Ларс Кеплер - The Rabbit Hunter

‘Yes,’ she whispers, switching the television off.

He waits a moment before sitting down beside her. He is aware that sudden movements or sharp noises can trigger post-traumatic stress which would make her clam up. He saw her tremble when the agent locked the door: perhaps the metallic sound reminded her of the noise of a spent bullet.

‘I don’t have the authority to get you released,’ he explains frankly. ‘But I’d still like you to help me. I need you to make more of an effort than ever to remember the things I ask you about.’

He can feel her trying to read him, her survival instinct attempting to break through the shock.

Very slowly he pulls out the two composite sketches that have been produced using her description.

In one of them the balaclava covers the murderer’s head so that only his eyes and mouth are visible.

In the other they’ve attempted to imagine his face without the mask — but the lack of detail makes it look like the face is still covered.

There’s nothing particularly distinctive about the killer’s features. His eyes are maybe strangely calm, his nose more prominent than usual. His mouth is almost white, and his jaw is fairly broad, but he has an unremarkable chin.

He has no beard or moustache in the sketch, but from the colour of his eyebrows they have chosen to give him mousy-blond hair, in a nondescript cut.

‘They tried a longer nose and I said “I don’t know”,’ she explains. ‘They made it shorter and I said “Maybe, I don’t know”, they made it thinner and I said “I don’t know”, they made it wider and I said “Maybe”... In the end they got annoyed and decided it was good enough.’

‘It looks good,’ Joona said.

‘Maybe I just feel unsure about everything because they kept questioning my memory the whole time. He was black for a while, but I hadn’t said anything like that. Maybe they were trying to get me to remember other things, like the colour of his eyes and eyebrows.’

‘They understand how people remember faces,’ Joona nods.

‘He had long hair for a while, with straggly bits around his cheeks,’ she says with a frown. ‘It suddenly popped into my head that I’d seen that, but I knew he’d kept the balaclava on the whole time, so it couldn’t be true, I couldn’t have seen his hair.’

‘What do you think you saw?’ he asks gently.

‘What?’

‘If it wasn’t hair?’

‘I don’t know. I mean, I was lying on the floor at the time... but there was something hanging down his cheeks, like strips of fabric.’

‘You don’t think it could still have been hair?’

‘No, it was thicker, more like leather, maybe.’

‘How long were the strips?’

‘This long,’ she says, putting one hand to her shoulder.

‘Can you draw them on this picture?’

She takes the sketch of the masked face and she adds what she saw hanging down beside his face with a trembling hand.

At first it looks like big feathers or quills, but then it starts to resemble matted hair. The point of her pen makes holes in the paper.

‘Oh, I don’t know,’ she says, pushing the picture away.

‘Did the Foreign Minister say anything about a man with two faces?’

‘What?’

‘It could have been a metaphor,’ Joona says, looking at the picture.

‘Doesn’t everyone have two faces, then?’

Sofia sits still with her eyes downcast, eyelashes quivering. Joona is struck by the fact that she seems to remember everything as if she’s watching herself from outside of her body.

‘Do you think the killer was a terrorist?’ he asks after a pause.

‘Why are you asking me? I don’t know.’

‘What do you think?’

‘It felt personal... but maybe it is to terrorists.’

First she witnesses the two shots from a distance, then the killer starts to move. She tries to escape and slips on the blood.

‘You fall, and end up lying on the floor,’ Joona says, showing her a photograph of the bloodstained kitchen that was taken from her perspective.

‘Yes,’ she says quietly and looks away.

‘The Foreign Minister is on his knees, bleeding from the two shots to his torso. The killer is holding him by his hair, and presses the barrel of the pistol to his eye.’

‘His right eye,’ she whispers, her face impassive.

‘You mentioned the conversation between them — but what happened after that?’

‘I don’t know. Nothing. He shot him.’

‘But that didn’t happen right away, did it?’

‘Didn’t it?’ she asks meekly.

‘No,’ Joona replies, and sees the little hairs on her arms stand up.

‘I hit my head on the floor. Everything seemed to be happening very slowly,’ she says, getting up from the sofa.

‘What happened?’

‘It was like time stopped, and just... No, I don’t know.’

‘What were you going to say?’

‘Nothing,’ she replies.

‘Nothing? We’re talking about a ten-minute span,’ he says.

‘Ten minutes.’

‘What happened?’ Joona persists.

‘I don’t know,’ she says, scratching one arm.

‘Did he film the Foreign Minister?’

‘No, he didn’t — what are you talking about?’ Sofia groans, then walks over to the door and knocks on it.

‘Did he communicate with anyone?’

‘I can’t do any more of this,’ she whispers.

‘Yes, you can, Sofia.’

She turns back towards him, and her face is distraught, desperate.

‘Can I?’ she asks.

‘Did he communicate with anyone?’

‘No.’

‘Did it look like he was praying?’ Joona asks.

‘No,’ she says, wiping tears from her cheeks.

‘Could he have forced the Foreign Minister to say something?’

‘They were both silent,’ she replies.

‘The whole time?’

‘Yes.’

‘You lay there looking at them, Sofia. Did the killer really not do anything?’ Joona asks. ‘I mean, did he seem frightened, was he trembling?’

‘He seemed calm,’ she replies, wiping her eyes again.

‘Could he have been fighting an internal battle... Maybe he wasn’t sure if he should kill him or not?’

‘He didn’t hesitate, it wasn’t that... I think he just liked standing there. The minister was breathing really fast the whole time. He was on the verge of losing consciousness, but the murderer never let go of his hair. He just kept looking at him.’

‘What made him shoot?’

‘I don’t know... after a while he just let go of his hair but kept the pistol pressed against his eye... then suddenly there was a bang, but not from the pistol, that just made a rattling sound... The noise came from the back of his head, I think? When his skull exploded?’

‘Sofia,’ Joona says gently. ‘I’m going to take my pistol out in a moment. It isn’t loaded. It isn’t dangerous at all, but we need to look at it to figure out the last details.’

‘OK,’ she says, her lips turning white.

‘Don’t be scared.’

Slowly he loosens his Sig Sauer from its holster, takes it out and puts it down on the table.

He notices that she has trouble even looking at the pistol, the veins in her neck are throbbing.

‘I know it’s hard,’ Joona says quietly. ‘But I’d like us to talk about how he was holding the gun. I know you can remember because you said the killer was holding the pistol with both hands.’

‘Yes.’

‘Which hand did he use for support?’

‘How do you mean?’

‘One hand holds the pistol, finger on the trigger, and the other hand is used to support it,’ he explains.

‘He used... his left hand for support,’ she replies, and tries to smile at him before lowering her gaze again.