The Snowman ( PDFDrive )

‘Where’s Jonas?’ Harry asked.
Becker scrutinised Harry as if he understood neither the situation nor the language.
‘Jonas?’ Harry repeated. Then he shouted. ‘Jonas! Jonas, are you here?’
‘Shh,’ Becker said. ‘He’s asleep.’ His voice was somnambulant, as if he had taken tranquillisers.
Becker pointed to the headphones. ‘He mustn’t wake up.’
Harry swallowed. ‘Where is he?’
‘Where?’ Becker angled his head and looked at Harry, seeming only then to recognise him. ‘In bed
of course. All boys have to sleep in their own beds.’ His voice rose and fell as if he were quoting
from a song.
Harry plunged his hand down into his other jacket pocket and took out the handcuffs. ‘Put out your
hands,’ he said.
Becker blinked again.
‘It’s for your own safety,’ Harry said.
It was a well-used line, one they drilled into you back at Police College, and was primarily intended
to relax arrestees. However, when Harry heard himself say it, he knew at once why he had stepped
into the firing line. And it was not because of ghosts.
Becker raised his hands to Harry as though in supplication, and the steel snapped shut round his
narrow, hairy wrists.
‘Stay where you are,’ Harry said. ‘She’ll take care of you.’
Harry straightened up and went towards the doorway where Katrine stood. She had lowered her
gun, and she smiled at him with a curious gleam in her eyes. The coals deep inside seemed to be
smouldering.
‘Are you OK?’ Harry asked in an undertone. ‘Katrine?’
‘Course,’ she laughed.
Harry hesitated. Then he continued up the stairs. He remembered where Jonas’s room was, but
opened the other doors first. Trying to delay the dreaded moment. Although the light was off in
Becker’s bedroom, he could make out the double bed. The single duvet had been removed from one
side. As if he already knew that she would never return.
Then Harry was outside Jonas’s room. He emptied his mind of thoughts and images before opening
the door. An off-key assortment of delicate tinkles rang out in the dark, and even though he couldn’t
see anything, he knew that the draught from the door had set off a small array of thin metal pipes,
because Oleg had the same wind chimes hanging from the ceiling in his room. Harry went in and
glimpsed someone or something under the duvet. He listened for breathing. But all he could hear
were the tones continuing to vibrate, not wanting to die away. He placed his hand on the duvet. And
for a moment he was numb with horror. Even though there was nothing in this room that presented