Ларс Кеплер - The Rabbit Hunter

Sofia lifts her head off the floor. Her cheeks are smeared with tears. All her jewellery has been removed, and her brown hair is plastered to her pale face with sweat.

Saga has experienced waterboarding. It formed part of her advanced training, but she doesn’t consider it particularly effective.

She looks over at a bucket of bloody water with a towel floating in it, and thinks to herself that the only thing torture reveals is the torturer’s own secrets.

Saga gets a bottle of water and helps Sofia drink some, then gives her a piece of chocolate.

‘When can I go home?’ Sofia whispers.

‘I don’t know. We need answers to a few questions first,’ Saga says apologetically.

‘I already told you all I know. I haven’t done anything wrong. I don’t understand why I’m here,’ Sofia sobs.

‘I believe you, but I still need to know what you were doing in that house.’

‘I already told them everything,’ she whimpers.

‘Tell me,’ Saga says gently.

Sofia slowly raises her stiff arms to wipe the tears from her eyes.

‘I work as an escort, and he contacted me,’ she replies in a thin voice.

‘How did he contact you?’

‘I advertise, and he wrote an email explaining what he was interested in.’

The young woman sits up slowly, and accepts another piece of chocolate.

‘You had pepper spray with you. Do you usually have that?’

‘Yes, usually, although most people are pretty kind and considerate... I actually have more trouble with people falling in love with me than people getting violent.’

‘Is there anyone who knows where you’re going, who can come if you need help?’

‘I write the names and addresses in a book... and Tamara, she’s my best friend, she’d already had him as a client and didn’t have any trouble.’

‘What’s Tamara’s last name?’

‘Jensen.’

‘Where does she live?’

‘She moved to Gothenburg.’

‘Do you have a phone number?’

‘Yes, but I don’t know if it works.’

‘Do you have other friends working as escorts?’

‘No.’

Saga takes a few steps back and looks at Sofia. She thinks she’s telling the truth about her work.

There’s nothing that contradicts her story, even though there’s little that backs it up.

‘What do you know about your client?’

‘Nothing. He was just prepared to pay a lot of money to be tied up in bed,’ Sofia replies.

‘And did you tie him to the bed?’

‘Why do you all keep asking the same thing? I don’t get it. I’m not lying. Why would I lie?’

‘Just tell me what really happened, Sofia,’ Saga says, trying to catch her eye.

‘He drugged me and tied me to the bed.’

‘What did the bed look like?’

‘It was big. I don’t remember much about it. Why does that matter?’

‘What did you talk about?’

‘Nothing.’

Forensics have been through her computer, mobile phone and the notebook with the addresses — there’s nothing that suggests Sofia realised her client was Sweden’s Foreign Minister.

Saga looks at the young woman’s drained face. It occurs to her that Sofia could be sticking to her original story a little too well. It’s almost as if she’s avoiding certain details in order not to be found out telling lies.

‘Was there a car parked outside the gate when you arrived?’

‘No.’

‘What did he say on the intercom when you rang the bell?’ Saga asks.

‘I don’t know who he is,’ Sofia says, her voice close to breaking. ‘I get that he’s rich and important, but I don’t know anything about him, just that he said his name was Wille. But it’s normal for men to use fake names.’

Saga knows that if Sofia is part of some radicalised group and sympathises with their goals, she’s not going to confess anything. But if she has been tricked or forced to participate, there’s a chance she might open up.

‘Sofia, I’m listening, if there’s anything you want to tell me... You haven’t murdered anyone, I already know that, and that’s why I think I can help you,’ Saga says. ‘But to be able to do that, I need to know the truth.’

‘Am I being charged with anything?’ Sofia asks blankly.

‘You were present when the Swedish Foreign Minister was murdered, you lay tied up in his bed, you threw a chair to break his window, and you stepped in his blood.’

‘I didn’t know,’ Sofia whispers, and her face turns white.

‘So I need some answers... I understand you might have been tricked or coerced, but I’d like you to tell me what your mission was yesterday evening.’

‘I didn’t have a mission. I don’t know what you mean.’

‘If you’re not prepared to cooperate with me then there’s nothing I can do for you,’ Saga says firmly, and gets up from her chair.

‘Please, don’t go,’ the young woman says desperately. ‘I’ll try to help you, I promise.’

Saga lets Sofia beg her not to leave as she walks over to the door.

‘If anyone’s threatening you or your family, we can help,’ Saga says, opening the door. ‘We can organise a safe-house, new identities, you’d be all right.’

‘I don’t understand, I... Who’s threatening us? Why would...? This is crazy.’

Saga wonders once again if Sofia really was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time. But that still begs the question: why would a professional killer leave a witness behind?

If she really is a witness, she must have seen something that could help the investigation. When she was questioned before, she wasn’t able to give a description of the killer. She just kept repeating that his face was hidden, that the whole thing happened so quickly.

Saga needs her to start remembering genuine details. The tiniest thing could open up memories she’s blocked out due to shock.

‘You saw the murderer,’ Saga says, turning around.

‘But he was wearing a hood. I already said that.’

‘What colour were his eyes?’ she asks, closing the door again.

‘I don’t know.’

‘What was his nose like?’

Sofia shakes her head, and a crack in her lip starts to bleed.

‘The Foreign Minister was shot. You turned around and saw the killer standing there with the gun in his hand.’

‘I just wanted to get away. I started to run but I fell, and then I found that alarm, which...’

‘You need to tell me what the perpetrator looked like when you turned around,’ Saga says.

‘He was holding the pistol with both hands.’

‘Like this?’ Saga asks, demonstrating a two-handed grip.

‘Yes. He was staring straight ahead, past me... He didn’t care that I was there. I don’t even know if he saw me. Everything happened in a matter of seconds. He was behind me, but he ran past and grabbed hold of...’

She stops speaking and frowns, staring ahead of her as if seeing events unfold in her mind’s eye.

‘He grabbed him by his hair?’ Saga asks gently.

‘Wille fell to his knees after the second shot... The murderer was holding him by his hair, and he pressed the pistol against one of his eyes. It was all so unreal.’

‘He was bleeding a lot, wasn’t he?’

‘Yes.’

‘Was he scared?’ Saga asks.

‘He seemed terrified,’ Sofia whispers. ‘He was trying to buy time, saying the whole thing was a mistake. He had blood in his throat and it was hard to hear, but he was trying to say it was a mistake, that he should let him live.’

‘What were his exact words?’

‘He said... “You think you know everything, but you don’t... ” and then the murderer said... really calmly, that... that “Ratjen opened the door”. No, hold on, he said: “Ratjen opened the door”... and “hell will devour you all”, that’s what he said.’