The Rabbit Hunter Page 31

  The door of the room is suddenly thrown open and two men in dark-grey suits walk in.

  ‘Special Agent Bauer?’ one of them asks, holding up an FBI badge.

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  The dark-blue hull bounces through the waves and foaming water hits the cabin’s windshield. One of the fenders breaks free of its rope and rolls across the wet deck.

  ‘Hold the wheel,’ the captain tells Joona, leaving the cabin.

  As its speed increases even further, coastguard vessel 311 starts to plane.

  Through the streaked windshield Joona watches as the captain grabs the loose fender and ties it down. He lurches as the bow hits a large wave and water sprays over the railing, but manages to keep his balance, and makes his way back into the cabin, where he takes the wheel again.

  The captain wears his long hair in a plait. He has tattoos all the way to his fingertips, and black eyeliner around his eyes. The rest of the crew seem delighted by his Captain Sparrow act, and call him Jack.

  ‘Can you get her up to thirty-five knots?’ Joona asks.

  ‘If I dig my spurs into her flanks,’ Jack replies, smiling to reveal his crooked teeth.

  He speeds up. One of the crew claps his hands and lets out a whistle.

  ‘Jack,’ a muscular man calls out. ‘At this speed you’d better watch out for the coastguard.’

  ‘I’ve heard they can be pretty tough,’ the captain replies.

  ‘Not as tough as us!’ the others call back in chorus.

  Joona smiles and looks out over the rough water.

  Neither Oscar’s nor his girlfriend Caroline’s phone is in use, but Anja found Caroline’s last Instagram post. She’d taken a picture of herself looking sulky, with the caption ‘Quality time’.

  In the picture she’s leaning against a stack of grey pallets, and behind her is a red Department of Transport sign with information about Stavsnäs jetty.

  Anja quickly discovered that Oscar’s half-brother owns a small house in the outer archipelago, not far from Stavsnäs.

  ‘I understand that it’s something of an honour to be giving you a lift,’ the captain says, glancing at Joona.

  The engines make the deck vibrate. They swerve around a cluster of rocky outcrops and find themselves rolling as the waves hit the side of the boat. Water breaks over the deck.

  The captain points towards a greyish-black island, barely visible in the darkness.

  ‘Bullerön isn’t just another island … it used to be owned by Bruno Liljefors, the painter, but he sold it to newspaper magnate Torsten Kreuger, and during his time guests like Zarah Leander, Errol Flynn and Charlie Chaplin all came out here, to this little island, which is pretty much nothing but rock. You can walk across it in half an hour – makes you wonder what on earth they did out here, doesn’t it?’ Jack says.

  As they approach the island the captain slows their speed.

  There are no lights on the island. The waves crash on the steep rocks as gnarled trees bow in the wind.

  ‘Are we allowed to know what you’re expecting to find out here?’ the captain asks.

  ‘I’m looking for someone I need to question,’ Joona replies.

  They enter the public marina. The captain puts the boat in reverse, but it still hits the pier with a scraping sound before they come to rest.

  ‘This person – is he dangerous?’ Jack asks.

  ‘He’s probably scared,’ Joona replies.

  ‘Should I come with you?’

  ‘Bring your pistol.’

  The two men jump ashore and Jack fastens his holster around his hips as they head across the rocks. It’s much darker on the island than it was on the open water. The waves crash regularly against the rocks, as the gulls make their plaintive cries.

  The house, once a simple fisherman’s cottage, lies in a south-facing inlet some distance from the other buildings.

  Against the night sky the façade looks black at first, like dried blood, but as they get closer they can see that it’s actually a traditional red wooden house extended to link up with a raised boathouse.

  The wind tugs at Joona’s clothes as he stops to check his weapon.

  The house looks boarded up, as if preparing for a hurricane. The doors and windows have been barred from the outside.

  Joona and the captain walk down towards the house. There’s grass growing from the gutters, and the gooseberry bushes are blowing in the strong wind.

  There are some red buoys and floats by the side of the building. At the back of the house is an old frame with rusty hooks that looks like a football goalpost.

  ‘No one here,’ Jack says.

  ‘We’ll see,’ Joona replies in a low voice.

  He wonders if Oscar and his girlfriend arrived by private boat, and whether they drove it into the boathouse like a garage.

  The boathouse’s water entrance could be the only one that isn’t barred.

  Joona slides down the rocks beside the boathouse, puts his face against the lowest planks in the wall and tries to see between the cracks.

  When his eyes get used to the darkness, he sees swaying water.

  ‘There’s no boat in there,’ Joona declares, and starts to walk back up.

  He passes a woodshed containing stacks of birch, sees the axe embedded in the block, and some large splinters of wood on the ground beside it.

  He stops next to an ornately carved tool-shed. There’s sawdust in the cracks. Joona gestures to Jack to stand still, cautiously approaches the shed and goes inside.

  Rows of tools hang neatly from the walls, and in the middle of the floor, next to a folded sawhorse, is a workbench with a handsaw on it.

  ‘I think they’re here,’ Joona says, pulling a crowbar from the wall.

  ‘Where?’ Jack asks.

  ‘In the house,’ Joona replies.

  ‘Doesn’t look like it.’

  ‘He nailed the doors and windows shut recently.’

  ‘What makes you think that?’

  ‘Because the wind has been blowing from the west for a couple of days … Oscar sawed the timbers in here, then carried them to the house … Most of the sawdust has blown away, but not the pieces that were sheltered from the westerly wind, here in these cracks.’

  ‘OK,’ Jack says. ‘You’re right, there wouldn’t be any sawdust there if the wind had turned … but all the entrances are nailed shut from the outside. No one could be inside unless they’d been helped by someone standing out here.’

  They go back to the house for another look. There’s some sawdust in a spider’s web below one of the barred windows. Joona tugs at the plank, then moves on around the corner. He stops in front of the kitchen door and sees that it opens inwards.

  The plank nailed across it is purely for show.

  He pushes the handle and tries to open the door.

  It’s been nailed shut from the inside.

  Oscar and Caroline put the plank across the door to make it look like the house was shut up, then went inside and sealed it from within.

  Joona returns to the front of the house, picks up a crowbar in the tool-shed and walks down to the main entrance.

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  The four-inch nails shriek as Joona tries to break his way in through the front door. He pushes the end of the crowbar in close to the lock and shoves, and the frame splinters as the door latch comes loose.

  Joona pushes the door open and peers into the dark hallway.

  ‘Police!’ he shouts loudly. ‘We’re entering the house!’

  His words are soaked up by darkness and silence. Wind blows across the roof, making the weathervane creak.

  Jack’s breathing speeds up, and he glances around anxiously, whispering to himself. Joona draws his pistol and moves cautiously into the hallway. On the rug there’s a small doll whose legs are spread oddly. Someone’s scribbled on her face with a pen.

  Raincoats hang on hooks above a shoe-rack full of wellington boots and wooden clogs.

  Joona opens the fuse-box inside the front door and
sees that the main power supply has been switched off.

  ‘There’s no one here,’ Jack whispers again.

  They walk into a small living room with a television and a battered leather sofa. The air is perfectly still, and smells like dry wood and dust.

  ‘Police!’ Joona calls again. ‘We need to speak to you, Oscar!’

  He goes into a bedroom. The top bunk bed is made up. The wide floorboards creak beneath his weight. A screen is leaning up against the wall, the plug to the standard lamp has been pulled out, and there’s a water-damaged child’s drawing of a cheerful girl holding a skeleton by the hand on the bottom bunk.

  Jack goes into the second bedroom and hears something rustle briefly. There’s barely any light in here at all. The curtains are drawn, and the gap between them has been closed with three clothes pegs.

  Someone’s been lying in the double bed. The covers are pulled back and there are signs of dried blood on one pillow.

  When Jack opens the wardrobe, it wobbles because of the uneven floor. All it has in it are a couple of pale T-shirts and a blue bikini.

  There’s a creaking sound behind him to one side, and he spins around, trying to pull his pistol from its holster.

  He takes a step to the side, but can’t see anything in the dark corner behind the bed. With his hands trembling he draws the pistol and creeps closer – he can make out a shape, the size of a child’s head, beneath the bed.

  He hears the noise again, and realises it must be coming from the roof, probably a gull sliding down the tiles.

  He keeps walking towards the dark corner, and bends over. His plait falls over his shoulder as he discovers that it’s a deflated plastic ball with a yellow Pokémon logo.

  Joona peers into the bathroom. On top of the washing machine is a damp packet of laundry detergent and a basket of clothes pegs. Joona marches in and pulls open the limescale-streaked door to the shower. All he finds are a bucket and a red-handled mop.

  Leaving the bathroom, Joona meets Jack in the passageway that leads to the kitchen, the last room in the house.

  They look at each other and nod.

  Jack reaches for the closed door, pushes it open and takes a step back as Joona goes in with his pistol drawn.

  There’s no one there.

  Joona moves quickly around the tall breakfast counter with its four bar-stools, aims the pistol at the fridge, then lowers it.

  The window is covered with cardboard on the inside, but in the faint light that manages to get in he can see rows of tins on the worktop.

  Joona stops in front of the kitchen door.

  It’s been nailed shut from the inside.

  This was where they got in, just as he thought.

  In front of him is a pair of folding wooden doors leading to the boathouse. They look like big window-shutters, and they reach all the way from the floor to the ceiling.

  Joona puts his hand on the old wood-burning stove that stands beside the modern electric one.

  It’s cold.

  There’s a dustpan and broom in one corner, containing fragments of a bowl and some sweets.

  Joona crouches down and inspects bloodstains on one leg of the kitchen table, then sees a trail of blood leading across the floor towards the boathouse.

  He raises his pistol, goes over to the folding doors and tries to open one of them, but it catches after opening a crack.

  He pulls hard, but the door is stuck.

  Suddenly he thinks he can see a white light flash in the boathouse. He leans towards the crack between the door and frame and peers in. From the little he can see through the gap, it looks like this part of the boathouse is used as a dining room. He can make out a long, narrow table, and the backs of the chairs along one side.

  Joona tries to pull the door open again, but stops when he hears noises from inside.

  Then everything gets quiet again.

  He waits a few seconds, then pushes one arm through the gap, right up to his shoulder.

  He can no longer see inside the room, but he starts to feel across the back of the door to find out what’s blocking it.

  Joona hears the banging, thudding sound from the boathouse again.

  He presses the barrel of his pistol to the door with his free hand as he feels across the other side.

  ‘What’s going on?’ Jack whispers.

  Joona sinks to one knee and finds a sturdy bolt close to the floor. He carefully pulls it open with his fingertips.

  It comes free with a gentle clunk, and the gap opens a little further.

  He quickly pulls his arm back in, steps back and aims towards the opening at chest-height.

  The banging noise has stopped.

  He opens the door and looks into the darkness.

  He moves sideways silently, with his gun raised, trying to make sense of the shapes he can see.

  Suddenly he realises that there’s someone in the middle of the room.

  A face, no more than a metre above the floor.

  Joona sinks instinctively to one knee, immediately identifies a line of fire and puts his finger on the trigger.

  In the faint light from the west-facing window, he can just see that it’s a young woman tied to a chair.

  Her blonde hair is tangled, and she has tape over her mouth.

  She stares at him and starts to rock violently, making the chair legs hit the floor rhythmically.

  ‘Caroline?’ Joona says.

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  The bound woman stares at Joona with wide eyes. She has dried blood under her nose, and tape has been wound around her arms and ankles.

  ‘Caroline?’ Joona repeats. ‘Don’t be scared. I’m a police officer, and I’m here to help you.’

  Behind her on the dining table there are open tins with spoons in them, crackers and a large container full of water.

  ‘What the hell is this?’ Jack whispers.

  The boathouse isn’t insulated, and a cold draught is blowing through the cracks in the floor. A window covered by a net curtain lets in dim light, and they see a pulley and a lifting hook hanging from the ceiling. On one beam brass lanterns and ropes are hanging. Along one wall is a trunk, and at the far end they can see varnished doors of a large tackle cupboard.

  The young woman is shaking her head in terror, and tears start to stream down her cheeks.

  ‘Don’t be scared,’ Joona says. ‘I’m a police officer.’

  He puts his pistol back in his holster and walks slowly across the creaking floor. The wind is pushing hard at the single-glazed window. Joona turns and looks back at the door to the kitchen, letting his eyes linger on the motionless shadows before going over to the woman.

  Carefully he removes the tape from her face. She coughs and flexes her mouth several times before raising her head and looking him in the eye.

  ‘I’m going to kill you,’ she says quietly.

  The sea laps beneath them and the chair legs scuff the floor as she rocks in an effort to get free.

  ‘Oscar thinks you’re going to rape me, but I don’t.’

  ‘No one’s going to rape you – we’re police officers.’

  ‘You don’t look like police officers.’

  ‘Where is Oscar?’

  ‘I have nothing to do with this,’ she whispers with a desperate look in her eyes. ‘I don’t even know Oscar. I just want to go home. I don’t care what you do to him.’

  The floor creaks oddly beneath them and the spoon in a tin of ravioli starts to shake with the vibrations.

  ‘Tell me where he is,’ Joona repeats calmly.

  ‘There,’ she replies, nodding her head over her shoulder at the varnished doors.

  There’s a weird ticking sound and Joona sees a little white light flicker inside the built-in cupboard, like a mobile phone flashing, only faster.

  ‘Is he armed?’ he asks.

  ‘I don’t know, but I don’t think so,’ she replies.

  Joona moves towards the closed doors.

  The whole room is creaking, like a ta
ut rope.

  Joona holds his pistol aimed at the cupboard, glances back towards the kitchen again, then takes a few steps back to get a better view of the entire boathouse.

  The floor creaks.

  Aiming directly at the doors, he looks quickly at the bound woman, the empty pulley block up in the roof, and Jack, who is approaching along the side of the dining table.

  There’s a scraping sound beneath the boathouse, like wood being dragged across wood. The draught lifts a tuft of blond hair from the floor.

  Jack takes a step forward, holding back the hook on the end of the chain beneath the pulley in order to get past.

  ‘I’m almost there now,’ Joona says towards the cupboard. ‘Can I ask you, please …’

  There’s a loud crash as two huge trapdoors open up beneath Jack. They drop away abruptly, slam into the wall below and bounce back a short distance.

  Jack falls through the hole in the floor, but is still holding onto the chain that runs through the wooden block.

  The hook flies up and latches into the pulley.

  Jack’s fall is abruptly halted and he yells out loud as his shoulder is dislocated.

  Tables and chairs splash into the dark water below him.

  Jack is swaying precariously, but manages to hold on.

  The door to the cupboard opens and Joona sees Oscar rush out with a glass bottle in his hand with a burning rag stuffed in the top of it.

  Oscar throws the bottle at Joona, but it hits an old pulley hanging from the roof instead. The glass shatters with a crash, and burning petrol spatters the woman taped to the chair.

  She catches fire instantly, and Joona rushes over and pushes her in the chest with his foot. She topples backwards, the chair hits the edge of the large opening in the floor, and she tumbles into the water.

  Oscar screams something and tries to light another petrol bomb, but his lighter won’t produce a flame.

  Joona counts the seconds as he runs across the narrow strip where the hinges of the left-hand trapdoor are attached.

  The woman sinks into the black water, her hair billowing around her.

  Joona’s jacket snags on something and he almost loses his balance as he pulls himself free. He throws one arm out and grabs the curtain.