The Snowman ( PDFDrive )

security firms whether they’ve got a recording.’
‘Monitor all the faces half an hour before and after,’ Harry said.
‘That’s a big job,’ Skarre said.
‘Guess who you need to ask,’ Harry said.
‘Beate Lønn,’ Holm said.
‘Correct. Say hello.’
Holm nodded, and Harry felt a pang of bad conscience. Skarre’s mobile went off with the La’s
‘There She Goes’ as a ringtone.
They watched as Skarre listened. Harry reflected on how he had put off calling Beate for a long
time now. Since the one visit in the summer, after the birth, he hadn’t seen her. He knew she didn’t
blame him for Halvorsen’s being killed in the line of duty. But it had been a bit too much for him:
seeing Halvorsen’s child, the child the young officer never got to see, and knowing deep down that
Beate was wrong. He could – he should – have saved Halvorsen.
Skarre rang off.
‘A woman up in Tveita’s been reported missing by her husband. Camilla Lossius, twenty-nine years
old, married, no children. It only came in a couple of hours ago, but there are a few worrying
details. There’s a shopping bag on the worktop, nothing has been put in the fridge. The mobile
phone was left in the car, and according to the husband she never goes anywhere without it. And
one of the neighbours told the husband she saw a man hanging around their property and garage as
if waiting for someone. The husband can’t say whether anything’s missing, not even toiletries or
suitcases. These are the types who have a villa outside Nice and so many possessions they don’t
notice if something’s gone missing. Understand what I mean?’
‘Mm,’ Harry said. ‘What does the Missing Persons Unit think?’
‘That she’ll turn up. They just wanted to keep us posted.’
‘OK,’ Harry said. ‘Let’s go on then.’
No one commented on the report for the rest of the meeting. However, Harry could feel it was in the
air, like the rumble of distant thunder that might – or might not – come closer. After being allocated
names off the call list, the group dispersed from Harry’s office.
Harry went back to the window and gazed down at the park. The evenings were drawing in earlier
and earlier; it was almost tangible as the days passed. He thought about Idar Vetlesen’s mother
when he had told her about the free medical help he had given to African prostitutes in the
evenings. And for the first time she had dropped her mask – not in grief but fury – and screamed it
was lies, her son did not tend Negro whores. Perhaps it was better to lie. Harry thought about what
he had told the Chief Superintendent the day before, that the bloodbath was over for the time being.
In the gathering darkness beneath him he could just make it out under his window. The kindergarten
classes often played there, especially if snow had fallen, as it had done last night. At least that was
what he had thought when he saw it on his way to work this morning. It was a big greyish-white
snowman.