The Snowman ( PDFDrive )

metre-high glass door.
Harry pressed the other doorbells.
‘Those are just offices,’ Bjørn Holm said. ‘Støp lives alone at the top. I’ve read that.’
Harry looked around.
‘No,’ said Holm, who had guessed what he was thinking. ‘It won’t work with the crowbar. And the
steel glass is unbreakable. We’ll have to wait until the careta— ’
Harry was on his way back to the car. And this time Holm was unable to follow the inspector’s train
of thought. Not until Harry got into the driver’s seat and Bjørn remembered the key was still in the
ignition.
‘No, Harry! No! Don’t ’
The remainder was drowned in the roar of the engine. The wheels spun on the rain-slippery surface
before gaining purchase. Bjørn Holm stood waving in the road, but caught a glimpse of the
inspector’s eyes behind the wheel and leapt out of the way. The Amazon’s bumper hit the door with
a muffled crash. The glass in the door turned to white crystals as for one noiseless second it hovered
in the air before tinkling to the ground. And before Bjørn could gauge the extent of the damage
Harry was out of the car and striding through the now glassless entrance.
Bjørn ran desperately after him, cursing. Harry had grabbed a pot containing a two-metre-high palm
tree, dragged it over to the lift and pressed the button. As the shiny aluminium doors slid apart, he
jammed the pot between them and pointed to a white door with a green exit sign.
‘If you take the fire escape and I take the main stairs we have all the escape routes covered. Meet
you on the sixth, Holm.’
Bjørn Holm was drenched with sweat before he reached the second floor on the narrow iron
staircase. Neither his body nor his head were prepared for this. He was a forensics officer, for
Christ’s sake! His bag was reconstructing dramas, not constructing them.
He stopped for a moment. But all he could hear was the fading echo of his own footsteps and his
own panting. What would he do if he met someone? Harry had told him to bring his service
revolver along to Seilduksgata, but had Harry meant that he would have to use it? Bjørn took hold
of the railing and started running again. What would Hank Williams have done? Buried his head in
a drink. Sid Vicious? Shown him a finger and legged it. And Elvis? Elvis. Elvis Presley. Right.
Bjørn Holm wrapped his fingers round his revolver.
The steps finished. He opened the door and there, at the end of the corridor, was Harry leaning back
against the wall beside a brown door. He had his revolver in one hand and was holding the other to
his mouth. Forefinger over his lips as he watched Bjørn and pointed to the door. It was ajar.
‘We’ll do it room by room,’ Harry whispered when Bjørn was alongside. ‘You take the ones on the
left, I’ll take the ones on the right. Same rhythm, back to back. And don’t forget to breathe.’
‘Wait!’ Bjørn whispered. ‘What if Katrine’s there?’
Harry studied him and waited.