The Snowman ( PDFDrive )

Onto the large stage, wreathed in smoke and light, stepped a TV celebrity who had demanded – and
been given – a six-figure sum to be the master of ceremonies.
‘Ladies and gentlemen!’ he shouted into a large, cordless microphone that reminded Støp of a large,
erect penis. ‘Welcome!’ The celeb’s famous lips were almost touching the black dick. ‘Welcome to
what I promise you is going to be a very special evening!’
Arve Støp was already looking forward to it being over.
Harry stared at the photgraphs on the bookshelf in his office, at the Dead Policemen’s Society. He
tried to think, but his mind was spinning, unable find a foothold, an entire image. He had felt the
whole time that there was someone on the inside; someone had known what he would do at all
times. But not that it would be like this. It was so unimaginably easy. And at the same time so
incomprehensibly complicated.
Knut Müller-Nilsen had told him that Katrine had been regarded as one of the most promising
Crime Squad detectives at Bergen HQ, a rising star. Never any problem. Yes, there was of course
the incident which led to her application for a transfer to the Sexual Offences Unit. A witness from
a shelved case had rung to complain that Katrine Bratt was still doorstepping him with new
questions. She wouldn’t stop even though he had made it plain that he had already made a statement
to the police. It came to light that Katrine had been independently investigating this case for months
without notifying her superiors. As she had been doing it in her own free time, this would not
normally have been a problem, but this particular case was not one they wanted her raking up. She
had been made aware of this, and her reaction had been to point out several flaws in the original
investigation, but she didn’t gain a sympathetic ear and in her frustration she had applied for a
transfer.
‘This case must have been an obsession for her,’ was the last Müller-Nilsen had said. ‘As far as I
remember, that was the time her husband left her.’
Harry got up, went into the corridor and over to Katrine’s office door. It was, as office regulations
stipulated, locked. He continued down the corridor to the photocopy room. On the lowest shelf
beside the packs of writing paper he pulled out the guillotine, a large, heavy iron base with a
mounted blade. The enormous machine had never been used to his memory, but now he carried it
with both hands into the corridor and back to Katrine Bratt’s door.
He raised the paper cutter over his head and took aim. Then he brought his arms down hard.
The guillotine hit the handle, knocking the lock into the frame, which split with a loud crack.
Harry just managed to shift his feet before the machine landed on the floor with a muffled groan.
The door spat splinters of wood and swung open at the first kick. He picked up the guillotine and
carried it inside.
Katrine Bratt’s office was identical to the one he had shared with Police Officer Jack Halvorsen in
times gone by. Tidy, bare, no pictures or any other personal possessions. The desk had a simple
lock at the top controlling all the drawers. After two doses of the guillotine the top drawer and the
lock were smashed. Harry rifled through, pushing papers to the side and rummaging through plastic
folders, hole punches and other office equipment until he found a knife. He removed the sheath.
The top edge was serrated. Definitely not a scout’s knife. Harry pressed the blade into the pile of
papers it was lying on and the knife sank without resistance into the wad.