The Snowman ( PDFDrive )

Arve Støp knew. Every sixth Norwegian adult. He had never objected to a nice glitzy scandal every
once in a while, but to be made to look like a slippery Lothario exploiting his celebrity status with
an innocent married woman in such a craven way? The public image of Arve Støp as upright and
fearless would be smashed, and Liberal’s morally indignant outbursts would be cast in a
hypocritical light. And she wasn’t even attractive. This was not good. Not good at all.
‘What sort of money are we talking?’ he asked.
Upon reaching agreement, he called Idar Vetlesen at Marienlyst Clinic and explained that he had
two new patients. They arranged to do the same as with Jonas, first make the twins take DNA tests,
send them to the Institute of Forensic Medicine to confirm paternity and then start checking for
symptoms of the unmentionable disease.
After ringing off, Arve Støp leaned back in the high leather chair and saw the sun shining on the
treetops in Bygdøy and on Snarøya peninsula, knowing he should feel deeply depressed. But he
didn’t. He felt excited. Yes, almost happy.
The distant memory of this happiness was the first thing that went through Arve Støp’s mind when
Idar Vetlesen phoned to tell him that the newspapers were alleging that the decapitated woman in
Sollihøgda was Sylvia Ottersen.
‘First Jonas Becker’s mother goes missing,’ Vetlesen said. ‘And then they find the mother of the
twins killed. I’m no whizz at the calculus of probability, but we have to go to the police, Arve.
They’re keen to find connections.’
In recent years Vetlesen had made a lucrative career out of embellishing the appearance of
celebrities, but in Arve Støp’s eyes he was nevertheless – or perhaps as a consequence – a prat.
‘No, we’re not going to the police,’ Arve said.
‘Oh? Then you’ll have to give me a good reason.’
‘Fine. What sort of money are we talking?’
‘My God, Arve, I’m not trying to blackmail you. I just can’t –’
‘How much?’
‘Stop it. Have you got an alibi or haven’t you?’
‘I haven’t got an alibi, but I do have an awful lot of money. Tell me how many zeros and I’ll think
about it.’
‘Arve, if you have nothing to hide –’
‘Of course I’ve got something to hide, you twat! Do you think I want to be publicly exposed as a
wife-porker and murder suspect? We’ll have to meet and talk this through.’
‘And did you meet?’ Harry Hole asked.
Arve Støp shook his head. Outside the bedroom window he could see the heralding of dawn, but the
fjord was still black.