The Snowman ( PDFDrive )

It was ten o’clock and from his office window Harry watched the pale, almost hesitant daylight
settle on the rooftops and a Sunday-still Grønland. More than six hours had passed since Katrine
Bratt had vanished from Støp’s apartment, and so far the search had borne no fruit. Of course she
could still be in Oslo, but if she had been prepared for a strategic withdrawal she could well be over
the hills and far away. Harry had no doubt that she had made preparations.
Just as he had no doubt now that she was the Snowman.
First of all, there was the evidence: the letter and the murder attempts. And all his instincts were
confirmed: the feeling that he was being observed from close range, the feeling that someone had
infiltrated his life. The newspaper cuttings on the wall, the reports. Katrine had got to know him so
well that she could predict his next moves, could use him in her game. And now she was a virus in
his bloodstream, a spy inside his head.
He heard someone come in, but didn’t turn round.
‘We’ve traced her mobile phone,’ Skarre’s voice said. ‘She’s in Sweden.’
‘Uh-huh?’
‘Telenor Operations Centre says that the signals are moving south. The location and speed match
the Copenhagen train that departed from Oslo Central Station at five past seven. I’ve spoken to the
police in Helsingborg; they need a formal application to make an arrest. The train’s due to arrive in
half an hour. What shall we do?’
Harry nodded slowly, as though to himself. A seagull sailed past on stiff wings before suddenly
changing direction and swooping down to the trees in the park. Perhaps it had spotted something.
Or just changed its mind. The way humans do. Oslo Station at seven o’clock in the morning.
‘Harry? She might make it to Denmark unless we –’
‘Ask Hagen to talk to Helsingborg,’ Harry said, swivelling and grabbing his jacket from the coat
stand in one quick movement.
Skarre watched in amazement as the inspector hurried down the corridor with long, purposeful
strides.
Officer Orø in the Stores at Police HQ looked at the shaven-headed inspector with undisguised
astonishment and repeated: ‘CS? Gas, that is?’
‘Two canisters,’ Harry said. ‘And a box of ammo for the revolver.’
The officer limped to the stores, mouthing imprecations. This Hole guy was a complete fruitcake,
everyone knew that, but tear gas? If it had been anyone else at the station, he would have guessed
that it was for a stag night with the pals. But from what he heard, Hole had no pals, at least not on
the force.
The inspector coughed as Orø returned. ‘Has Katrine Bratt in Crime Squad requested any weapons
here?’
‘The woman from Bergen Police Station? Only the one stipulated in the rule book.’