Harry Hole Mysteries 3-Book Bundle

ALSO BY JO NESBO

Headhunters

THE HARRY HOLE SERIES

The Redbreast

Nemesis

The Devil’s Star

The Redeemer

The Snowman

The Leopard

Phantom

VINTAGE CANADA E-OMNIBUS, 2012

Copyright © 2012 Jo Nesbo
English translation copyright © 2012 Don Bartlett
The Snowman
is published by arrangement with Harvill Secker, one of the publishers in the Random House Group Ltd.
The Leopard
and
Phantom
are published by agreement with Salomonsson Agency.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the publisher, except by a reviewer, who may quote brief passages in a review.

The Snowman
Published in Canada by Random House Canada, a division of Random House of Canada Limited. All rights reserved.
Copyright © 2010 Jo Nesbo
e-ISBN: 978-0-307-35867-7

The Leopard
Published in Canada by Random House Canada, a division of Random House of Canada Limited. All rights reserved.
Copyright © 2011 Jo Nesbo
e-ISBN: 978-0-307-35974-2

Phantom
Published in Canada by Random House Canada, a division of Random House of Canada Limited. All rights reserved.
Copyright © 2012 Jo Nesbo
e-ISBN: 978-0-307-36109-7

E-omnibus edition published in Canada by Vintage Canada, a division of Random House of Canada Limited, Toronto, in 2012.

Vintage Canada with colophon is a registered trademark.
www.randomhouse.ca

These are works of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Cataloguing data available from Library and Archives Canada.

Nesbo, Jo

    Harry Hole Mysteries 3-Book Bundle [electronic resource] : The Snowman, The Leopard, Phantom / Jo Nesbo.

Electronic monograph issued in HTML format.

e-ISBN: 978-0-345-81314-5

v3.1

The Snowman

The Leopard

Phantom

Master - Table of Contents

I
T WAS THE DAY THE SNOW CAME
. A
T ELEVEN O’CLOCK IN
the morning, large flakes appeared from a colourless sky and invaded the fields, gardens and lawns of Romerike like an armada from outer space. At two, the snowploughs were in action in Lillestrøm, and when, at half past two, Sara Kvinesland slowly and carefully steered her Toyota Corolla SR5 between the detached houses in Kolloveien, the November snow was lying like a down duvet over the rolling countryside.

She was thinking that the houses looked different in daylight. So different that she almost passed his drive. The car skidded as she applied the brakes, and she heard a groan from the back seat. In the rear-view mirror she saw her son’s disgruntled face.

‘It won’t take long, my love,’ she said.

In front of the garage there was a large patch of black tarmac amid all the white, and she realised that the removal van had been there. Her throat constricted. She hoped she wasn’t too late.

‘Who lives here?’ came from the back seat.

‘Just someone I know,’ Sara said, automatically checking her hair in the mirror. ‘Ten minutes, my love. I’ll leave the key in the ignition so you can listen to the radio.’

She went without waiting for a response, slithered in her slippery
shoes up to the door she had been through so many times, but never like this, not in the middle of the day, in full view of all the neighbours’ prying eyes. Not that late-night visits would seem any more innocent, but for some reason acts of this kind felt more appropriate when performed after the fall of darkness.

She heard the buzz of the doorbell inside, like a bumblebee in a jam jar. Feeling her desperation mount, she glanced at the windows of the neighbouring houses. They gave nothing away, just returned reflections of bare black apple trees, grey sky and milky-white terrain. Then, at last, she heard footsteps behind the door and heaved a sigh of relief. The next moment she was inside and in his arms.

‘Don’t go, darling,’ she said, hearing the sob already straining at her vocal cords.

‘I have to,’ he said in a monotone that suggested a refrain he had tired of long ago. His hands sought familiar paths, of which they never tired.