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Snow Angels: An addictive serial killer thriller
James Thompson
If you’re a fan of Jo Nesbo’s The Snowman, you’ll love this gripping scandi thriller.‘We don’t talk about hatred, we hate in silence. It’s our way. We do everything in silence.’One hundred miles inside the Arctic Circle, Sufia Elmi, a beautiful and enchanting Somali movie star, is found dead – her body stripped naked and mutilated.Detective Kari Vaara is determined to get right to the heart of the hate crime. As the media reaches fever pitch, suspects emerge. Among them a past figure Vaara would rather forget.Meanwhile, his American wife Kate is struggling to cope, pregnant and isolated in her new home.In the thick of a cruel, endless winter, who is cold enough to kill?
SNOW ANGELS
JAMES THOMPSON
Copyright
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
Avon
An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd. 1 London Bridge Street London SE1 9GF
www.harpercollins.co.uk (http://www.harpercollins.co.uk/)
First published by WSOY 2009
Published by HarperCollinsPublishers 2010
Copyright © James Thompson 2009
James Thompson asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this ebook on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins ebooks
HarperCollinsPublishers has made every reasonable effort to ensure that any picture content and written content in this ebook has been included or removed in accordance with the contractual and technological constraints in operation at the time of publication.
Source ISBN: 9781847562272
Ebook Edition © 2010 ISBN: 9780007388257
Version: 2018-07-09
Contents
Cover Page (#u8647433d-6217-54fc-81a3-e54ede7770e2)
Title Page (#uce2f1e5b-f914-5568-9fc6-8aedbc3904e0)
Copyright
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Acknowledgments
About the Publisher (#u20b8ba96-7490-5fae-aeca-2a864bf7c6d1)
Chapter 1
I’M IN HULLU PORO, The Crazy Reindeer, the biggest bar and restaurant in this part of the Arctic Circle. It was remodeled not long ago, but pine boards line the walls and ceiling, like an old Finnish farmhouse. Nouveau rustic decor.
Even though it’s early afternoon, a couple hundred people are here. The bar is crowded and noisy. It’s minus forty degrees Celsius outside, too cold to ski. The rush of wind from racing downhill would cause instant frostbite on even the smallest patch of exposed skin. The lifts are closed, so people are drinking instead.
My wife, Kate, is the general manager of Levi Center, a complex of restaurants, bars, a two-hundred-room hotel and an entertainment arena that holds almost a thousand people. Hullu Poro is only part of a massive operation in the biggest ski resort in Finland, and Kate runs it all. I’m proud of her.
Kate is behind the bar, talking to Tuuli, the shift manager. I’m eavesdropping on their conversation because I’m a cop, and Kate may want to have Tuuli arrested.
“I think you played with the inventory on the computer,” Kate says. “You transferred liquor to other sales points, made it look like it disappeared from other bars, but you brought the bottles here, sold them out of this bar and pocketed the money.”
Tuuli smiles and replies in Finnish. In a calm voice, she unleashes an eloquent stream of vicious invective. Kate has no idea of the ways in which Tuuli has insulted her.
Kate is five foot ten and slim. She’s wearing jeans and a cashmere sweater. Her long cinnamon hair is swept up in a chignon. Men around the bar sneak glances at her.
“Please speak English so I can understand you,” Kate says. “If you can’t explain where the liquor went, you’re fired. I’m considering pressing charges against you.”
Tuuli’s face is unreadable. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Kate is an expert in ski resort management. The owners of Levi Center wanted to expand the resort, so they brought her here to Finland from Aspen a year and a half ago to oversee the changes.
“I checked the dates and times on the computer system,” Kate says. “The inventory transfers are consistent with times you were on duty. No one else could have done it. Six hundred euros worth of liquor went missing last month. You’ve been working here for three months. Want me to check the other two months?”
Tuuli mulls it over. “If you give me a week’s pay and a letter of recommendation,” she says, “I’ll resign without protesting to the union.”
Kate folds her arms. “No severance pay, no letter. If you file a protest, I’ll prosecute.”
Tuuli fingers a bottle of Johnny Walker on the shelf. The dull shine of her eyes tells me some of the stolen booze has been going down her throat. I know drunks. She’s considering bludgeoning Kate with the bottle. She glances at me and I shake my head. Tuuli takes her hand off the bottle and tries the conciliatory approach. “Let’s sit down and talk about this.”
Kate signals to the bouncer at the front door and he comes over. “This conversation is over,” she says. “Take Tuuli to get her things, then escort her out. She’s banned from the bar.”
“You’re a cunt,” Tuuli says.
Kate smiles. “And you’re unemployed. You’re also banned from every bar in Levi owned by this firm.”
That’s most of them. In effect, Tuuli is ostracized. She clenches her teeth and fists. “Vitun huora.” Fucking whore.
Kate looks at the bouncer. “Get her out of here.”
He puts a hand on Tuuli’s shoulder and guides her away.
When Kate turns to me, she looks ice-calm. “I have to do a couple things in the office, I’ll just be a few minutes.”
I lean on the bar while I wait for her. A tourist asks Jaska, the bartender, “Just how far north are we?”
Jaska puts on the condescending face he reserves for foreigners. “You Australians aren’t too good with . . . ” he can’t find the word and reverts to Finnish. “Maantiede. Drive that way for one day and you reach the Barents Sea, the end of the world.” He’s pointing west.
“Some Finns aren’t too good with geography either,” I say. “That way is toward Sweden.” I turn ninety degrees. “The North Pole is that way.” I point east. “Russia is over there. We’re a hundred miles inside the Arctic Circle.”
“Inspector Vaara and I went to high school together,” Jaska says. “He got better grades than me.”
“Thanks for the lesson,” the Aussie says. “It’s hard to get oriented when it’s dark all the time. You’re a policeman?”
“Yeah.”
“Have one on me officer. What are you drinking?”
“Lapin Kulta.”
“What’s that?”
“Beer. We had a gold rush in the Arctic a little over a hundred years ago, and the brand name means ‘The Gold of Lapland.’ ”
Jaska makes drinks for the tourists and chats about skiing conditions. It’s supposed to warm up to minus fifteen tomorrow, still bitter cold, but safe enough so that with proper clothing skiers can hit the slopes again.
It’s good for me to make my presence felt here, to discourage locals whose idea of a good time is to get drunk and beat up or otherwise harass tourists. I look to the other side of the room. The Virtanen brothers are here, prime candidates for such behavior. By the end of the night, like as not, they’ll pull knives on each other. One of these days one will kill the other, and the survivor will die of loneliness.
Jaska hands me my beer. “Jotain muuta?” Anything else?
“A ginger ale for Kate.”
While Jaska gets it for her, I go over to the Virtanen brothers’ table. “Kimmo, Esa, how’s it going?”
The brothers look sheepish. My presence makes them nervous. “Fine Kari,” Esa says. “How’s your gorgeous American wife?”
My marriage to a foreigner causes suspicion and consternation among the less progressive thinkers of our small community, but also envy, because of Kate’s success and good looks.
“She’s good. How are your mom and dad?”
“Mom can’t speak since the stroke, and—you know how he is—Dad is Dad,” Esa says, and Kimmo nods drunken agreement.
