The pain brings Oscar back to almost full consciousness again. He’s breathing quickly through his nose and trying instinctively to push himself backward.
Oscar is going to die in three minutes, and the noise inside the Rabbit Hunter’s head gets louder as he stares into his terrified eyes. The room is silent, but inside the Rabbit Hunter’s mind it’s like someone is drumming on saucepans and throwing plates into a bath. Oscar raped a young woman, left her unconscious and bleeding on a manure pile, and thought he could get away with it.
The floor lurches beneath the Rabbit Hunter’s feet.
He leans against the wall, trying to focus and breathe calmly, then he sees the bloody handprint on the wall and makes a mental note to wipe it off before he leaves, even though there’s no way it could be traced back to him.
‘I can tell you know why this is happening,’ he says, taking the knife out again. ‘That’s good. That’s the point.’
Oscar whimpers and writhes, fighting to pull free. Blood from his torso is pouring onto the floor and soaking into the carpet, which is now shiny and black.
The loudspeakers announce that the ferry will be departing in thirty minutes. The Rabbit Hunter is confident that he’ll have time to get back to shore before then.
Oscar won’t be found until the next morning, in Helsinki, the Rabbit Hunter thinks to himself, looking at the knife in his hand.
It’s like the black tongue of a demon, pointed and jagged.
Soon he will slide the blade into Oscar’s heart, right through the breastbone.
The whole world clatters and rings like a casino.
Then a wind sweeps through him, leaving silence in its wake.
It’s like when a rabbit is lying on the ground kicking one leg. When the animal finally stops moving, a calm seems to settle on the entire world.
Time comes to a stop.
He has always been on his way towards this point.
Ever since those Sundays after mass, back when he lived with Grandma and Grandpa.
85
Rex gets off the underground at Mariatorget, and is walking along Sankt Pauls Street when his phone buzzes to let him know he’s received a new voicemail. It’s from Janus Mickelsen, telling him he’s organised a secure safe-house for Rex and Sammy, with reinforced glass, a steel door, alarm and a direct line to the emergency control room.
‘I understand that you can’t speak freely if you feel threatened. I get it, I really do. This is a good solution, short-term. My boss has given the go-ahead and I’d like you to meet me tonight at 19.00 just outside Knivsta, at a safe-house belonging to the Security Police, so we can talk through the situation,’ Janus says, then repeats the full address twice before the message ends.
Rex decides to go and find out more about this threat the Security Police seem to be taking so seriously.
He walks through the glass door of 34 Krukmakar Street, where the Pool Hall has its rundown basement premises, thinking that there appears to be a tug-of-war between the Security Police and the National Operative Unit.
He passes the bar and goes downstairs, making his way between the tables.
The only sound is clicking as balls knock together and roll silently across the felt table.
At the end of the room is one pool table that’s bigger than the others. Beside it stands a tall man with unruly blond hair and eyes as grey as driftwood.
‘The yellow ball is called the Kaisa,’ Joona says.
The Finnish pool game, Kaisa, is like Russian Pyramid. It requires a larger table, bigger balls and longer cues. You can play Kaisa in teams, but usually it’s a duel between two players.
Rex listens as the taller man runs through the rules and hands him a long cue.
‘Sounds a bit like snooker,’ Rex says.
‘First to sixty wins.’
‘Is this why I’m here?’
Joona doesn’t answer, just sets the balls out in their positions. If Rex isn’t involved in the murders, then he’s probably one of the intended victims. The murders appear to revolve around the rape, but there’s something more to it than that, maybe further parties, an unknown participant, Joona thinks.
‘If you beat me you can leave, but if you lose I’ll arrest you,’ he says, shooting a sharp glance at Rex.
‘Sure,’ Rex smiles, running his hands through his unkempt hair.
‘I mean it,’ Joona says seriously. ‘You had a strong motive for the Foreign Minister’s murder.’
‘Did I?’
Joona hits his white cue-ball, and there’s a loud click as it strikes the yellow ball and sends it rolling across the table, where it hits the cushion, rebounds and disappears into one of the pockets.
‘Six points to me,’ Joona explains.
Rex looks at him uncomprehendingly.
‘I had a motive because I pissed in the Foreign Minister’s swimming pool?’
‘You said he was a bastard and that he stole your girlfriend in high school.’
‘Yes,’ Rex concedes.
‘But you didn’t mention you were locked up all night.’
‘There were three of them,’ he says reluctantly. ‘They gave me a beating and then locked me up – not great, but no reason to—’
‘Why did they do it?’ Joona interrupts.
‘What?’
‘Lock you up.’
‘So that Wille could see Grace without being disturbed, I assume.’
‘And did he?’
‘He always got what he wanted,’ Rex mutters, chalking his cue.
‘Aim for the Kaisa,’ Joona says, pointing at the yellow ball. ‘She needs to go into this pocket.’
Rex leans forward and takes the shot, but ends up hitting one of the reds, which rolls into the other red.
‘And that’s a kiss,’ Joona says. ‘No points for that.’
Rex shakes his head with a smile as Joona steps up and hits the Kaisa straight into the corner pocket.
‘What does Grace say?’ Joona says as he continues with his turn.
‘About what?’
‘About the evening you were locked up,’ he replies, taking another shot and potting Rex’s white cue-ball in the same pocket.
‘I don’t know. I never saw her again,’ Rex says. ‘I left the school and she never answered my letters or phone calls.’
‘I’m talking about now, though,’ Joona says.
‘I heard she moved back to Chicago, but I haven’t seen her for thirty years.’
‘You’ve been accused of murdering the Foreign Minister,’ Joona says.
‘Who’d accuse me of that?’ Rex manages to say.
‘You’re in serious trouble here,’ Joona says, backing away from the table.
‘I’ve done lots of stupid things,’ Rex tries to explain as he adjusts the position of his cue. ‘But I haven’t killed anyone.’
His shot misses. The white cue-ball rolls past the Kaisa, hits the cushion and bounces off.
‘If you’re not involved in the murders, then you could be on the list of future victims.’
‘Am I going to get protection?’
‘If you can explain why,’ Joona says.
‘I have no idea,’ Rex says, wiping his forehead.
‘Revenge?’ the detective suggests, taking his shot.
‘That’s not very likely.’
Joona gives him a sideways glance, then takes another shot.
‘It depends on what you’ve done,’ he says.
‘Nothing,’ Rex protests. ‘What the hell, I get under people’s skin, maybe I sleep with women I shouldn’t, say stupid stuff, and no doubt there are plenty of people who’d like to take a swing at me, but—’
‘Forty-one,’ Joona says, then straightens up and looks at him seriously.
‘I don’t know what to say,’ Rex says.
‘So you’ve done lots of stupid things,’ Joona reminds him.
‘I pissed in the Foreign Minister’s pool, but I—’
‘You already said that,’ Joona interrupts.
‘I’ve done it more than once,’ Rex confesses, suddenly blushing.
‘I don’t care where you’ve pissed.’
‘A hundred times, maybe,’ he says, with a peculiar intensity in his voice.
‘Get a different hobby.’
‘I will, of course I will. What I’m trying to say is that I saw something once when I was there.’
Joona leans over and takes another shot, to prevent Rex from seeing the satisfied smile on his face. The balls click together, and one of them hits the cushion and rebounds into a pocket.