The Snowman ( PDFDrive )

Skarre mumbled a grudging ‘something like that’.
‘The bags are black, look like run-of-the-mill bin bags to anyone passing in a car.’
‘No one drove past,’ Skarre said sourly, stifling a yawn. ‘We’ve spoken to everyone up in that
bloody forest.’
Harry nodded. ‘What should we think about Rolf Ottersen’s story about him being in his shop
between five and seven?’
‘The alibi isn’t worth shit if there weren’t any customers,’ Skarre said.
‘He might’ve driven there and back while the twins were having their violin lessons,’ Katrine said.
‘But he’s not the type,’ Skarre said, leaning back in the chair and nodding as if to corroborate his
own conclusion.
Harry was tempted to make a sweeping statement about the general police perception of their ability
to tell a murderer when they saw one, but this was the phase when everyone was supposed to say
what they thought without fear of contradiction. From experience, the best ideas originated from
flights of fancy, half-baked guesswork and erroneous snap judgements.
The door opened.
‘Howdy!’ sang out Bjørn Holm. ‘’Pologies all round, but I’ve been on the trail of the murder
weapon.’
He pulled off his waterproof and hung it on Harry’s coat stand which was tilting wildly. Underneath
he was wearing a pink shirt with yellow embroidery and a legend on the back proclaiming that
Hank Williams – despite the death certificate from the winter of 1953 – was alive. Then he flung
himself down on the last free chair and looked at the others’ upturned faces.
‘What’s up?’ he smiled, and Harry waited for Holm’s favourite one-liner. Which was not long in
coming. ‘Someone died?’
‘The murder weapon,’ Harry said. ‘Come on.’
Holm grinned and rubbed his hands together. ‘I was wondering of course where the burn marks on
Sylvia Ottersen’s neck came from. The pathologist didn’t have a clue. She just said that the small
arteries had been cauterised, the same way you stop amputations bleeding. Before the leg’s sawn
off. And when she talked about sawing, that made me think of something. As you know, I grew up
on a farm ’
Bjørn Holm leaned forward, his eyes alight, reminding Harry of a father about to open a Christmas
present, a big train set he has bought for his newborn son.
‘If a cow was calving, and the calf was already dead, sometimes the carcass was too big for the cow
to force out unaided. And if, on top of that, it was lying crooked, we couldn’t get it out without
risking injury to the cow. In that case the vet would have to use a saw.’
Skarre grimaced.