘Sorry,’ Janus repeats, and starts to pick up the biggest pieces of glass.

  ‘Do you know how I can reach Grace?’ Saga asks.

  ‘She was from Chicago …’

  Once Saga and Janus leave, Rex fries some chanterelles and two slices of rye bread in butter, puts them in dishes and pours some of the consommé over them.

  He and Sammy stand side by side at the counter and eat.

  ‘It’s good,’ his son says.

  ‘Take your time, be absolutely honest.’

  ‘I don’t know … it’s just good.’

  ‘I think it might be missing a touch of acidity,’ Rex says. ‘I might try a squeeze of lime tomorrow.’

  ‘Don’t look at me,’ Sammy smiles.

  Rex can’t shake the lingering anxiety from the earlier conversation. Just talking about Grace has made his heart heavy. He remembers that she refused to see him and stopped taking his calls.

  ‘She’s amazing,’ Sammy says, finishing his food.

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Who,’ he laughs.

  ‘Oh, the cop. I know, she’s the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen … with the exception of your mum, obviously.’

  ‘Dad, I can’t believe you climbed into the Foreign Minister’s yard to piss in his swimming pool,’ his son says with a smile.

  ‘I really didn’t like him.’

  ‘Obviously.’

  Rex puts his dish down on the counter.

  ‘I didn’t tell the police everything … I just can’t get dragged into anything right now.’

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘Oh, nothing … I just don’t want them to think that I have anything to do with the Foreign Minister’s death.’

  Sammy raises his eyebrows.

  ‘Why would they think that?’

  ‘Because the truth is that gang at school lured me into the stables one night and beat the shit out of me. I broke several ribs, and they left me with this little reminder,’ Rex says, pointing at the deep scar across the bridge of his nose. ‘Not that bad, maybe, but you know how it feels when your pride’s been hurt … I couldn’t imagine seeing them every day, pretending nothing had happened … so I left the school immediately.’

  ‘It should have been them instead.’

  ‘No chance,’ Rex says with a shrug. ‘They had all the power, and I had no one on my side … The headmaster and the other teachers all protected them.’

  ‘You should tell the police about this,’ Sammy says seriously.

  ‘I can’t,’ Rex replies.

  ‘Come on, Dad, it’ll be fine. You’re a cook, you’re kind. I mean, have you ever done anything, like, really violent in your whole life?’

  ‘It’s not that simple,’ Rex replies.

  Sammy prods the vacuum-packed meat in the water-bath and looks at the temperature and timer.

  ‘The meat’s been in for two hours now,’ he says.

  ‘OK, get the butter, some sprigs of thyme, one clove of garlic, and …’

  The sun passes behind a cloud and grey rain falls lazily against the window facing the yard. The electric lighting is bare and uncompromising. Suddenly Rex imagines he can hear something rustling out in the restaurant, like someone walking on plastic wrap.

  He walks towards the pass, then stops. He gently nudges the door open and listens.

  ‘What is it?’ Sammy asks behind him.

  ‘I don’t know.’

  Rex goes through the swinging door, into the empty dining room. There’s something dreamlike about the restaurant with the rain coursing down the windows, the light rippling on the white linen, cutlery and wine-glasses.

  Rex startles when his phone rings in his back pocket. The caller’s number is withheld but he still answers. The signal is weak and the line crackles in his ear. Through the big windows he can see cars and people with umbrellas walking in the rain. He is about to end the call when he hears a distant child’s voice.

  ‘Ten little rabbits, all dressed in white, tried to get to heaven on the end of a kite …’

  ‘I think you’ve dialled the wrong number,’ Rex says, but the child doesn’t seem to hear him. He keeps chanting the nursery rhyme.

  ‘Nine little rabbits, all dressed in white, tried to get to heaven on the end of a kite. Kite string go
t broken, down they all fell. Instead of going to heaven, they all went to …’

  Rex listens to the rhyme’s countdown before the line goes dead.

  Through the window he sees a child standing under the bridge fifty metres away. Rex watches him turn his back and walk into the dark car park.

  70

  The air feels humid and an oily light is hanging over the fields beside Nynäsvägen. Joona passes a lorry carrying a load of dusty rubble.

  The acting headmaster at Ludviksberg School refused to hand over any lists of students unless Joona could produce a formal request from either a public prosecutor or the lead detective.

  ‘This is a private boarding school,’ the headmaster explained over the phone. ‘And we’re not covered by the freedom of information legislation.’

  The first three victims can be traced back to the school thirty years ago, Joona thinks as he drives towards Ludviksberg School.

  It seems highly likely that future victims will share the same connection.

  Maybe the killer does too.

  The school is the geographic link, Joona thinks.

  But somehow everything has to fit together on a deeper level.

  He needs to find the algorithm, solve the riddle.

  While he drives he listens to a playlist he put together for his daughter, Lumi. Old recordings of Swedish folk music and dance tunes. Fiddles summoning forth the melancholy of summer, the longing of youth and the transformative effect of the bright summer nights.

  He thinks about Summa’s bridal crown of woven roots, and her smile when she stood on the stool to kiss him.

  Joona drives east towards the coast. The narrow road leads him across two bridges and a tunnel.

  He’s driving across Muskö when Saga calls. The music goes quiet and Joona taps the car’s screen and answers.

  ‘I have to talk to you,’ she says without any preamble, and Joona hears her kick-start her motorcycle.

  ‘Are you allowed to?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘I’m not allowed to talk to you either.’

  Joona considers the irony in the fact that he and Saga are trying to solve a series of murders together even though their official tasks are like night and day: she’s supposed to hush everything up; he’s supposed to reveal it.

  The water is silvery and still, and Joona sees a flock of ducks take flight. Saga is saying that Rex had a girlfriend – Grace Lindstrom – who dumped him for William Fock.