“What,” white eyebrows frowned with astonishment, “you don’t believe in Santa Claus?”
“Mum says that Santa is…“ “…is a fucking bullshit,” the exact words almost escaped Angie’s lips. “That he doesn’t exist,” she finished aloud.
“Ho-ho-ho!” his eyebrows spread above. “Then who do you think am I, eh?”
“I don’t know,” Angie muttered even more quietly. “Santa Claus came to our class. And Ricky, he’s a big bully, pulled his beard. And Santa’s beard was held on with a string.”
“Well, but I am real,” Santa resolutely objected. “And my beard is real, too. If you don’t believe me, you can touch it,” he even bent down to make it easier for the little girl.
Angie timidly stepped forward, then once again, and carefully touched the beard. Santa only smiled encouragingly, and she gently pulled. Having grown bolder, she tugged more strongly, and at last, spurred on by her own impudence, she jerked the beard sharply.
“Ho-ho-ho!” Santa exclaimed louder and more abruptly than before. “What a strong girl you are! So, do you believe me now?
“You are really real?” the girl whispered.
“What do you think?”
Angie felt tears well up in her eyes—tears of joy and offense simultaneously. “Then why… didn’t you… come befo-ore…”
“Well, well, sweetheart,” Santa took her cap off and soothingly palmed her head. “No need to cry. I’m sorry I didn’t come before. But, you see, there are so many children in the world and all of them need gifts! There’s not enough time, I have to rely on my helpers, and sometimes they let me down. But look what I brought for you now!”
He took the bag from his shoulder and for some time with a conspiratorial air dug inside it. And then he winked to Angie and took out…
“Barbie the Princess!”
“Barbie the Princess,” confirmed Santa, handing over a box with the doll to the girl.
“Now she’s mine? Forever?” Angie couldn’t believe in her happiness.
“Certainly, forever. What gifts aren’t given forever?”
“Thanks, dear, sweet Santa!” She tried to embrace him without letting go of the doll.
“And there’s even more!” he interrupted her. “After all, I owe you gifts for seven years…”
“For eight,” Angie could have corrected, but didn’t dare.
“…so now you will get them all, too. But they’re on my sleigh. You should come get your presents and feed my reindeer. Do you want to do that?”
“Of course I do!” The girl began to jump with delight.
“Then let’s go!” He turned and start walking on the virgin snow in the lane. Angie hastened at his heels, trying to step into the big pits of his footprints.
Without reaching the exit to a street, Santa turned into a narrow alley and for a long time the girl saw nothing except concrete walls on both sides and the wide red back with a bag right ahead. Then the walls ended, and they came out to a small ravine; in summer a stream flowed on its bottom, but now only deep snow lay there. On the other side of the ravine, black-and-white trees froze in condensing darkness. Angie understood that they had reached the forest adjoining the border of the city.
Santa began to descend resolutely into the ravine, and the girl had to follow him. It was not difficult to go down, but when they were clambering up, she quickly was out of breath and was even hot in her old jacket which was already small for her. Santa only darted a quick glance over his shoulder and continued to walk quickly through the snow between trees.
“Is it far?” Angie asked plaintively, barely keeping up with him.
“No,” he answered without turning to her, “we’re almost there.”
“It’s dark already,” the girl said uncertainly.
“Are you afraid of the dark?” he looked at her again. “Ah, you little scaredy-cat! I fly in the dark all night on Christmas Eve! By the way, I can take you for a ride in my sleigh over the city!”
“Really?” Angie’s doubts receded again.
“Sure. Maybe I’ll even allow you to drive the reindeer.”
Meanwhile they had already gone so deep into the woods that they would not have seen its border from here even in the daytime; now in the gloom it seemed all the more that the forest stretched for incalculable miles in every direction.
“Why did you… leave the sleigh… so far away?” the girl asked, panting.
“Well, after all we don’t want someone to come across it and take all he gifts for himself! OK, we’re almost there. That glade.”
The glade was surrounded by high fragile bush. Santa made a way with a crunch and the girl followed him, anticipating seeing the magic sleigh and Rudolf the Red-Nosed Reindeer. Suddenly Santa stopped, and Angie almost ran into him.
The glade was empty and covered by untouched snow.
“Where is the sleigh?” the girl murmured.
“It’ll be here soon. Meanwhile, undress.”
“What?” Angie was shocked.
“Undress. You’re hot, aren’t you?”
She has indeed sweated and now willingly took off her jacket. Santa stretched out his mittened hand and took it from her.
“Come on,” he ordered.
“What?” The girl felt fear again and involuntarily pressed the box with the princess to her chest.
“Now!” Santa’s voice became hoarse and sharp. “Take off your clothes!”
“But…” Angie moved back, “I don’t want…”
“But you want the doll? You still want the doll, you ungrateful little bitch?!”
“Take it!” Angie stretched the box out before her, continuing to move back. “Take it back, just let me go!”
“Santa Claus gives gifts to good girls,” the grinning mouth said, “and now you’ll find out what he does to bad girls.”
“Help!” cried Angie, turning to run away. The brute hands seized her and threw her down in the snow.
“It’s him, no doubt,” federal agent Douglas once again looked towards the glade where the crime lab team was already finishing its work. Nearby a pair of ambulance orderlies with a stretcher shifted from one foot to the other in the cold, expecting a command to take away the body. “The Snowman. Damn, we’ve been chasing this son of a bitch for three years already. Well, maybe this time we’ll get something we can use.”
“Are you sure it’s him, sir?” trainee John Rockston raised the collar of his uniform jacket and put his hands into pockets: he felt chilly, too. And he wasn’t sure the only reason was the cold and not the impression of what he had seen. Textbooks and photos are one thing, but when you actually see this yourself for the first time… “Could be, just some local guy flipped his lid…”
“A local wouldn’t lead a victim so far,” Douglas objected. “There are enough basements and empty warehouses in the city. But the Snowman needs snow. A lot of snow and open air. And all the other details… There are, of course, imitators of another’s modus operandi. But the Snowman never made the headlines. Only some brief mentions in the local media. He’s a bastard, but not a fool at all. He chooses a time when editors prefer cheerful and sweet-tearful materials, instead of bloody horrors. Americans don’t like their holidays to be spoiled. And, as after New Year’s Day the murders stop, the topic loses its urgency. Till next Christmas.”
Crunching through the snow, the chief of the city police approached them with a clipboard in his hand. His physiognomy was peevish and skeptical, as always when he was speaking with feds. Douglas tried to ignore it and inquired in a efficient tone:
“So, have you identified the victim?”
“Yes,” the police chief nodded. He held the clipboard before himself, but didn’t look at it. “Angelica Lawrence, 9. Disappeared two days ago. From, as they say, a problem family. The father is an alcoholic, on welfare, the mother’s not much better… Typical white trash. They didn’t even notify the police that their daughter was missing. The girl went to school normally, but it’s vacation now… it’s pure luck that a local man came across her before everything here was covered with snow.”