The Girl Who Played with Fire (63 page)

Her eyes lighted on one name on the list. Gunnar Björck.

“There’s no address for this man.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“He works for the Security Police. His address is unlisted. Actually he’s on sick leave. Dag was never able to track him down.”

“And have you?” Modig said with a smile.

“Ask Mikael.”

Modig stared at the wall above Svensson’s desk. She was thinking. “May I ask a personal question?”

“Go right ahead.”

“Who do
you
think murdered your friends and the lawyer?”

Eriksson wished Blomkvist were here to handle these questions. It was uncomfortable to be quizzed by a police officer. It was even more unpleasant not to be able to explain exactly what conclusions
Millennium
had reached. Then she heard Berger’s voice behind her back.

“Our theory is that the murders were committed to prevent some part of Dag’s exposé from reaching the light of day. But we don’t know who the killer was. Mikael is focusing on someone who goes by the name of Zala.”

Modig turned to look at
Millennium’s
editor in chief. Berger held out two mugs of coffee. They were decorated with the logos of the civil service union HTF and the Christian Democratic Party, respectively. Berger smiled sweetly and went back to her office.

She came out again three minutes later.

“Inspector Modig, your boss has just called. Your mobile is off. He wants you to call him.”

An APB was sent out to say that Lisbeth Salander had at last surfaced. The bulletin indicated that she was probably riding a Harley-Davidson and contained the warning that she was armed and had shot someone at a summer cabin in the vicinity of Stallarholmen.

The police set up roadblocks on routes into Strängnäs, Mariefred, and Södertälje. Every commuter train between Södertälje and Stockholm was searched that evening. But no-one answering to Salander’s description was found.

At around 7:00 p.m. a police patrol found the Harley-Davidson outside the fairground in Älvsjö, and that shifted the focus of the search from Södertälje to Stockholm. The report from Älvsjö said that part of a leather jacket with the insignia of Svavelsjö MC had also been found. News of the find made Inspector Bublanski push his glasses up on his head and peer glumly at the darkness outside his office on Kungsholmen.

The day’s developments had led to nothing but bafflement. The kidnapping of Salander’s girlfriend, the inexplicable involvement of the boxer Paolo Roberto, the arson near Södertälje, and bodies buried in the woods there. And finally this bizarre business in Stallarholmen.

Bublanski went out to the main office and looked at the map of Stockholm and its environs. He found Stallarholmen, Nykvarn, Svavelsjö, and finally Älvsjö, the four places that for apparently different reasons were of current interest. He moved his gaze to Enskede and sighed. He had the unpleasant feeling that the police investigation was many miles behind the unfolding events. Whatever the Enskede murders had been about, it was much more complicated than they had supposed.

Blomkvist was unaware of the drama at Stallarholmen. He left Små-dalarö around 3:00 in the afternoon. He stopped at a gas station and had some coffee as he tried to make sense of what he had discovered.

He was surprised that Björck had given him so many details, but the man had absolutely refused to give him the last piece of the puzzle: Zalachenko’s Swedish identity.

“We had a deal,” Blomkvist said.

“And I’ve fulfilled my part of it. I’ve told you who Zalachenko is. If you want more than that we’ll have to make a new agreement. I’ll need guarantees that my name will be taken out of all your research material. And I’ll need guarantees that you won’t write about me at all in connection with the Zalachenko story.”

Blomkvist was willing to go so far as to treat Björck as an anonymous source in connection with the background story, but he could not guarantee that Björck would not be identified by anyone else—the police, for example.

“I’m not worried about the police,” Björck said.

They agreed in the end to think about everything for a day or so before resuming their conversation.

As Blomkvist sat drinking his coffee, he felt that there was something right in front of his nose that he wasn’t seeing. He was so close that he
could sense shapes, but he couldn’t bring the picture into focus. Then it came to him that there was another person who might be able to shed some light on the story. He was quite close to the rehabilitation home in Ersta. He checked his watch. He would go to see Holger Palmgren.

After the meeting Björck was exhausted. His back hurt worse than ever. He took three painkillers and had to stretch out on the sofa in the living room. Thoughts were churning around in his head. After about an hour he got up and boiled some water and took out a Lipton’s tea bag. He sat at the kitchen table and brooded.

Could he trust Blomkvist? He was now at the man’s mercy. But he had held back the crucial information: Zala’s identity and his role in the whole drama.

How the hell had he landed in this mess? All he did was pay some whores. He was a bachelor. That sixteen-year-old bitch hadn’t even pretended that she liked him. He had felt her disgust.

Fucking cunt. If she hadn’t been so young. If she’d been at least twenty it wouldn’t have looked so bad. Blomkvist detested him too, and made no effort to hide it.

Zalachenko
.

A pimp. What irony. He had fucked Zalachenko’s whores. But Zalachenko had been smart enough to stay in the background.

Bjurman and Salander
.

And Blomkvist
.

A way out.

After an hour of worrying he went to his study and found the piece of paper with the telephone number he had retrieved from his office earlier in the week. It wasn’t the only thing he’d kept from Blomkvist. He knew exactly where Zalachenko was, though he hadn’t spoken to him in more than twelve years. Nor had he any desire to do so ever again.

But Zalachenko was a sly devil. He would understand the problem. He would be able to vanish from the face of the earth. Go abroad and retire. The real catastrophe would be if he were actually caught. Then everything would come crashing down.

He hesitated a long time before he dialled the number.

“Hello. It’s Sven Jansson,” he said. A name that he had not used in a very long time. Zalachenko remembered instantly who he was.

Bublanski met Modig for coffee and a bite to eat at Wayne’s on Vasagatan at 8:00 in the evening. She had never seen her boss so downcast before. He told her everything that had happened that day. Finally she reached out and put her hand over his. It was the first time she had ever touched Bublanski, and there was no other reason than companionship. He smiled sadly and patted her hand in an equally friendly way.

“Maybe I should retire,” he said.

She smiled at him indulgently.

“This investigation is falling apart,” he went on. “It’s already in pieces. I informed Ekström of everything that occurred today, and he just said, ‘Do what you think is best.’ He seems incapable of action.”

“I don’t want to bad-mouth a superior, but as far as I’m concerned, Ekström can go jump in the lake.”

Bublanski nodded. “You’re officially back on the case, but don’t expect he’ll come up with an apology. Also, Faste stormed out this morning and has had his mobile switched off all day. If he doesn’t turn up tomorrow I’m going to have to get somebody to look for him.”

“Faste can stay out of it too. What’s happening with Hedström?”

“Nothing. I wanted to have him charged, but Ekström doesn’t dare. We kicked him out and I had a serious talk with Armansky We broke off working with Milton, which unfortunately means that we’ve lost Sonny Bohman too. Which is a shame. He was a talented detective.”

“How did Armansky take it?”

“He was crushed. The curious thing is that…”

“What?”

“He said that Salander never liked Hedström. He remembered she told him a couple of years ago that Hedström should be fired. She said he was a shithead, but apparently wouldn’t explain why. Armansky of course didn’t do as she suggested.”

“Interesting.”

“Curt is still down in Södertälje. They’re about to do a search of Carl-Magnus Lundin’s place. Jerker is fully occupied digging up bits of Kenneth ‘the Vagabond’ Gustafsson. And just before I got here he called to say that there’s another body in the second grave. From the clothes it’s probably a woman. Seems to have been there quite a while.”

“A woodland cemetery. Jan, I assume Salander is not a suspect in the murders at Nykvarn.”

Bublanski smiled for the first time in hours. “No. She had to be crossed off that one. But she’s definitely carrying a weapon and she did shoot Lundin.”

“Mind you, she shot him in the foot, not in the head. In Lundin’s case there’s probably not much difference, but don’t forget that whoever committed the murders in Enskede is an excellent shot.”

“Sonja… this is totally absurd. Magge Lundin and Sonny Nieminen are two hooligans with long police records. Lundin may have put on a pound or two and he may not be in top form, but he’s still dangerous. And Nieminen is a brutal bastard that even the tough guys are afraid of. I simply can’t imagine how a skinny little creature like Salander could beat the shit out of them like that. Not that he doesn’t deserve a beating, don’t get me wrong. It’s just that I don’t understand how it could have happened.”

“We’ll have to ask her when we find her. She has been documented as violent, after all.”

“Even Curt would have thought twice about taking those guys on. And Curt isn’t exactly a pansy.”

“The question is whether she had some reason to attack Lundin and Nieminen.”

“One little girl with two psychopaths in a deserted summer cabin? I can think of a reason or two,” Bublanski said.

“Could she have had help from someone? Could there have been other people involved?”

“There’s nothing in the report to indicate that. Salander was inside the cabin. There was a coffee cup on the table. And besides, we have a statement from Anna Viktoria Hansson, who keeps an eye on everyone’s movements. She swears that the only people who passed her were Salander and our two heroes from Svavelsjö.”

“How did Salander get into the cabin?”

“With a key. I’m guessing she took it from Bjurman’s apartment. You remember—”

“The cut police tape. She’s been busy.”

Modig drummed her fingertips on the table and then took a new approach.

“Has it been confirmed that it was Lundin who had a part in the kidnapping of Miriam Wu?”

“Paolo Roberto looked through mug shots of three dozen bikers. He picked him out right away, no shadow of a doubt that was the man he saw at the warehouse in Nykvarn.”

“And Blomkvist?”

“I haven’t gotten hold of him yet. He’s not answering his mobile.”

“But Lundin matches his description of Salander’s attacker on Lundagatan. So we can assume that Svavelsjö MC has been hunting Salander for a while. Why?”

Bublanski threw up his hands.

Modig asked, “Was Salander living in Bjurman’s summer cabin all the time we were looking for her?”

“I thought of that too. But Jerker doesn’t think so. The cabin doesn’t look as if it’s been lived in recently, and we have a witness who says she arrived on foot earlier today.”

“Why did she go there? I don’t suppose she’d set up a meeting with Lundin.”

“Hardly. She must have been looking for something. And the only thing we found was a bunch of files that seem to contain Bjurman’s own investigation of Salander. It’s all the material about her from social welfare, the Guardianship Agency, and old school reports. But it seems that some of the folders are missing. They were numbered. We have folders 1, 4, and 5.”

“So 2 and 3 are missing.”

“And maybe more with higher numbers.”

“Which raises a question. Why would Salander be looking for information about herself?” Modig said.

“I can think of two reasons. Either she wants to hide something that she knew Bjurman had written about her, or else she wants to find out something. But there’s another question too.”

“What’s that?”

“Why would Bjurman compile an extensive report on her and then hide it in his summer cabin? Salander seems to have found the material
in the attic. He was her guardian and was assigned to handle her finances and other matters. But the material there gives the impression that he was almost obsessed with charting her life.”

“Bjurman is looking more and more like a disreputable character. I was thinking about that today when I went through the list of johns at
Millennium
. I suddenly expected his name to turn up there too.”

“Good thinking. Remember the violent porn you found on his computer. Did you find anything at
Millennium?”

“I don’t really know. Blomkvist is busy checking off the names on their list, but according to Malin Eriksson, one of the editors there, he hasn’t turned up anything of interest. Jan … I have to say one thing.”

“What?”

“I don’t think Salander did any of this. Enskede and Odenplan, I mean. I was just as persuaded as all the others when we started, but I don’t believe it now. And I can’t really explain why.”

Bublanski realized that he agreed with Modig.

The giant paced back and forth in Lundin’s house in Svavelsjö. He stopped by the kitchen window and looked down the road. They should have been back by now. He had a sinking feeling in his stomach. Something was wrong.

He didn’t like being alone in this house. He didn’t feel at home here. There was a draft in his room upstairs, and there were always strange noises. He tried to shake off his uneasiness. It was foolish, he knew, but he had never liked being alone. He was not in the least afraid of flesh-and-blood people, but empty houses out in the country he thought were indescribably horrible. The noises got his imagination working. He couldn’t shed the sense that something dark and evil was watching him through the crack in the door. Something he believed he could hear breathing.