The Snowman ( PDFDrive )

They had a choice. Stay by the door, shout Becker’s name and risk the consequences of confronting
an armed man. Or disarm him before he saw them. Harry placed a hand on Katrine’s shoulder and
pushed her behind him while visualising how long it would take for Becker to turn, pick up the gun,
aim and fire. Four long strides would be enough, and there was no light behind Harry that would
cast a shadow and too much light on the screen for him to be reflected there.
Harry took a deep breath and set off. Placed his foot as gently as possible on the parquet floor. The
back did not react. He was in the middle of his second stride when he heard the crash behind him.
And knew instinctively it was the vase. He saw the figure spin round, saw Filip Becker’s agonised
expression. Harry froze and the two of them stared at each other. The TV screen behind Becker
went black. Becker’s mouth opened as if to say something. The whites of his eyes contained rivers
of red, and his cheeks were puffy, as though he had been crying.
‘The gun!’
It was Katrine shouting and Harry automatically lifted his eyes and saw her reflection in the dark
screen. She was standing by the door, legs apart with her arm stretched out in front, her hands
squeezed around a revolver.
Time seemed to slow, to become a thick, shapeless material in which only his senses continued to
function in real time.
A trained policeman like Harry should have instinctively thrown himself to the ground and drawn
his gun. But there was something else, something that was tardier than his instincts, but worked
with greater power. Harry would later change his opinion, but at first he thought he acted as he did
because of another déjà vu experience, the sight of a dead man on a floor struck by a police bullet
because he knew he had reached the end of the road, that he didn’t have the energy to grapple with
any more ghosts.
Harry stepped to the right, into Katrine’s line of fire.
He heard a smooth, oiled click behind him. The sound of the revolver hammer being uncocked, of
the finger easing the pressure on the trigger.
Becker’s hand was pressed against the floor near the pistol. His fingers and the flesh between them
were white. Which meant that Becker was supporting his body weight on them. The other hand –
his right – was holding the remote control. If Becker went for his gun with his right hand as he was
sitting now, he would lose balance.
‘Don’t move,’ Harry said loudly.
Becker’s only move was to blink twice, as though wishing to erase the sight of Harry and Katrine.
Harry moved forward calmly but efficiently. Bent down to pick up the gun, which was surprisingly
light. So light that it would have been impossible for there to have been bullets in the magazine, he
reflected.
Harry stowed the gun in his jacket pocket, beside his own revolver, and crouched down. On the
screen he could see Katrine’s gun pointed at them, as she nervously shifted her weight from foot to
foot. He stretched out a hand to Becker, who retreated like a timid animal, and removed the man’s
headphones.