The Snowman ( PDFDrive )

‘We just wanted to have another look at the barn floor,’ Harry said.
Rolf Ottersen pushed his glasses back up his nose. Bjørn Holm let out a rasping chesty cough.
‘Help yourselves,’ Ottersen said.
As Holm and Harry walked towards the barn Harry could feel that the thin man was still standing
by the door watching them.
The chopping block was in the same place, but there was no sign of any chickens, living or dead.
Leaning against the wall there was a spade with a pointed blade. To dig the ground, not to shovel
snow. Harry headed for the tool board. The outline of the hatchet that should have been hanging
there reminded Harry of the chalk outlines after bodies have been removed from crime scenes.
‘It’s my belief the Snowman came here and slaughtered the third chicken to spray blood over the
floorboards. The Snowman couldn’t turn the boards and the alternative was to paint them red.’
‘You told me that in the car as well, but I’m still lost.’
‘If you want to hide red stains you can either remove them or paint everything red. I think the
Snowman was trying to hide something. A clue.’
‘What kind of clue?’
‘Something red that’s impossible to remove because untreated wood soaks it up.’
‘Blood? She was trying to hide blood with more blood? Is that your idea?’
Harry snatched a broom and swept away the sawdust around the chopping block. He crouched
down and felt Katrine’s revolver pressing into him under his belt. Studied the floor. There was still
a pink glow.
‘Have you got the photos we took here with you?’ Harry asked. ‘Start checking the places where
there was most blood. It was some way from the chopping block, around here.’
Holm took the photos from his bag.
‘We know that it was chicken blood on top,’ Harry said. ‘But imagine that the first blood that was
spilt here had time to saturate the wood and be absorbed into it and therefore didn’t mix with the
new blood that was poured on top a good while later. What I’m wondering is whether you can still
get samples of the first blood, in other words, the blood that soaked into the wood?’
Bjørn Holm blinked in dismay. ‘What the fuck am I supposed to answer to that?’
‘Well,’ Harry said, ‘the only answer I will accept is yes.’
Holm responded with a prolonged fit of coughing.
Harry strolled over to the farmhouse. He knocked, and Rolf Ottersen came out.
‘My colleague will be here for a while,’ Harry said. ‘Would you mind if he popped in now and
again to get warm?’