The Snowman Read Free

period. The male will take care of his partner until the young have been born and can cope by themselves. Not out of love for the female, but out of love for his own genes and hereditary material. Darwinist theory would say that it is natural selection that makes the Berhaus seal monogamous, not morality.’
    I wonder, thought Harry.
    The voice on the radio was almost hitting falsetto with excitement. ‘But before the seals leave the Bering Straits to search for food in the open sea, the male will try to kill the female. Why? Because a female Berhaus seal will never mate twice with the same male! For her this is about spreading the biological risk of hereditary material, just like on the stock market. For her it makes biological sense to be promiscuous, and the male knows this. By taking her life he wants to stop the young of other seals competing with his own progeny for the same food.’
    ‘We’re entering Darwinian waters here, so why don’t humans think like the seal?’ another voice said.
    ‘But we do, don’t we! Our society is not as monogamous as it appears, and never has been. A Swedish study showed recently that between fifteen and twenty per cent of all children born have a different father from the one they – and for that matter the postulated fathers – think. Twenty per cent! That’s every fifth child! Living a lie. And ensuring biological diversity.’
    Harry fiddled with the frequency dial to find some tolerable music. He stopped at an ageing Johnny Cash’s version of ‘Desperado’.
    There was a firm knock on the door.
    Harry went into the bedroom, put on his jeans, returned to the hall and opened up.
    ‘Harry Hole?’ The man outside was wearing a blue boiler suit and looking at Harry through thick lenses. His eyes were as clear as a child’s.
    Harry nodded.
    ‘Have you got fungus?’ The man asked the question with a straight face. A long wisp of hair traversed his forehead and was stuck there. Under his arm he was holding a plastic clipboard with a densely printed sheet.
    Harry waited for him to explain further, but nothing was forthcoming. Just this clear, open expression.
    ‘That,’ Harry said, ‘strictly speaking, is a private matter.’
    The man gave the suggestion of a smile in response to a joke he was heartily sick of hearing. ‘Fungus in your flat. Mould.’
    ‘I have no reason to believe that I have,’ said Harry.
    ‘That’s the thing about mould. It seldom gives anyone any reason to believe that it’s there.’ The man sucked at his teeth and rocked on his heels.
    ‘But?’ Harry said at length.
    ‘But it is.’
    ‘What makes you think that?’
    ‘Your neighbour’s got it.’
    ‘Uh-huh? And you think it may have spread?’
    ‘Mould doesn’t spread. Dry rot does.’
    ‘So then . . . ?’
    ‘There’s a construction fault with the ventilation along the walls in this block. It allows dry rot to flourish. May I take a peep at your kitchen?’
    Harry stepped to the side. The man powered into the kitchen where at once he pressed an orange hairdryer-like apparatus against the wall. It squeaked twice.
    ‘Damp detector,’ the man said, studying something that was obviously an indicator. ‘Just as I thought. Sure you haven’t seen or smelt anything suspicious?’
    Harry didn’t have a clear perception of what that might be.
    ‘A coating like on stale bread,’ the man said. ‘Mouldy smell.’
    Harry shook his head.
    ‘Have you had sore eyes?’ the man asked. ‘Felt tired? Had headaches?’
    Harry shrugged. ‘Of course. For as long as I can remember.’
    ‘Do you mean for as long as you’ve lived here?’
    ‘Maybe. Listen . . .’
    But the man wasn’t listening; he’d taken a knife from his belt. Harry stood back and watched the hand holding the knife being raised and thrust with great force. There was a sound like a groan as the knife went through the plasterboard behind the wallpaper. The man pulled out the knife, thrust it in again and bent back a