The Snowman ( PDFDrive )

‘Yes, of course,’ Harry lied, rather than tell him that cadaver dogs sniffed out places where dead
bodies had been. They were not used for drugs, lost property or living people. They were used for
deaths. Full stop.
‘So you last saw her today at four,’ Harry said, looking down at his notes. ‘Before you and your
daughters went to town. What did you do there?’
‘I took care of the shop while the girls had their violin lessons.’
‘Shop?’
‘We have a small shop in Majorstuen selling handmade African goods. Art, furniture, fabric,
clothes, all sorts of things. They’re imported directly from the artisans, and they’re paid properly.
Sylvia is there most of the time, but on Thursdays we’re open late, so she comes back home with
the car and I go in with the girls. I’m at the shop while they have violin lessons at the Barrat Due
Institute of Music from five until seven. Then I pick them up, and we come home. We were home a
little after half seven.’
‘Mm. Who else works in the shop?’
‘No one.’
‘That must mean you’re closed for a while on Thursdays. About an hour?’
Rolf Ottersen gave a wry smile. ‘It’s a very small shop. We don’t have many customers. Almost
none until the Christmas sales, to be honest.’
‘How ?’
‘NORAD. They support shops and our suppliers as part of the government’s trade programme with
Third World countries.’ He coughed quietly. ‘The message it sends is more important than money
and short-sighted gain, isn’t it.’
Harry nodded even though he wasn’t thinking about development aid and fair trade in Africa but
about the clock and driving time in Oslo and district. From the kitchen, where the twins were eating
a late snack, came the sound of a radio. He hadn’t seen a TV in the house.
‘Thank you. We’ll be cracking on.’ Harry got up and went outside.
Three cars stood parked in the yard. One was Bjørn Holm’s Volvo Amazon, repainted black with a
chequered rally stripe over the roof and boot. Harry looked up at the clear starry sky arching over
the tiny farm in the forest clearing. He breathed in the air. The air of spruce and wood smoke. From
the edge of the wood he heard the panting of a dog and cries of encouragement from the policeman.
To get to the barn Harry walked in the arc they had determined so as not to destroy any clues they
might be able to use. Voices were emanating from the open door. He crouched down and studied
the footprints in the snow in the light from the outside lamp. Then he stood up, leaned against the
frame and tugged out a packet of cigarettes.
‘Looks like a murder scene,’ he said. ‘Blood, bodies and overturned furniture.’
Bjørn Holm and Magnus Skarre fell silent, turned and followed Harry’s gaze. The big open room