Jo Nesbo

“40 Gated Community, October 2016 The time was eight thirty and the sun shone from a cloudless sky down onto the Minnesota Landscape Arboretum, more familiarly abbreviated as the Arb. Gunnar Person, the senior gardener in the botanical gardens, registered that it looked like they were in for a fine autumn day. He stepped down from the golf cart and crossed the grass in the direction of a stand of trees. He liked an early start, liked being the first man at work. But today it looked like someone had beaten him to it. The park was fenced in, and it had opening hours, but the fence was low and the park covered a huge area. If someone wanted to get in, they got in. Right now the park was hosting a sculpture exhibition, with pieces on display across the whole area. They showed animals that looked like they were made out of folded paper. Origami, they called it. Only these were made of metal and they were life-sized. If you could say of such literally fabulous creatures that they had a life-size. Like that rearing, winged Pegasus Gunnar was headed for. But as Gunnar got closer, he saw that the figure of a large man had been placed on the horse’s back. He was half naked, and Gunnar was thinking it was probably something to do with someone’s stag party. The figure was held in place by the wings, with the upper body and shoulders resting against the horse’s neck. There was no way it was a comfortable position to sleep in, but the man was probably so drunk he didn’t notice. “Hey there!” Gunnar called in a loud, cheery voice. “Time to wake up!” The figure on the horse didn’t move. Gunnar felt uneasy. There was something…well, something dead about it. The man’s head had evidently slipped down over the far side of the origami-like horse’s neck and couldn’t be seen. Gunnar walked around it. His first thought was that he must have made a mistake, for there was no head there either. Then he saw the red stub of neck sticking up from the collar of the man’s shirt. He gasped for breath and started saying the Lord’s Prayer as he fumbled for his phone, found it and tapped in the emergency number. While it was ringing he looked around for any sign of the head but saw nothing. He returned his gaze to the sculpture again, in all its grotesque horror an arresting and almost poetic sight. Almost as though the horse was about to lift off and fly the headless man up to heaven.”
― Jo Nesbo, Wolf Hour: A Novel