The Snowman by Jo Nesbø, Don Bartlett Read Free Book Online

things like this almost always turn out fine? People disappear and then they turn up of their own accord?’
    The boy shook his head.
    ‘But they do,’ Harry said. ‘If you had to guess, where do you think your mother would be now?’
    The boy shrugged. ‘I don’t know where she is.’
    ‘I know you don’t know, Jonas. None of us does right now. But what’s the first place that would occur to you if she wasn’t here or at work? Don’t think about whether it’s likely or not.’
    The boy didn’t answer, just stared at the wolf desperately trying to throw away the stick of dynamite that had got stuck to his hand.
    ‘Is there a cabin or something like that where you go?’
    Jonas shook his head.
    ‘A special place where she likes to go if she wants to be on her own?’
    ‘She doesn’t want to be on her own,’ Jonas said. ‘She wants to be with me.’
    ‘Just with you?’
    The boy turned and looked at Harry. Jonas had brown eyes, like Oleg. And in the brown Harry saw the horror he had been expecting and the anger he had not.
    ‘Why did they go?’ the boy asked. ‘The ones who come back?’
    Same eyes, Harry thought. Same questions. The important ones.
    ‘For all sorts of reasons,’ Harry said. ‘Some got lost. There are various ways of getting lost. And some only needed a break and went off to get some peace.’
    The front door slammed and Harry saw the boy start.
    At that moment the dynamite exploded in the wolf’s hand, and behind them the living-room door opened.
    ‘Hello,’ a voice said. Sharp and controlled at the same time. ‘What’s the latest?’
    Harry turned in time to see a man of around fifty wearing a suit stride towards the coffee table and pick up the remote control. The next moment the TV picture imploded to a white dot as the set hissed in protest.
    ‘You know what I’ve said about watching TV during the day, Jonas,’ he said with a resigned tone, as if to tell the others in the room what a hopeless job raising children was nowadays.
    Harry stood up and introduced himself, Magnus Skarre and Katrine Bratt, who until now had merely stood by the door observing.
    ‘Filip Becker,’ the man said, pushing his glasses although they were already high up his nose. Harry tried to catch his eye, to form the crucial first impression of a potential suspect, should it ever come to that. But his eyes were hidden behind the reflection from his glasses.
    ‘I’ve spent my time ringing everyone who might conceivably have been in contact, but no one knows anything,’ Filip Becker said. ‘What do you know?’
    ‘Nothing,’ said Harry. ‘But the first thing you can do to help us is to find out if any suitcases, rucksacks or clothes are missing, so that we can formulate a theory.’ Harry studied Becker before continuing. ‘As to whether this disappearance is spontaneous or planned.’
    Becker returned Harry’s searching gaze before nodding and going upstairs to the first floor.
    Harry crouched down beside Jonas who was still staring at the black TV screen.
    ‘So you like roadrunners, do you?’ Harry asked.
    The boy shook his head mutely.
    ‘Why not?’
    Jonas’s whisper was barely audible: ‘I feel sorry for Wile E. Coyote.’
    Five minutes later Becker came back down and said that nothing was missing, neither travel bags nor clothing, apart from what she was wearing when he left, plus her coat, boots and a scarf.
    ‘Mm.’ Harry scratched his unshaven chin and glanced across at Ebba Bendiksen. ‘Can you and I go into the kitchen, herr Becker?’
    Becker led the way, and Harry signalled to Katrine to join them. In the kitchen the professor immediately began to spoon coffee into a filter and pour water into the machine. Katrine stood by the door while Harry went over to the window and looked out. The snowman’s head had sunk between its shoulders.
    ‘When did you leave last night and which flight did you take to Bergen?’ Harry asked.
    ‘I left at around half past nine,’ Becker