Ларс Кеплер - The Rabbit Hunter

‘I’m not staring.’

‘And if you run over and try to get a selfie with Kesha, I’ll put six million volts through your sweet ass.’

The guard rocks as he walks, and wipes sweat from his face with an unbleached paper towel.

‘Tough talk,’ Saga mutters.

‘Yes, but if you’re nice to me, I’ll be nice to you.’

They pass a large structure with white pillars and a sign saying ‘Timberline Academy’, then a stone building being used as a painting studio.

Mark is out of breath by the time he ushers her into a modern building. He leads her past a dayroom with leaded windows looking out on the park, into a hallway with pale blue walls.

‘Call reception when you want to be picked up,’ he says, then knocks gently on a door and nods at Saga to go inside.

Saga walks into the small room, which contains a bed, a chest of drawers and an armchair. A few beads of clay are lying on the floor next to a potted palm. A thin woman is sitting by the window looking out onto the path, picking at the grey rubber seal between the glass and the frame.

‘Grace?’ Saga says gently, and waits for her to turn around. ‘My name is Saga Bauer, and I’m from Sweden.’

‘I’m not well,’ the woman says in a weak voice.

‘Do you like cookies? I bought some at the airport.’

Grace turns towards Saga and brushes one cheek nervously. The years have left their mark on Grace, rubbing away all trace of the young girl and leaving a prematurely aged woman.

Her grey hair is gathered in a limp plait over her thin shoulder, her face is sunken and wrinkled, and she has a lifeless prosthetic eye in one eye-socket.

‘We have a coffee machine in the cafeteria,’ she says weakly.

They set out small plates and cups on the little round table by the sofas and sit down across from each other. Saga offers her the plate of cookies, and she says thank you as she puts one on her plate.

‘There are lots of people of Swedish descent in Chicago,’ Grace says, plucking her grey cardigan. ‘Most of them ended up in Andersonville. I read that for a while there were more Swedes here than in Gothenburg. My dad’s grandmother Selma came from Halland... she arrived in May 1912, and became a housemaid.’

‘And you’ve managed to hold onto the language,’ Saga says, to keep her talking.

‘Dad travelled to Sweden a lot... eventually he ended up as Defence Attaché in Stockholm,’ Grace says with a hint of pride.

‘Defence Attaché,’ Saga repeats.

‘There’s a lot of history and tradition... Did you know that the first diplomatic relations between the US and Sweden were established by Benjamin Franklin?’

‘I didn’t know that.’

‘Dad was very loyal to the ambassador,’ Grace says, putting her cup down.

‘You lived in Sweden?’

‘I loved those light nights...’

The sleeve of her cardigan slips down as she gestures towards the ceiling, and Saga sees that her arm is lined with scars.

‘You attended school outside Stockholm.’

‘The best there was.’

She falls silent and lets her thin hands drop to her lap. Saga remembers that Grace’s father stayed in Sweden, even after his daughter moved back to Chicago.

‘But you moved back here after just two years?’ she says curiously.

Grace, startled, glances up at her.

‘Did I? Maybe I was homesick...’

‘Even though your parents stayed in Sweden?’

‘Dad had just started his post.’

‘But before you moved home again, you belonged to a club at Ludviksberg School,’ Saga says calmly. ‘You used to meet in a pavilion known at the Rabbit Hole.’

Grace’s face trembles.

‘That was just a silly name,’ she mutters.

‘But it was a fancy club... for students from the very best families,’ Saga says tentatively.

‘Now I know what you’re getting at... I had a boyfriend who took me to the Order of the Crusebjörn Knights... that was its real name. I was only eighteen, a real idiot... a good girl from Chicago who used to go to the Swedish Lutheran Church every Sunday. I never dreamed I would ever date anyone before I got to Sweden...’

Her breathing has become oddly shallow, and she fumbles in her pocket for her medication. She ends up scattering the pills on the floor.

‘So you know who the members were?’

‘They were like film stars... Just being there and having them notice me made me feel like Cinderella.’

Grace takes the pills that Saga has picked up, thanks her and swallows one of them dry.

‘What was your boyfriend’s name?’

‘Boyfriend isn’t really the right word... but it was all so long ago,’ she concludes.

‘You don’t look happy.’

‘No,’ Grace whispers, then sits silently again.

‘Not all boyfriends are nice,’ Saga says, trying to catch her eye.

‘By the time I realised he’d put something in my drink, it was already too late, I felt sick, tried to get to the door... I remember them staring at me... the room was spinning... I tried to say I wanted to go home...’

Grace puts her hand over her mouth.

‘They hurt you,’ Saga says quietly, trying to sound calm.

Grace lowers her shaking hand.

‘I don’t know, I was lying on the floor,’ she says in a monotone. ‘I couldn’t move. They held my arms and legs while Wille raped me... I kept thinking about Mum and Dad, and what on earth I was going to say to them.’

‘I’m so sorry,’ Saga says, and squeezes her hand.

‘But I never said anything, I couldn’t tell anyone that they did that to me... The whole club was lined up, pushing and shoving. I couldn’t understand why they were so angry at me, they kept shouting and slapping my face.’

She picks at the biscuit crumbs on the table.

‘Tell me what you remember,’ Saga says.

‘I remember... I remember it started to hurt really badly. It was wrong. I was seriously hurt... but they just kept going, grunting and groaning, kissing me on the neck, groping me...’

Her voice fades away, and she’s breathing hard.

‘They changed places and I saw blood on their hands... I begged and pleaded with them to call an ambulance... When I wouldn’t stop crying they hit me in the face with an ashtray, then they broke a bottle...’

She hunches over, panting for breath.

‘The last thing I remember is Wille pushing his thumb into my eye... I thought I was going to die. I should have died, but I only passed out...’

She’s sobbing hard now, her shoulders shaking. Saga says nothing, just holds her tight and lets her finish her story.

‘I woke up on the manure pile behind the stables, that was where they dumped me. The man who looked after the horses found me. He was the one who took me to the hospital.’

Saga holds her until she’s calmed down.

‘Do you remember their names?’

Grace wipes the tears from her face and looks down at her hands.

‘Teddy Johnson, and... what was his name? Kent... and Lawrence. Hold on,’ she whispers, and shakes her head. ‘I know all their names.’

‘You said Wille before,’ Saga prompts. ‘He went on to become Sweden’s Foreign Minister.’

‘Yes...’

‘He was your boyfriend, wasn’t he?’ Saga asks.

‘What? No, my boyfriend’s name was Rex... I was so in love with him.’

‘Rex Müller?’ Saga asks. She feels sweat break out on her back.

‘He was the one who arranged it all,’ Grace says. ‘He was the worst one. It was all his fault... oh, God... he tricked me into going into the Rabbit Hole, and...’

She stops speaking abruptly, as if she’s run out of voice. Saga looks at the fragile woman. She needs to call Joona as soon as possible.

‘Did Rex take part in the rape?’ she asks.