Ларс Кеплер - The Rabbit Hunter

He goes over to the bath and sees that it was full of water. The level has sunk, leaving a dirty ring.

Beneath a bathroom cabinet with an open mirrored door lie some pill bottles and plasters. He can see the hallway behind him in the mirror, and when he moves to one side he sees that someone has dragged their hand across the wall in the direction of the kitchen.

He thinks about the rabbits trying to get to heaven on a kite.

The floor creaks under his weight.

Joona reaches the kitchen, steps over a torn packet of flour, and edges along the wall to the right, aiming his pistol at the dining room.

A tub of Kalix whitefish roe, some free-range bacon and a bag of stir-fry vegetables stand in the middle of the island, lit up by sunlight.

The kitchen counter is lined with jars and cereal packets. Most of the wall-mounted cabinets are open.

Joona walks over to the heavy dining room furniture — a dark-wood table and eighteen chairs — and stops at one end.

Beside a half-full coffee cup and a plate with an untouched slice of toast lies the morning paper. The news of Teddy Johnson’s murder outside St Johannes’ Church is all over the front page.

Joona goes upstairs and searches the second bathroom and both bedrooms. In one he finds a half-full suitcase on the unmade double bed. In the other room someone has left underwear and sock drawers open.

Oscar didn’t find out about Teddy Johnson’s death until he sat down to breakfast with the morning paper.

The murder sent him into a blind panic. He started to pack, throwing clothes around, and ended up arguing with his girlfriend.

Oscar was scared.

And he didn’t think there was any time to lose.

Maybe he and his girlfriend left everything behind, maybe they managed to take a few things with them.

The food laid out in the kitchen suggests they were planning to take supplies with them, so they weren’t on their way to the house in France. They were going to a hiding place.

When Saga wakes up, the plane is over Lake Michigan. From three thousand metres up the water looks perfectly smooth and shimmers metallically.

She wipes her mouth and thinks about the short text message she received from Joona, telling her that the Rabbit Hole was a building that burned down during Rex’s senior year.

The fire wasn’t reported to the police, but did have one very unusual repercussion: Oscar von Creutz, a student from a prominent family, was expelled.

Joona went to Oscar’s home, but says Oscar appears to have fled in panic.

The cabin crew repeat their request for passengers to prepare for landing.

Saga pulls her paperback from the seat pocket, tucks it in her bag, then leans back and waits for the plane to land.

Her trip is covered by an agreement between the Security Police and the FBI after the murder of the acting US Defence Secretary in Sweden, and falls within the remit of the Counter Terrorism Group and international legal cooperation.

Even if Saga doesn’t think the murder was committed by a terrorist, she caught the first flight to Chicago.

Now that Joona has convinced her that they’re trying to find a spree killer, there’s no time to lose. The killer’s clearly entered a very active phase, where there are no quiet periods, no rest. And the tempo is only going to get faster and faster.

He’s murdered three people, and is planning to murder another seven.

Ten little rabbits.

Saga thinks about the rhyme, the cut-off rabbits’ ears, and the Rabbit Hole.

Right now the Rabbit Hole is the only lead they have.

Young William, who would go on to become Sweden’s Foreign Minister, was the club’s chair, and Rex lost his girlfriend to him when she became a member.

Maybe Oscar von Creutz was in the club — unless he set fire to the pavilion because he wasn’t allowed to join?

But Grace is the only living member they are certain about.

She was there, and she met the others.

Grace is the key to this, Saga thinks as the wheels touch down.

She unbuckles her seat belt, stands up and walks past the passengers in business class. One of the stewards is about to tell her to sit down, but ends up letting her leave the plane ahead of everyone else.

After passport control Saga jogs past baggage claim, through customs and emerges in the arrivals hall. She pretends not to see the FBI driver waiting for her.

She doesn’t have time to make small talk with the FBI and pretend to be investigating an act of terrorism.

Saga stops at duty-free to buy a small tin of Swedish Dream Cookies, then hurries to the exit.

Grace attended Ludviksberg School when her father, Gus Lindstrom, was posted to the US Embassy in Stockholm as Defence Attaché.

She later moved back to Chicago for her final year of high school, at the school her dad used to attend.

Grace is now a little over fifty years old, has never married, has no registered phone and isn’t active on social media. For the past year she has been living in the exclusive Timberline Knolls Residential Treatment Centre. Saga called and spoke to a receptionist and one of the managers, and asked them to pass on a message to Grace, but she hasn’t heard anything back.

Joona sent a photograph of Grace, a blonde girl with perfect teeth, holding a tiny prize trophy. She has a double string of pearls around her neck, and the clasp sparkles in the flash of the camera.

Saga runs past the row of airport taxis. The warm air is full of the smell of fried food and exhaust fumes.

Saga crosses the road to the car-hire centre. She enters an ice-cold office and rents a yellow Ford Mustang.

Is Grace just a privileged girl who left Rex for the snobs in the exclusive club, the spoiled daughter of an American diplomat who was never happy in Sweden, and who just wanted to get back to her friends in Chicago?

During her last term at Ludviksberg School she was evidently deemed worthy to enter the Rabbit Hole, despite her lack of aristocratic connections.

Saga drives through the Waterfall Glen Forest Preserve, then slows down and turns onto tree-lined Timberline Drive, where she parks in front of the main building.

The air smells like damp forest and freshly mown grass.

Less than half an hour has passed since she left the airport.

In the reception area a woman smiles at her from behind a tall cherry-wood desk with a rack of glossy brochures on it.

In English, Saga explains why she’s there, saying she’s an old friend of the Lindstrom family who’s come all the way from Sweden to visit Grace.

‘I’ll just check her schedule,’ the woman smiles. ‘She’s got art therapy in an hour... and after that there’s yoga.’

‘I won’t be long,’ Saga assures her as she signs herself in.

‘Take a seat, and someone will show you through,’ the woman nods.

Saga sits down and leafs through the brochures, where she reads that Timberline Knolls is a holistic and spiritual rehabilitation centre for women and girls aged twelve and up.

‘Miss?’ a gruff voice says.

A heavyset man in a tight guard’s uniform is staring at her. He’s breathing through his nose and has beads of sweat on his forehead. A club, Taser and a large-calibre revolver hang from the belt beneath his bulging stomach.

‘My name is Mark, and I have the honour of escorting you to the school ball,’ he says.

‘Great,’ she says, without smiling back.

Relatives are walking with residents or sitting on benches in the lush grass.

‘Are any of your patients violent?’ she asks.

‘You can feel perfectly safe with me, miss,’ he says.

‘I couldn’t help noticing your revolver.’

‘Some of our guests are famous, and extremely rich... so I’d ask you not to stare,’ he says, breathing hard.