The Snowman ( PDFDrive )

the printer. He pulled out the tray. The top sheet was yellowish and thicker than normal printer
paper. He lifted it up. It had a particular aroma, as if it had been impregnated with a spice or burned.
He turned on the desk lamp and held the sheet up to it as he hunted for the mark. And found it.
Down in the bottom right-hand corner, a kind of watermark in between the fine paper fibres, visible
if held against the electric light bulb. The blood vessels in his throat seemed to widen, the blood was
suddenly in a hurry, his brain screaming for more oxygen.
Harry switched on the computer. Checked his watch again and listened while it took an eternity for
the operating system and programs to boot up. He went straight to the search function and typed in
a single word. Clicked the mouse on search. An animated dog, in both senses, appeared, jumping
up and down and barking soundlessly in an attempt to shorten the waiting time. Harry stared at the
text flashing by as the documents were scanned. Shifted his gaze to the rubric where it said for the
moment No items matched your search. He examined the spelling of the search word. Toowoomba.
He closed his eyes. Heard the deep purr of the machine, like an affectionate cat. Then it stopped.
Harry opened his eyes. One item matched your search.
He placed the cursor over the Word icon. A yellow rectangular box popped up. Date modified: 9
September. He felt his finger tremble as he double-clicked. The white background of the short text
shone into the room. There was no doubt. The words were identical to those in the letter from the
Snowman.
25
DAY 20.
Deadline.
ARVE S TØP WAS LYING IN A BED THAT HAD BEEN SEWN AND weighed to customer
specifications in the Misuku factory in Osaka and shipped ready assembled to a tannery in Chennai,
India, because the laws in the state of Tamil Nadu did not permit the direct exportation of this type
of leather. It had taken six months from order to receipt of the goods, but it had been worth the wait.
Like a geisha it adapted perfectly to his body, supported him where necessary and allowed him to
adjust it for every conceivable level or direction.
He watched the teak blades of the ceiling fan slowly rotate.
She was in the lift on her way up to him. He had explained on the intercom that he was waiting for
her in the bedroom, and had left the door ajar. The cool silk of his boxer shorts lay on his alcoholwarmed
body. The music from a Café del Mar CD streamed out of the Bose audio system with
small, compact speakers hidden in every room of the apartment.
He heard her heels clacking on the parquet floor of the living room. Slow but resolute footsteps.
Just the sound made him go hard. If only she knew what was awaiting her
His hand foraged under the bed; his fingers found what they were groping for.
And then she was in the doorway, silhouetted against the moonlight over the fjord, looking at him
with a half-smile. She loosened the belt of her long, black leather coat and let it fall. He gasped, but
she was still wearing her dress beneath. She went over to the bed and passed him something
rubbery. It was a mask. A pink animal mask.