The Snowman ( PDFDrive )

‘The Rafto case is still an extremely sensitive issue for the police in Bergen. The resources they put
into that case were largely spent burying rather than investigating it. They were terrified of what
they might unearth. And since the guy had disappeared all by himself ’ She drew a big X in the air.
‘I see. What do you suggest?’
‘That you and I go on a little trip to Bergen and do a bit of investigating on our own. After all, it’s
part of an Oslo murder case now.’
Harry parked in front of the address, a four-storey brick building right down by the water
surrounded by a mooring quay. He switched off the engine, but remained in his seat looking across
Frognerkilen bay to Filipstad harbour.
‘How did the Rafto case get on to your list?’ he asked. ‘First of all, it’s further back than I asked
you to check. Secondly, I believe it’s not a missing persons case but murder.’
He turned to look at Katrine. She met his gaze without blinking.
‘The Rafto case was pretty famous in Bergen,’ she said. ‘And there was a photo.’
‘A photo?’
‘Yes. All new trainees at Bergen Police Station are shown it. It was of the crime scene at the top of
Ulriken Mountain and a kind of baptism of fire. I think most were so terrorised by the details in the
foreground that they never looked at the background. Or maybe they had never been to the top of
Ulriken. At any rate there was something there that didn’t make sense, a mound further back. When
you magnify it, you can see quite clearly what it is.’
‘Oh?’
‘A snowman.’
Harry nodded slowly.
‘Speaking of photos,’ Katrine said, taking an A4 envelope from her bag and throwing it into Harry’s
lap.
The clinic was on the second floor, and the waiting room had been immaculately designed at
horrendous expense with Italian furniture, a coffee table as low off the ground as a Ferrari, glass
sculptures by Nico Widerberg and an original Roy Lichtenstein print showing a smoking gun.
Instead of the obligatory reception area with glass partition, a woman sat by a beautiful old desk in
the middle of the room. She was wearing an open white coat over a blue business suit and a
welcoming smile. A smile which did not stiffen appreciably when Harry introduced himself, stated
the purpose of their visit and his assumption that she was Borghild.
‘Would you mind waiting for a moment?’ she said, pointing to the sofas with the practised elegance
of a stewardess pointing to the emergency exits. Harry refused the offer of espresso, tea or water,
and they took a seat.
Harry noticed that the magazines laid out were up to date; he opened a copy of Liberal and his