Ларс Кеплер - The Rabbit Hunter

But morally it’s really no worse than meeting someone in a bar and ending up in bed with them, no worse than a silly sexual fantasy, a meaningless fuck.

She’s asked herself if she subconsciously did it to punish her prudish ex-husband, who was even worried about her masturbating, or her sister, who was so reckless and promiscuous as a teenager but who is now the perfect little wife.

In truth, she thinks she needed to do it for her own sake, to redefine her view of herself. She did it because it was possible, and because the transgressive act just happened to turn her on at the time.

Ever since then she has been expecting to start feeling bad, to be punished somehow, but it wasn’t until yesterday that her anxieties caught up with her.

The day before yesterday she had a physical at work, as she does every year. They run blood pressure, blood samples, ECG, TSH — then twenty-four hours later she can log in and check her results.

The doctor would only comment if any of the results was abnormal.

Jeanette hadn’t actually thought about it until then, but she suddenly found herself panicking. When she was sitting in front of her computer about to log in, she felt utterly terrified that she might have been infected with HIV.

Her ears were roaring.

The list of results on the screen was incomprehensible.

When she saw that the medical officer had written a comment, her field of vision contracted with fear.

She’d gone to the bathroom to rinse her face with cold water before she could return to the screen.

There was nothing about HIV.

The only comment the doctor had made was that the hCG levels in her blood indicated that she was pregnant.

It still hasn’t properly sunk in.

She spent eight years waiting for her husband to get around to thinking about having children, and then he walked out on her. After a long series of failed dates she decided to apply for artificial insemination. Two weeks ago she received a final refusal from the health service, and now she’s pregnant.

Jeanette is still smiling when she gets the call from inside the house.

Jeanette adjusts the pistol at the small of her back as she walks up to the battered house. The younger of the two police officers opens it before she has time to ring the bell and ushers her into the hall.

‘Sammy isn’t here. It’s just his phone,’ he says.

Jeanette steps over a pair of split boots and follows the officer along the hallway. There are framed canvases leaning against the wall, and a roll of blank canvas lying on the floor.

The kitchen smells like cat food and urine. The sink is full of dirty dishes and the linoleum floor is cluttered with bags of wine bottles.

From a hook in the ceiling hangs something that’s evidently supposed to be a piece of art: a dozen tiny children’s shoes in a red mesh cage.

A young woman wearing nothing but a pair of lilac tracksuit bottoms is sitting on one of the chairs. Both of her nipples are pierced and she has a tattoo of a greyish-black sun over her navel.

She has dark rings under her eyes, a red rash on her forehead, and one of her wrists is in a cast.

On the floor in front of her lies a man on his stomach with his arms cuffed behind his back.

‘Can we lose the handcuffs?’ Jeanette asks.

One of the officers leans over the prone man:

‘Are you going to stay calm now?’

‘For fuck’s sake, yes,’ the man on the floor groans. ‘I already said so.’

The officer crouches down, rests one knee on the small of his back and removes the cuffs.

‘Sit down,’ Jeanette says.

The man gets up from the floor and rubs his wrists. He’s bare-chested as well, and skinny. He’s dressed in a pair of low-cut jeans, and his dark pubic hair is visible over the top of them. His face is attractive, but prematurely aged. He looks at her blankly, as if he has a bad hangover.

‘Sit down,’ she repeats.

‘What the fuck’s your problem?’ he asks, but sits down across from her.

There’s a black smartphone in the middle of the table.

‘Is that Sammy’s phone?’ Jeanette asks.

The man looks at the phone as if he’s just noticed it.

‘I don’t know,’ he says.

‘What’s it doing here?’

‘He must have forgotten it.’

‘When?’

The man shrugs and pretends to think.

‘Yesterday.’

The man, whose name is Nicolas Barowski, smiles to himself and scratches his stomach.

‘What’s the code?’ Jeanette asks after a pause.

‘Don’t know,’ he says.

Jeanette looks up at the cage of children’s shoes hanging from the ceiling.

‘You’re an artist?’

‘Yes,’ he replies curtly.

‘Is he any good?’ she asks the girl as a joke.

‘He’s the real deal,’ she replies, raising her chin.

‘Who gives a shit... I don’t see any difference between my art and Czech porn about group sex,’ Nico says seriously.

‘I know what you mean,’ Jeanette replies.

‘I’d rather be in a bunch of porn than paint with oils,’ he says, and leans towards her.

‘Does that shock you?’ the girl says, giggling.

‘Should it?’ Jeanette says.

‘Art isn’t nice,’ Nico goes on. ‘It’s dirty, perverse—’

‘No, now you’re going too far,’ Jeanette interrupts with feigned concern.

Nico smiles broadly, nods, and holds her gaze in a flirtatious way.

‘Where’s Sammy now?’ she asks.

‘I don’t know, and I don’t care,’ he replies without looking away.

‘He’s more in love with Sammy than he is with me,’ the girl says, brushing something from one of her nipples.

Jeanette walks over to an iPhone plugged in on the floor. She unplugs it, looks at the picture of Andy Warhol on the case, and turns to Nico.

‘What’s your code?’

‘That’s private,’ he replies, scratching his crotch.

‘Then I’ll ask Apple for help,’ she jokes.

‘Ziggy,’ he replies, not understanding the joke.

He sits slumped with one hand between his legs and looks at her as she unlocks his phone and checks the log. The most recent text is from Rex’s phone.

‘Rex Müller sent you fourteen hearts this morning?’

‘No,’ he grins.

‘Did Rex call you yesterday?’

‘No,’ Nico says, and looks at his nails.

‘So Sammy called you from his dad’s phone,’ Jeanette says. ‘What did he say? You talked for six minutes.’

Nico lets out a deep sigh.

‘He was upset... about lots of things, and he said he had to go on a trip with his dad.’

‘Where?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘He must have said,’ Jeanette persists, searching the kitchen cabinets for a clean glass.

‘No.’

‘Was he upset because you stole his phone?’

Nico squirms and scratches his forehead.

‘That too... but he said his dad was trying to turn him straight by making him shoot reindeer in a cage.’

‘They were going hunting together?’

‘I don’t know,’ Nico says wearily.

‘Do they do that often? Go hunting together?’

‘They don’t know each other. His dad’s an idiot, he’s never given a damn about him.’

Jeanette tips the cigarette butts out of a glass and cleans it.

‘What else did he say?’ she asks.

Nico leans back in his chair, purses his lips and looks at her.

‘Nothing, just the usual,’ he replies. ‘He said he missed me, that he was thinking about me all the time.’

She puts her finger under the tap, then fills the glass and drinks, fills it again, and turns the tap off.

‘You can stay and watch while I have sex with Filippa,’ he says softly, touching the girl’s left breast.

‘I’m afraid I don’t have time right now,’ Jeanette smiles, then picks Sammy’s mobile phone up and walks out.