The Snowman ( PDFDrive )

Yes, thought Eli. It is about time.
‘Someone came up to me in ICA today,’ Trygve said.
‘Oh yes?’ Eli said, her heart in her throat.
‘Asked me if I was your son, yours and Dad’s.’
‘Uh-huh,’ Eli said softly, all too softly, feeling giddy. ‘And what did you answer?’
‘What did I answer?’ Trygve looked up from his magazine. ‘I answered yes, of course.’
‘And who was the man who asked?’
‘What’s the matter, Mum?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘You’re so pale.’
‘Nothing, my love. Who was he?’
Trygve went back to his magazine. ‘I didn’t say it was a man, did I?’
Eli got to her feet, turned down the radio as a woman’s voice was thanking the Minister of Industry
and Arve Støp for the debate. She stared into the dark as a couple of snowflakes swirled hither and
thither, aimless, unaffected by gravity and their own will apparently. They would land wherever
chance dictated. And then they would melt and vanish. There was some comfort in that.
She coughed.
‘What?’ Trygve said.
‘Nothing,’ she said. ‘I think I’m getting a cold.’
Harry drifted aimlessly, without any will of his own, through the streets of Oslo. It was only when
he was standing outside Hotel Leon that he realised that was where he had been heading. The
prostitutes and the dope dealers had already taken up their positions in the neighbouring streets. It
was rush hour. Customers preferred to deal in sex and dope before midnight.
Harry walked into reception and saw from Børre Hansen’s horrified expression that he had been
recognised.
‘We had a deal!’ squealed the hotel owner, wiping the sweat from his brow.
Harry wondered why men who lived off others’ urges always seemed to wear this glistening film of
sweat, like a veneer of false shame at their unscrupulousness.
‘Give me the key to the doctor’s room,’ Harry said. ‘He’s not coming tonight.’
Three of the hotel-room walls had seventies wallpaper with psychedelic patterns of brown and