‘What’s up?’ she asked, terrified.

‘Just being extra careful. You should have phoned and said you were coming.’

‘Sh-shouldn’t I have come?’

Harry went up the steps past her and unlocked the door. She followed him in, put her arms around him from behind, clung to his back and kicked the door shut with her heel. He freed himself, turned, was about to say something, but she stopped him with a kiss. A greedy kiss that demanded reciprocity. She put her cold hands up his shirt, felt from the glowing hot skin that he had come straight from bed, removed the revolver from his trousers and banged it down on the hall table.

‘I want you,’ she whispered, bit his ear and pushed her hand down his trousers. His dick was warm and soft.

‘Kaja…’

‘Can I have you?’

She thought she could discern a slight hesitation, a certain reluctance. She wrapped her other hand around his neck, looked into his eyes. ‘Please…’

He smiled. Then his muscles relaxed. And he kissed her. Cautiously. More cautiously than she wanted. She groaned with frustration, undid his trouser buttons. Held his dick firmly without moving her hand, felt it grow.

‘Fuck you,’ he sighed and lifted her. Carried her up the stairs. Kicked open the bedroom door and laid her on the bed. On his mother’s side. She tilted back her head, closed her eyes, felt her clothes being removed, quickly, efficiently. Felt the heat radiating from his skin the moment he lowered himself onto her and forced her legs apart. Yes, she thought. Fuck me.

She lay with her cheek and ear against his chest, listening to his heartbeat.

‘What were you thinking,’ she whispered, ‘when you were lying there knowing you were going to die?’

‘That I was going to live,’ Harry said.

‘Just that?’

‘Just that.’

‘Not that you were going to… meet those you loved?’

‘No.’

‘I did. It was strange. I was so frightened that something special was going to pieces. And then the horror passed and instead I was filled with peace. I just slept. And then you came. And woke me up. Rescued me.’

Harry passed her his cigarette and she took a drag, then sniggered.

‘You’re a hero, Harry. The type they give medals. Who would have thought that of you, eh?’

Harry shook his head. ‘Believe me, sweetheart, I was thinking only of myself. I didn’t spare you a thought until I reached the fireplace.’

‘Maybe not, but when you got there you still had very little air. By digging me out you knew we would use up the air twice as quickly.’

‘What can I say? I’m a generous guy.’

She slapped his chest with a laugh. ‘A hero!’

Harry inhaled hard. ‘Or perhaps it was survival instinct outmanoeuvring conscience.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘The person I found first was so strong he almost managed to keep the pole. So I guessed it had to be Kolkka and that he was alive. I knew it was a question of seconds and minutes, but instead of digging him out I prodded the snow to find you. You were quite still. I thought you were dead.’

‘So?’

‘So maybe I was thinking deep down that if I dug out the dead one first the one who was alive might die in the meantime. In that way I could have all the air to myself. It’s hard to know what governs your actions.’

She went quiet. Outside, the snarl of a motorbike rose and fell. A motorbike in March. And today she had seen a migratory bird. Everything was out of balance.

‘Do you always brood so much?’ she asked.

‘No. Maybe. I don’t know.’

She wriggled closer to him. ‘What are you brooding about now?’

‘How he can know what he knows.’

She sighed. ‘Our killer?’

‘And why he’s playing with me. Why he sends me a bit of Tony Leike. How he thinks.’

‘And how are you going to find out?’

He stubbed out the cigarette on the bedside table. Took a deep breath and released it in a long hiss. ‘That’s the point. I can only think of one way. I have to talk to him.’

‘Him? Prince Charming?’

‘Someone like him.’

The dream came on the threshold of sleep. He was staring up at a nail. It was sticking out of a man’s head. But there was something familiar about the face tonight. A familiar portrait, one he had seen so many times. Seen recently. The foreign object in Harry’s mouth exploded and he twitched. He was asleep.

70

Blind Spot

Harry walked along the hospital corridor with a prison warder dressed in civilian clothing. Two strides in front was the doctor. She had informed Harry of his condition, prepared him for what he should expect.

They came to a door and the warder unlocked it. Inside, the corridor continued for a few metres. There were three doors in the wall to the left. A uniformed prison warder stood in front of one of them.

‘Is he awake?’ asked the doctor while the warder searched Harry. The officer nodded, put all the contents of Harry’s pockets on the table, unlocked the door and stepped aside.

The doctor signalled that Harry should wait a moment and entered with the warder. She came back out immediately.

‘Fifteen minutes maximum,’ she said. ‘He’s doing better, but he’s weak.’

Harry nodded. Took a deep breath. And stepped inside.

He stopped by the door and heard it close behind him. The curtains were drawn, and the room was dark apart from a lamp by the bed. The light fell on a figure sitting semi-upright against a pillow, head bowed and long hair hanging down on each side.

‘Come closer, Harry.’ The voice had changed; it sounded like the lament of unoiled door hinges. But Harry recognised it, and his blood ran cold.

He approached the bed and sat on the chair that had been provided. The man raised his head. And Harry stopped breathing.

He looked as if someone had poured hot wax over his face. Which had stiffened into a mask that was too tight, pulling the forehead and the chin back and turning the mouth into a small, lipless gap in a lumpy landscape of bony tissue. The laughter was two short blasts of air.

‘Don’t you recognise me, Harry?’

‘I recognise the eyes,’ Harry said. ‘That’ll do. It’s you.’

‘Anything new from…’ The small carp-like mouth seemed to be forming a smile. ‘… our Rakel?’

Harry had prepared himself for this, braced himself the way a boxer braces himself for pain. Nonetheless, the sound of her name in his mouth made him clench his fists.

‘You agreed to talk to me about a man. A man we think is like you.’

‘Like me? Better-looking, I trust.’ Again two short blasts. ‘It’s bizarre, Harry. I’ve never been a vain man; I thought the pain would be the worst aspect of this illness. But do you know what? It’s the deterioration. It’s seeing yourself in the mirror, seeing the monster emerge. They still let me go to the toilet alone, but I avoid the mirrors. I was a good-looking man, you know.’

‘Have you read the things I sent you?’

‘I had a quick skim. Dr Dyregod’s of the opinion I shouldn’t wear myself out. Infections. Inflammations. Fever. She’s genuinely concerned about my health, Harry. Quite astonishing when you consider what I’ve done, eh? Personally I’m more interested in dying. That’s precisely where I envy those I… but you put a stop to that, didn’t you, Harry?’

‘Death would have been too kind a punishment.’

Something seemed to ignite in the sick man’s eyes and appeared as a cold white light from the slits in his face.

‘At least I have a name and a place in the annals of history. People will read about the Snowman. Someone will inherit the mantle and act out my ideas in life. What have you got, Harry? Nothing. Quite the contrary, you’ve lost the little you had.’

‘True,’ Harry said. ‘You won.’

‘Do you miss your middle finger?’

‘Well, I’m missing it right now.’ Harry raised his head and met the other’s gaze. Held it. Then the small carp mouth opened. The laughter sounded like a gun with a silencer.