The Snowman ( PDFDrive )

Bygdøy on the street behind him. He bet it was Skarre who had put them on, the numbskull.
‘When did he leave?’
‘Just before five.’
‘But that’s several hours ago,’ Harry said. ‘Did he say where he was going?’
She shook her head. ‘Never tells me anything. What do you think about that? Doesn’t even want to
let his own mother know what he’s doing.’
Harry thanked her and said he would be back later. Then he walked down the gravel path and the
steps to the wicket gate. They hadn’t found Idar Vetlesen at his office or at Hotel Leon, and the
curling club had been shut up and dark. Harry closed the gate behind him and walked over to the
car. The uniformed officer rolled down the window.
‘Switch off the blue lights,’ Harry said, turning to Skarre on the back seat. ‘She says he’s not at
home, and she’s probably telling the truth. You’ll have to wait and see if he returns. Ring the duty
officer and tell them to mount a manhunt. Nothing over the police radio, OK?’
On the way back to town Harry rang Telenor switchboard where he was informed that Torkildsen
had gone home for the day and that enquiries regarding the location of Idar Vetlesen’s mobile
phone would have to go through formal channels early the following morning. He rang off and
turned up the volume of Slipknot’s ‘Vermilion’, but sensed he wasn’t in the mood and pressed the
eject button to change to a Gil Evans CD he had rediscovered at the back of the glove compartment.
NRK 24-Hour News was jabbering away on the radio as he fidgeted with the CD cover.
‘The police are searching for a male doctor in his thirties, a resident of Bygdøy. He is thought to be
connected to the Snowman murders.’
‘Fuck!’ Harry yelled, throwing Gil Evans at the windscreen and showering the car with bits of
plastic. The disc rolled into the footwell. In sheer frustration Harry stamped on the accelerator and
passed a tanker, which was in the left lane. Twenty minutes. It had taken them twenty minutes. Why
didn’t they just give Police HQ a microphone and live airtime?
The police canteen was closed and deserted for the evening, but that was where Harry found her,
her and sandwiches at a table for two. Harry sat on the other chair.
‘Thank you for not telling anyone I lost it on Finnøy,’ she said softly.
Harry nodded. ‘What did you do?’
‘I checked out and caught the three o’clock flight. I just had to get away.’ She looked down into her
cup of tea. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘It’s fine,’ Harry said, regarding her slim bent neck, pinned-up hair and the petite hand placed on
the table. He saw her differently now. ‘When the tough nuts crack, they crack in style.’
‘Why?’
‘Perhaps because they haven’t had enough practice at losing control.’