The Snowman ( PDFDrive )

‘Nothing for the moment,’ she said. ‘I’m leaving now. You on your way home?’
‘Yes.’ Harry hesitated. ‘What do you think the chances are of the court ruling that Vetlesen can
waive his Hippocratic oath?’
‘With what we’ve got? Of course, I could put on an extra short skirt, pop over to the courthouse and
find a judge of the right age. But, to be frank, I think we can forget it.’
‘Agreed.’
Harry headed for Bislett. Thinking about his flat, stripped bare. He looked at his watch. Changed his
mind and turned down Pilestredet towards Police HQ.
It was two o’clock in the morning as once again Harry had Katrine, drowsy with sleep, on the
phone.
‘What’s up now?’ she said.
‘I’m in the office and have had a look at what you’ve found. You said all the missing women were
married with children. I think there could be something in that.’
‘What?’
‘I have no idea. I just needed to hear myself say that to someone. So that I could decide if it
sounded idiotic.’
‘And how does it sound?’
‘Idiotic. Goodnight.’
Eli Kvale lay with her eyes wide open. Beside her, Andreas was breathing heavily without a care in
the world. A stripe of moonlight fell between the curtains across the wall, on the crucifix she had
bought during her honeymoon in Rome. What had woken her? Was it Trygve? Was he up? The
dinner and the evening had gone just as she had hoped. She had seen happy, shiny faces in the
candlelight, and they had all talked at the same time, they had so much to tell! Mostly Trygve. And
when he talked about Montana, about his studies and friends there, she had stayed quiet just looking
at this boy, this young man who was maturing into an adult, becoming whatever he would become,
making his own life. That was what made her happiest: that he could choose. Openly and freely.
Not like her. Not on the quiet, in secret.
She heard the house creaking, heard the walls talking to each other.
But there had been a different sound, an alien sound. A sound from outside.
She got out of bed, went over to the window and opened the curtains a crack. It had snowed. The
apple trees had woollen branches and the moonlight was reflected on the thin white ground
covering, emphasising every detail in the garden. Her gaze swept from the gate to the garage,
unsure what it was she was looking for. Then it stopped. She gave a gasp of surprise and terror.
Don’t start this again, she told herself. It must have been Trygve. He’s got jet lag, hasn’t been able
to sleep and has gone out. The footprints went from the gate to right under the window where she
was standing. Like a line of black dots in the thin coating of snow. A dramatic pause in the text.