The Rabbit Hunter - Ларс Кеплер

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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.’

       11

      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.’

      ‘Ratjen?’

      ‘Yes.’

      ‘Could it have been any other name?’

      ‘No … well … I mean, that’s what it sounded like.’

      ‘Did it seem like the Foreign Minister knew who Ratjen was?’

      ‘No,’ Sofia replies, closing her eyes.

      ‘Come on, what else did he say?’ Saga asks.

      ‘Nothing. I didn’t hear anything else.’

      ‘What did he mean about Ratjen opening the door?’

      ‘I don’t know.’

      ‘Is Ratjen the one doing this? Is he responsible for unleashing hell?’ Saga asks loudly.

      ‘Please …’

      ‘What do you think?’ Saga asks.

      ‘I don’t know,’ Sofia replies, and wipes tears from her cheeks.

      Saga walks quickly towards the door. She hears Sofia calling after her.

       12

      The driver’s face is immobile as he glances in the rear-view mirror to check that the vehicle behind him is still following closely.

      The sound of the engine runs through the Prime Minister’s custom-made Volvo like a comforting purr.

      A year ago the Security Police decided that the Swedish Prime Minister needed an armoured, reinforced vehicle. It has twelve cylinders and 453 horsepower, and can do one hundred kilometres an hour in reverse. Its windows are designed to stop bullets from high-velocity weapons.

      The Prime Minister is sitting on the spacious leather seat in the back of the car with the finger and thumb of his left hand gently massaging his closed eyelids. His dark-blue suit is unbuttoned, and his red tie hangs crookedly across the front of his shirt.

      Saga sits beside him, still in her leather bodysuit. She hasn’t had time to change, and she’s hot. She feels like unzipping the bodysuit down to her waist, but

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