The Rabbit Hunter

65

It took Rex three hours to get out of the church. The police ushered the funeral guests out one at a time through a gap in the security barrier, down Döbelns Street. They conducted careful identity checks on everyone, took brief witness statements, and offered information about support groups.

He saw Edith among the reporters who had gathered outside the cordon and tried without success to catch her eye.

No one seemed to know what had happened, and the police were refusing to talk.

The Foreign Minister’s immediate family and the most important politicians had been allowed to leave the church before everyone else. Rex was still stuck in the crowd in the central aisle when he heard screaming and people started fleeing back into the church.

Forty minutes later the police came in and announced that they had the situation under control.

The fire department started washing the blood from the broad flight of stairs as tearful people milled around trying to find family members.

Rex managed to call Sammy and DJ and they arranged to meet back at the flat, where they would try to figure out what had happened. There were rumours of a terrorist attack, and the media were reporting a serious incident with an unknown number of casualties.

Rex removes the tray of scones and pours the steaming tea while the other two sit at the kitchen table trying to find out more on the Internet.

‘It looks like that American politician was killed,’ Sammy says.

‘What a mess,’ DJ says, setting out the butter and jam next to the cups and saucers.

‘This is completely fucking insane,’ Rex says.

‘I tried to get out the same way we got in,’ Sammy says. ‘David Bagares Street, but it was closed off.’

‘I know,’ DJ says. ‘I tried the steps next to Drottninghuset.’

‘Whereabouts were you sitting?’ Rex says, carrying over the plate of scones.

‘We both ended up on the balcony.’

‘I was right by the aisle,’ Rex says.

‘We saw you, Dad. You were sitting like this the whole time,’ his son says, shutting his eyes and opening his mouth.

‘I was enjoying the music,’ Rex says feebly.

‘So obviously you noticed us trying to flick little rolled-up pieces of paper in your mouth?’

‘You did?’

‘I’m pretty sure I won,’ Sammy smiles, running his hand through his hair in exactly the same way Rex always does.

A plaster is hanging off Sammy’s lower arm, and Rex catches a glimpse of a row of cigarette burns.

DJ holds his phone up and Rex looks at the picture of Teddy Johnson’s suntanned face, plump frame, and the look of arrogance in his bright blue eyes.

‘They’re saying that there are no links to any known terrorist organisations,’ Sammy says.

‘So did they catch the guy?’ DJ asks.

‘I don’t know. It doesn’t say...’

‘What is it with this summer?’ Rex says heavily. ‘It feels like the whole world is falling apart. Orlando, Munich, Nice...’

He falls silent when the doorbell rings, then mutters that he really doesn’t want to deal with any reporters right now, and leaves the kitchen. As he goes down the stairs the bell rings again. He reaches the door and opens it.

Outside stands a man with shoulder-length red hair and a sweaty face. He’s wearing a tight leather jacket with shoulder pads and a wide belt.

‘Hi,’ he says, smiling so broadly that the lines around his mouth and eyes scrunch together.

‘Hi,’ Rex says uncertainly.

‘Janus Mickelsen, Security Police,’ the man says, holding up his ID. ‘Do you have a minute?’

‘What’s this about?’

‘Good question,’ he smiles, looking over Rex’s shoulder.

‘You’ve already been here.’

‘Yes, exactly, that’s right, Officer Bauer... I’m working with her,’ he replies, tossing his hair back from his face.

‘OK.’

‘So you really liked the Foreign Minister,’ the man says with a familiarity in his voice that sends shivers down Rex’s spine.

‘You mean politically?’

‘No.’

‘We were old friends,’ Rex says guardedly.

‘His wife says she’s never met you.’

‘I clearly didn’t make much of an impression,’ Rex says, forcing a smile.

Without returning the smile, Janus walks into the hall and shuts the door behind him. He glances around, then looks at Rex intently again.

‘Do you know anyone who was... less fond of the Foreign Minister than you were?’

‘If he had any enemies, you mean?’

Janus nods.

‘We talked about old times when we met,’ Rex says.

‘Happy memories,’ Janus mutters, fastening one of the buttons on his fly.

‘Yes.’

‘We can offer witness protection. I can personally guarantee the very highest level.’

‘Why would I need protection?’ Rex asks.

‘I just mean, if you have information that you don’t want to talk about because you’re worried something might happen to you,’ he explains in a low voice.

‘Is there some kind of threat against me?’ Rex asks.

‘I hope not; I love your stuff on TV,’ Janus replies. ‘All I’m saying is that I help people who help me.’

‘I’m afraid I don’t have anything to tell you.’

Janus pretends to be taken aback by this, as if he doubts Rex’s words or is at least very surprised by them.

‘I’m picking up energies from you. I like them, but they feel a bit hemmed in,’ he says, squinting at Rex.

‘I’m sorry?’

‘I’m joking. I can’t help it. Everyone seems to think I look like a hippie.’

‘Peace,’ Rex says with a wry smile.

‘Is that a Chagall?’ Janus asks, pointing at a print on the wall. ‘Wonderful... the falling angel.’

‘Yes.’

‘You told my colleague you had coffee with the Foreign Minister a couple of weeks ago.’

‘Yes.’

‘What day was that, exactly?’

‘I don’t remember,’ Rex says.

‘But you do remember which café you went to?’

‘Vetekatten.’

‘Coffee and cake?’

‘Yes.’

‘That’s great. I mean, they ought to remember you: Rex the celebrity chef and Sweden’s Foreign Minister sitting there eating cake,’ Janus smiles.

‘Sorry, but can we do this later... we just got back from the funeral, and...’

‘I was just about to ask about that.’

‘OK, but I need to take care of my son. We’re pretty shaken...’

‘Of course, I understand,’ Janus says, raising a trembling hand to his mouth. ‘Actually, I’d like to talk to him too, when it’s convenient.’

‘Give me a call and we can arrange a time,’ Rex says, opening the door.

‘Do you have a car?’

‘No.’

‘No car,’ Janus repeats thoughtfully before disappearing down the stairs.