The Snowman ( PDFDrive )

Harry found the coffee room where Jonas was sitting and drawing, the tip of his tongue poking out
from his mouth. He stood beside the boy, peering down at the paper on which, for the moment,
were two uneven circles.
‘A snowman.’
‘Yes,’ Jonas said, glancing up. ‘How could you see that?’
‘Why was your mother taking you to the doctor’s, Jonas?’
‘Don’t know.’ Jonas drew a head on the snowman.
‘What’s the name of the doctor?’
‘Don’t know.’
‘Where was it?’
‘I’m not allowed to tell anyone. Not even Dad.’ Jonas leaned over the paper and drew hair on the
snowman’s head. Long hair.
‘I’m a policeman, Jonas. I’m trying to find your mother.’
The pencil scratched harder and harder, and the hair became blacker and blacker.
‘I don’t know what the place’s called.’
‘Do you remember anything nearby?’
‘The king’s cows.’
‘The king’s cows?’
Jonas nodded. ‘The woman sitting behind the window is called Borghild. I got a lollipop because I
let her take blood with one of those needles.’
‘Are you drawing anything in particular?’ Harry asked.
‘No,’ Jonas said, concentrating on the eyelashes.
Filip Becker stood by the window watching Harry Hole cross the car park. Lost in thought, he
slapped the small black notebook against the palm of his hand. He was wondering whether Hole
had believed him when he pretended not to know that the policeman had attended his lecture. Or
when he said he had been working on an article the previous evening. Or that he hadn’t found
anything among Birte’s things. The black notebook had been in her desk drawer; she hadn’t even
made an attempt to conceal it. And what was written there
He almost had to laugh. The simpleton had believed she could trick him.
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