Ludviksberg School had no records of who had access to the Rabbit Hole.
School management was used to handling certain families’ privileges with discretion.
The members themselves were the only people who knew who belonged to the club.
William Fock had flaunted his membership to prove how powerful he was to Rex.
Anja is a short distance away, waiting by the lifts. She’s wearing a bright yellow dress that clings to her full figure.
Her strong shoulders betray the fact that she was once an Olympic medallist in swimming. Now she works for the NOU, and before Joona was sent to prison, she was his closest colleague.
The lift dings just as Joona reaches Anja. They walk in at the same time, look at each other and smile.
‘Fifth floor?’ Joona asks, and presses the button.
‘You’re supposed to spend a few more years in Kumla,’ Anja mumbles, squinting at him.
‘Maybe.’
‘Seems to have done you good though. You look more handsome than ever,’ she says, hugging him tight.
‘I’ve missed you,’ he whispers to her head.
‘Liar,’ she smiles.
They stand there embracing until the doors open on the fifth floor. Anja reluctantly lets go of him and dabs at the corners of her eyes as they head down the hallway.
‘How’s Gustav doing?’
‘He’s going to be OK,’ she says, trying to make her voice sound bright.
They pass a glass wall leading to an unmanned reception desk and a waiting room.
Gustav’s room is further away, but before they reach it Anja stops.
‘I’ll go and get some coffee, I think he’d like to speak to you alone,’ she says in a subdued voice.
‘OK,’ Joona replies.
‘Be nice to him,’ she says, then disappears.
Joona knocks on the door and goes in. The room is small, with cream walls and a narrow pale wooden wardrobe.
There’s a large bouquet of flowers in front of the window.
Gustav is lying in a hospital bed with a blanket over his legs. He’s hooked up to an IV. The bandage from the amputation covers his whole chest.
‘How are you doing?’ Joona asks, sitting down on the chair beside the bed.
‘I’m fine,’ Gustav says, looking at Joona.
He gestures towards the stump at his shoulder.
‘I’m a little high all the time, because they’re pumping me full of drugs, and it seems like all I do is sleep,’ he says, almost managing to squeeze out a smile.
‘Did Anja bring the flowers?’
‘They’re actually from Janus. I hope he’s not in trouble, because he’s OK. He’s a good leader, a good marksman, and, like you said, he can’t let anything go.’
His usually amiable face is clenched and pale, his lips almost white.
‘Joona, I’ve thought a lot about what I’d say to you when I got the chance … and the only thing I keep coming back to is that I’m ashamed … and I’m so incredibly sorry. I know I’m not supposed to talk about this, but I have to tell you that the operation was a disaster. I still can’t understand it. I lost Sonny and Jamal. I lost the helicopter. I lost Markus, and …’
His eyes glaze over and he shakes his head and whispers: ‘Sorry.’
‘You can’t predict how anything will unfold, no one can,’ Joona says quietly. ‘You do your best, but sometimes things still go wrong. You paid a high price.’
‘I was lucky,’ Gustav says. ‘But the others …’
His words fade away and he closes his eyes, seeming to disappear into thought. Slowly his head slips towards his chest, and Joona realises that he’s asleep.
When Joona comes out into the hallway, Anja is standing outside the door eating cinnamon buns. He hands her the bag containing the yearbooks from Ludviksberg School and asks her to check all the names against the databases to see if any of them have a criminal record, are missing, or have died.
‘I’m just going to say hi to Gustav,’ she says.
‘Did you find out anything about Oscar von Creutz?’
‘I should get a response any minute now,’ she says, offering him the bag of buns.
When he puts his hand in she grabs it, and laughs a bit too loudly when he tries to pull free. Then her phone buzzes.
‘OK,’ she says. ‘Oscar von Creutz’s registered address is on ?sterl?ng Street … and he also has a house on the French Riviera. He’s single, but he’s seeing someone, a Caroline Hamilton, who in my opinion is far too young for him. Neither of them are answering their phones.’
The beautiful nineteenth-century building reaches high above the buildings around it.
Oscar von Creutz hasn’t been at work all day, and his girlfriend Caroline hasn’t showed up for any of her classes at school.
Joona rings the doorbell for the penthouse flat, waits a few seconds, then looks through the letterbox and sees post on the hall floor.
He tugs the handle and can feel that the door hasn’t been double-locked.
The sun is shining through the stained glass window in the stairwell.
Joona inserts his lock-pick, nudges it carefully, unlocking cylinder after cylinder, then twists it and hears the mechanism click.
The door to Oscar von Creutz’s flat swings open and letters and advertisements spill out onto the landing.
‘Police!’ Joona shouts. ‘I’m coming in!’
Drawing his pistol, he moves inside the large hallway, which is lined with built-in cupboards. Heaps of clothes have fallen off hangers and are lying strewn across shoes and boots.
A plastic bag with shampoo, conditioner and soap has fallen over, and a pool of pink liquid has spread out across the textured limestone floor.
Joona walks cautiously into a living room. The still air is heavy and stagnant, and yellow light is falling onto the shimmering floor through the windows.
The top of the coffee table has been smashed, and tiny shards of glass litter the floor.
The lights are on upstairs. Their glow illuminates the curtain behind the glass wall.
Joona stands still for a few seconds, then slips into the hallway leading to a kitchen lined with family portraits.
There’s white powder on the floor, and footprints leading to a closed door.
‘Police!’ Joona shouts once more.
He gently reaches out his hand and pushes the door open. Silence. He can see part of a bathroom.
He quickly goes inside, aiming his pistol into the gloom, sweeping the barrel across the walls and into the corners.
Lipstick, face cream, and eyeshadow are all scattered across the bathroom floor and sink.
He goes over to the bath and sees that it was full of water. The level has sunk, leaving a dirty ring.
Beneath a bathroom cabinet with an open mirrored door lie some pill bottles and plasters. He can see the hallway behind him in the mirror, and when he moves to one side he sees that someone has dragged their hand across the wall in the direction of the kitchen.
He thinks about the rabbits trying to get to heaven on a kite.
The floor creaks under his weight.
Joona reaches the kitchen, steps over a torn packet of flour, and edges along the wall to the right, aiming his pistol at the dining room.
A tub of Kalix whitefish roe, some free-range bacon and a bag of stir-fry vegetables stand in the middle of the island, lit up by sunlight.
The kitchen counter is lined with jars and cereal packets. Most of the wall-mounted cabinets are open.
Joona walks over to the heavy dining room furniture – a dark-wood table and eighteen chairs – and stops at one end.
Beside a half-full coffee cup and a plate with an untouched slice of toast lies the morning paper. The news of Teddy Johnson’s murder outside St Johannes’ Church is all over the front page.
Joona goes upstairs and searches the second bathroom and both bedrooms. In one he finds a half-full suitcase on the unmade double bed. In the other room someone has left underwear and sock drawers open.
Oscar didn’t find out about Teddy Johnson’s death until he sat down to breakfast with the morning paper.
The murder sent him into a blind panic. He started to pack, throwing clothes around, and ended up arguing with his girlfriend.
Oscar was scared.
And he didn’t think there was any time to lose.
Maybe he and his girlfriend left everything behind, maybe they managed to take a few things with them.