The Rabbit Hunter. Ларс Кеплер

tries to turn the wheelchair, but one of the tyres is caught in the crack between two slabs. Nils can hardly breathe. He tries to stop himself from shaking by pressing his hands into his armpits.

      Someone is approaching him from the house and he looks back over his shoulder.

      A masked man, carrying a black bag in his hand. He’s walking straight towards him, disguised as an executioner.

      Nils tugs at the wheels to pull himself free.

      He’s about to shout for Ali again when cold liquid drenches his head, running through his hair, down his neck, over his face and chest.

      It takes just a couple of seconds for him to realise that it’s petrol.

      What he thought was a black bag is actually the lawnmower’s petrol tank.

      ‘Please, wait, I’ve got lots of money … I promise, I can transfer all of it,’ he gasps, coughing from the fumes.

      The masked man walks around and tips the last of the petrol over Nils’s chest, then drops the empty container on the ground in front of the wheelchair.

      ‘God, please … I’ll do anything …’

      The man takes out a box of matches and says some incomprehensible words. Nils is hysterical, and he can’t make sense of what the man is saying.

      ‘Don’t do it, don’t do it, don’t do it …’

      He tries to loosen the strap over his thighs, but it’s tangled and is now too tight to take off. His hands jerk as he tugs at it. The man calmly lights a match and tosses it onto his lap.

      There’s a rush of air, and a sucking sound, like a parachute opening.

      His pyjamas and hair burst into flames.

      And through the blue glare he sees the masked man back away from the heat.

      The childish nursery rhyme rolls through his head as the storm rages around him. He can’t get any air into his lungs. It’s as if he’s drowning, and then he feels absolute, all-encompassing pain.

      He could never have imagined anything so excruciating.

      He leans forwards in the foetal position and hears a metallic crackling sound, as if from a great distance, as the wheelchair starts to buckle in the heat.

      Nils has time to think that it sounds like the jukebox is searching for a new disc before he loses consciousness.

       28

      The inmate from Hall is on his way towards D-block, where the atmosphere is tense.

      Through the reinforced glass, the guards can see that for once Joona is eating breakfast at the same table as the leader of the Brotherhood, Reiner Kronlid. The two of them talk for a while, then Joona stands up, takes his coffee and sandwich, and goes to sit at another table.

      ‘What the hell’s he playing at?’ one of the guards asks.

      ‘Maybe he’s heard something about the new guy.’

      ‘Unless it’s about being granted leave?’

      ‘His application was approved yesterday,’ the third guard nods. ‘First time for him.’

      Joona looks over at the three guards who are watching him through the glass, then turns towards Sumo and asks the same question he just asked Reiner.

      ‘What can I do for you tomorrow?’ he asks.

      Sumo has already served eight years for a double murder, and now knows that he killed people over a misunderstanding. His face is a picture of grief these days. He always looks like he’s been crying but is trying to hold it together.

      ‘Buy a red rose … the best one you can find. Give it to Outi and tell her she’s my rose, and … And say sorry for ruining her life.’

      ‘Do you want her to come out here?’ Joona asks, looking him in the eye.

      Sumo shakes his head, and his gaze slides towards the window. He stares at the grey fence topped with barbed wire, and the monotonous, dirty yellow wall beyond it.

      Joona turns to the next man at the table, Luka Bogdani, a short man whose face is locked in a permanent state of derision.

      ‘How about you?’

      Luka leans forward and whispers:

      ‘I want you to check if my brother’s started to get rid of my money.’

      ‘What do you want me to ask?’

      ‘No, fuck it, no questions. Just look at the money, count it. There should be exactly six hundred thousand.’

      ‘I can’t do that,’ Joona replies. ‘I want to get out of here, and that money’s from a robbery, and if I—’