The Snowman ( PDFDrive )

hurrying up and down doing their essential Saturday shopping. An ice-cold northerly wind swept
down from St Hanshaugen on its way to Vår Frelsers cemetery to blow black hats off a bowed
funeral procession.
Harry paid for a double espresso and a cortado, both in takeaway paper cups, and sat on one of the
chairs on the pavement. On the pond on the other side of the road a lone white swan drifted round
quietly with a neck formed like a question mark. Harry watched it and was reminded of the name of
the fox trap. The wind blew goose pimples onto the surface of the water.
‘Is the cortado still hot?’
Katrine was standing in front of him with outstretched hand.
Harry passed her the paper cup, and they walked to his car.
‘Great that you could work on a Saturday morning,’ he said.
‘Great that you could work on a Saturday morning,’ she said.
‘I’m single,’ he said. ‘Saturday morning has no value for people like us. You, on the other hand,
should have a life.’
An elderly man stood glaring at their car as they arrived.
‘I’ve ordered a breakdown truck,’ he said.
‘Yes, I hear they’re popular,’ Harry said, unlocking the door. ‘The only problem is finding
somewhere to park them.’
They got in and a wrinkled knuckle rapped on the glass. Harry rolled down the window.
‘Truck’s on its way,’ the old man said. ‘You’ve got to stay here and wait.’
‘Have I?’ Harry said, holding up his ID.
The man ignored the card and glowered at his watch.
‘Your space’s too narrow to qualify as an entrance,’ Harry said. ‘I’m sending over a man from the
traffic department to unscrew your illegal sign. I’m afraid there’ll be a big fat fine, too.’
‘What?’
‘We’re police.’
The old man snatched the ID card, looked suspiciously at Harry, at the card and back at Harry.
‘That’s fine this time. You can go,’ the man mumbled with a sour expression and gave back the
card.
‘It’s not fine,’ Harry said. ‘I’m calling the traffic department now.’
The old man stared with fury in his eyes.