It's early morning, and the still water of the inlet is shimmering like brushed steel. The luxurious villas are asleep, but outdoor lights glint behind tall fences and hedges. A drunk man is walking along the road by the shore, a bottle of wine in his hand. He stops in front of a white house whose elongated façade faces the water. Very carefully, he puts the bottle down in the middle of the road, steps across the ditch, and climbs the black metal railing. The man weaves his way across the lawn, then stops and sways as he stares at the big windows, the reflections of the patio lights, the indistinct outline of the furniture inside. He heads towards the house, waving at a large, porcelain garden gnome, and then stumbles out onto the wooden deck. He manages to hit one knee, but keeps his balance. The water of the pool shines like a blue sheet of glass. The man stands unsteadily on the edge, unzips his trousers and starts to urinate into the pool, then weaves his way over to the navy-blue garden furniture and proceeds to soak the cushions, chairs and round table. Steam rises from his urine in the chill air. He zips up his trousers and watches a white rabbit as it hops across the lawn and disappears under a bush. Smiling, he walks back towards the house, leaning against the fence. He makes his way down to the lawn, then stops and turns around. His befuddled brain tries to make sense of what he just saw. A black-clad figure with a strange face was staring at him. Either the person was standing inside the dark house, or was outside, watching him in the reflection. Excerpted from The Rabbit Hunter by Lars Kepler All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.