Hidden in Snow (The ?re Murders, #1)(100)

He is driving much too fast; she is having trouble keeping up. The tension is making her skin crawl.

The streetlights come to an end.

Now she has only her own headlights to rely on, and they are already providing insufficient visibility in the snow.

The road curves again, and a truck appears in a cloud of snow mist. Its lights dazzle her; she can barely see where the roadway ends and the ditch begins.

She ought to slow down, but dare not for fear of losing the other car.

As the truck sweeps past, her entire vehicle is shaken by its slipstream. For a brief moment the back wheels slide and she lets out a scream.

Then the tires grip the surface once more, and Hanna regains control.

Her hands are shaking now; sweat is gathering on her forehead and trickling down her temples. She can hear herself gasping for breath.

She can still see the other driver’s taillights, two faint dots in the distance. She must not, cannot lose sight of him.

They are on a straight stretch of road now.

Hanna is doing fifty miles an hour, which is the speed limit, but the lights ahead are fading; he is pulling away from her. She is clutching the wheel so tightly that it hurts.

She tries to speed up but is terrified of losing control again.

They have passed H?lland; the road is anything but straight from now on. Suddenly she becomes aware of a bright light in her rearview mirror.

It is much too close.

She is totally focused on not losing the car up ahead, but the one behind her seems to be accelerating.

It is getting nearer, even though conditions are so bad that the driver ought to keep his distance.

Hanna has no choice but to speed up.

The lights in her mirror are blinding her—what the fuck is he doing? It is lethal to get so close in weather like this; if he doesn’t slow down, he is going to hit her from behind.

Once again, she puts her foot down.

The speedometer climbs to fifty-five, sixty, sixty-five.

The car sways alarmingly from side to side as the gusts of wind whip up the snow in front of her windshield.

She screws up her eyes, switching her focus from the mirror to the road ahead and back again.

Her pulse is racing, the stress is unbearable.

A bend appears out of nowhere.

At the same time the whole car shudders as something smashes into the back fender.

The lights in the mirror have gone.

What the fuck is that idiot doing? Hanna thinks a microsecond before her car jolts violently. As if in slow motion, she sees the hood plowing forward in a completely different direction from the roadway.

Then a tree comes rushing toward her, and she tries to wrench the steering wheel to one side in a panic.

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110

Fredrik must pay for what he has done.

Harald remains sitting in the dark kitchen after Daniel has left.

The bitterness he feels toward Fredrik obliterates everything else. How can he be walking around as if nothing has happened? Is he going to carry on living his life as usual, while Harald’s life is in ruins? The police won’t do anything—Daniel confirmed that.

Harald pictures Mira and Fredrik’s home. The large, impressive, red timber house that they have put their heart and soul into. The place where they sleep soundly and securely at night with little Leah.

Their daughter is alive, while his is dead. He hates Mira now as much as Fredrik.

Fredrik ought to burn in hell for his crimes.

Harald blinks; suddenly he knows what he must do.

All at once everything is perfectly clear.

Wood burns fast; with a couple of gallons of gasoline, their house would be in flames in seconds. Particularly at this time of year, when the cold makes the fire more difficult to put out and the snow causes problems for the fire engines.

Harald begins to work out how much gasoline it would take. The calculations make him feel better; he can already see the chaotic scene, hear the crackle of the hungry flames.

All the emotions he has tried to suppress come bursting through.

Why should he be the only one to suffer?

After a few minutes he gets to his feet and puts on his boots. He doesn’t bother with a jacket as he goes outside and opens the garage door. On the workbench in the corner, he finds the spare can that he usually keeps topped up with gasoline.

He picks it up, feels the weight. It is full, just as it should be. To be on the safe side, he unscrews the green cap and checks the contents. When he replaces the cap, he happens to spill a few drops on his pants.

The smell brings him a strange sense of calm. It gives him fresh strength and makes him see dancing sparks, tongues of flame licking the walls of Fredrik and Mira’s home until nothing remains but charred wood and ashes.

Harald carefully tightens the cap and places the can in the trunk of his car.

It is almost eight thirty. He decides to wait a few hours, until everyone is asleep. He can park down by the E14 and walk the last part. No one will notice him. It is almost minus twenty-five degrees outside; people stay indoors when it’s that cold. Plus it’s snowing heavily, which will make him even more invisible.

It’s going to be so easy, pouring gasoline over the dry timber walls and igniting it with his lighter.

The image of little Leah flickers through his mind, but he pushes it aside. The only thing keeping him going right now is the hope that Fredrik will pay for his crime.

He can’t let the thought of Mira’s child stop him.