‘Maybe not regularly,’ he replies weakly.
‘Not at all. You haven’t seen each other at all.’
Rex looks away and sees Janus pick a white cat-hair from the wrist of his leather jacket.
‘But you did go to the same boarding school,’ Saga says calmly.
‘My dad used to run the Handels Bank. We were wealthy, so I should have fitted in very well at Ludviksberg School.’
‘But you didn’t?’
‘I became a cook, not a company director,’ Rex replies, lifting the pan from the water-bath.
‘What a disappointment,’ she smiles.
‘I am, actually, in all sorts of ways.’
‘Is that what you think?’
‘Sometimes … sometimes not,’ he says honestly, and glances at Sammy. ‘I’m a sober alcoholic, but I’ve had a few relapses. One thing that happens when I’m drunk is that I remember I can’t stand our fancy Foreign Minister because … well, what the hell, he’s dead now. Because he was a bastard when he was alive.’
Janus flicks his hair from his face and smiles, revealing the laughter lines at the corners of his eyes.
69
Rex’s relief at finally telling the truth lasts only a matter of seconds before he starts to feel like he’s been caught in a trap. He slices the rye bread, but can feel that his hands aren’t quite steady, so he carefully puts the knife down on the chopping board. He can’t understand what the Security Police want from him.
Maybe they knew about the security-camera footage the whole time?
Did Saga see the blood on the chair when she visited him?
Rex wonders if he should be cautious, whether he should contact a lawyer or just tell them about DJ’s fight with the drunk.
‘I thought you wanted to talk about Teddy Johnson’s murder,’ he says after a brief pause.
‘Do you know anything about that?’ Janus asks.
‘No, but I was there when it happened.’
‘We already have a lot of witnesses,’ Janus says, rubbing one of his ears.
‘So what is it you really want to talk about?’ Rex asks, clearing his throat.
‘I want to know why you called the Foreign Minister a bastard, and why you pissed in his swimming pool,’ Saga replies.
‘OK,’ he whispers.
‘Sammy, I want you to know that we don’t suspect your dad of any crime,’ she says.
‘He’s only my dad on paper,’ Sammy says.
Rex washes his hands and dries them on a napkin.
‘When he was younger, our Foreign Minister was – how should I put it? Wille couldn’t bear the fact that I always got better grades than him. I mean, obviously he got good grades because his family had helped support the school financially for a hundred years, but that wasn’t enough for him … When Wille found out I was going out with a girl, he was determined to sleep with her … just to wreck our relationship, and to show how powerful he was. So that’s what he did.’
‘Maybe she wanted to sleep with him?’ Saga suggests.
‘I’m sure she did, but I was actually in love with her … and she didn’t mean anything to him.’
‘How can you be sure he wasn’t madly in love with your girlfriend?’ Saga says.
‘He said so. He called her horrible things – groupie, fuck-bucket …’
‘Sounds like a bastard,’ she nods.
‘I’m very aware that anyone who gets to go to Ludviksberg School is privileged,’ Rex goes on. ‘But behind the walls, the school was very clearly divided between us nouveau riche kids and the few whose special status had been guaranteed for generations … everyone knew there were special rules, scholarships and clubs just for them.’
‘Poor Daddy,’ Sammy says sarcastically.
‘Sammy, I was seventeen years old. It’s a sensitive age.’
‘I was kidding.’
‘I just want to point that out,’ he says, then turns back to Saga again. ‘Anyway … our future Foreign Minister was the chair of a very exclusive club on the school campus. I don’t even know what its real name was, but I remember him calling the place where they met “the Rabbit Hole”. After Grace got in with the gang that hung out there, I knew I didn’t mean anything to her any more. I get that, and of course she didn’t know what they were saying behind her back, she saw them as stars, as school celebrities.’
He notices that Saga’s face has stiffened slightly, as if something he just said has caught her attention.
‘Who else was in this Rabbit Club?’ she asks.
‘Only they know that. It was all very secret. I really don’t care.’
‘So you don’t know who the other members were?’
‘No.’
‘This is important,’ Saga says, raising her voice.
‘Take it easy,’ Janus whispers, picking up a wine-glass from the shelf.
‘I never got close to them,’ Rex replies. ‘I have no idea. I’m just trying to explain why I couldn’t stand the Foreign Minister.’
‘But Grace must know who the members were?’ Saga says.
‘Of course.’
Janus Mickelsen drops the glass on the floor. It shatters, spraying splinters of glass across the floor.
‘Sorry,’ Janus says, his pale eyebrows now white with agitation. ‘Do you have a dustpan and brush?’
‘Don’t worry about it,’ Rex says.
‘Sorry,’ Janus repeats, and starts to pick up the biggest pieces of glass.
‘Do you know how I can reach Grace?’ Saga asks.
‘She was from Chicago …’
Once Saga and Janus leave, Rex fries some chanterelles and two slices of rye bread in butter, puts them in dishes and pours some of the consommé over them.
He and Sammy stand side by side at the counter and eat.
‘It’s good,’ his son says.
‘Take your time, be absolutely honest.’
‘I don’t know … it’s just good.’
‘I think it might be missing a touch of acidity,’ Rex says. ‘I might try a squeeze of lime tomorrow.’
‘Don’t look at me,’ Sammy smiles.
Rex can’t shake the lingering anxiety from the earlier conversation. Just talking about Grace has made his heart heavy. He remembers that she refused to see him and stopped taking his calls.
‘She’s amazing,’ Sammy says, finishing his food.
‘Who?’
‘Who,’ he laughs.
‘Oh, the cop. I know, she’s the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen … with the exception of your mum, obviously.’
‘Dad, I can’t believe you climbed into the Foreign Minister’s yard to piss in his swimming pool,’ his son says with a smile.
‘I really didn’t like him.’
‘Obviously.’
Rex puts his dish down on the counter.
‘I didn’t tell the police everything … I just can’t get dragged into anything right now.’
‘What is it?’
‘Oh, nothing … I just don’t want them to think that I have anything to do with the Foreign Minister’s death.’
Sammy raises his eyebrows.
‘Why would they think that?’
‘Because the truth is that gang at school lured me into the stables one night and beat the shit out of me. I broke several ribs, and they left me with this little reminder,’ Rex says, pointing at the deep scar across the bridge of his nose. ‘Not that bad, maybe, but you know how it feels when your pride’s been hurt … I couldn’t imagine seeing them every day, pretending nothing had happened … so I left the school immediately.’
‘It should have been them instead.’
‘No chance,’ Rex says with a shrug. ‘They had all the power, and I had no one on my side … The headmaster and the other teachers all protected them.’
‘You should tell the police about this,’ Sammy says seriously.
‘I can’t,’ Rex replies.
‘Come on, Dad, it’ll be fine. You’re a cook, you’re kind. I mean, have you ever done anything, like, really violent in your whole life?’
‘It’s not that simple,’ Rex replies.
Sammy prods the vacuum-packed meat in the water-bath and looks at the temperature and timer.
‘The meat’s been in for two hours now,’ he says.
‘OK, get the butter, some sprigs of thyme, one clove of garlic, and …’
The sun passes behind a cloud and grey rain falls lazily against the window facing the yard. The electric lighting is bare and uncompromising. Suddenly Rex imagines he can hear something rustling out in the restaurant, like someone walking on plastic wrap.