The Snowman ( PDFDrive )

‘This is our day, Rakel. The rest of life is so unbelievably short, so let’s celebrate, not waste time
explaining. Please put your arms behind your back.’
Rakel did as he said. She hadn’t heard Oleg come up from the cellar. Perhaps he was still in the
cellar; perhaps he could get out if she could just detain Mathias. ‘I’d like to know why,’ she said
and could hear emotion tugging at her vocal cords.
‘Because you’re a whore.’
She felt something thin and hard tighten around her wrists. Felt his warm breath on her neck. His
lips. And then his tongue. She gritted her teeth, knowing that if she screamed he might stop and she
wanted him to go on, to waste time. The tongue worked its way round and up to her ear. A little
nibble.
‘And the son from your whoring is in the freezer,’ he whispered.
‘Oleg?’ she said, feeling herself lose control.
‘Relax, my darling, he won’t die of cold.’
‘Wo-won’t he?’
‘Long before his body has cooled down the son of a whore will have died from asphyxiation. It’s
simple mathematics.’
‘Mathema –’
‘I did the calculations ages ago. It’s all calculated.’
A revving motorbike skidded up the winding roads of Holmenkollen in the dark. The roar
reverberated between the houses and onlookers considered it madness in these snowy conditions.
The rider should have his licence taken off him. But the rider didn’t have one.
Harry accelerated up the drive to the black timber house, but in the sharp turn the wheels spun on
the fresh snow and he felt the bike losing speed. He didn’t try to correct the skid, he jumped off and
the bike rolled down the slope, burst through a few low spruce branches before coming to a halt
against a tree trunk, tipped onto its side and, spitting snow from the back wheel, breathed its last.
By then Harry was already halfway up the steps.
There were no footprints in the snow, neither to nor from the house. He took out his revolver as he
bounded up to the door.
It was unlocked. As promised.
He slipped into the hall and the first thing he saw was the cellar door wide open.
Harry stopped to listen. There was a noise, a kind of drumming. It seemed to be coming from the
kitchen. Harry hesitated. Then he opted for the cellar.
With his revolver pointing in front of him he sidled down the staircase. At the bottom he stopped to