Lundin did not seem to be in any condition now to carry on a lucid conversation, and there was the possibility that someone had heard the shot. So she ought to leave the area right away. She could always find Lundin at some later date and ask him the question under less stressful circumstances. She secured the weapon’s safety, zipped it into her jacket pocket, and picked up her backpack.
She had gone about ten yards down the road when she stopped and turned around. She walked back slowly and studied Lundin’s motorcycle.
“Harley-Davidson,” she said. “Sweet.”
CHAPTER 27
It was a beautiful spring day as Blomkvist drove Berger’s car south towards Nynasvagen. Already there was a hint of green in the black fields, and there was real warmth in the air. It was perfect weather to forget all his problems and drive out for a few days to be at peace in his cabin in Sandhamn.
He had agreed with Bjorck that he would be there at 1:00, but he arrived early and stopped in Dalaro to have coffee and read the papers. He did not prepare for the meeting. Bjorck had something to tell him, and Blomkvist was determined that this time he would come away from Smadalaro with concrete information about Zala.
Bjorck met him in the driveway. He looked more self-assured, more pleased with himself than he had two days before.
“I can give you information about Zala,” Bjorck said, “but I have certain conditions.”
“Let’s hear them.”
“I won’t be named in
“Agreed.”
Bjorck looked surprised. Blomkvist had accepted straight off, without argument, the point about which Bjorck was expecting to have a long negotiation. That was his only card. Information about the murders in exchange for anonymity. Blomkvist had agreed, and given up the chance of a strong headline in the magazine.
“I’m serious,” Bjorck said. “And I want it in writing.”
“You can have it in writing, but a document like that wouldn’t be of any use to you. You’ve committed a crime that I know about and which I’m bound to report to the police. But you know things, and you’re using your position to buy my silence. I’ve thought about the matter and I accept. I won’t mention your name in
While Bjorck thought about it, Blomkvist said: “I have some conditions too. The price of my silence is that you tell me everything you know. If I discover that you’re hiding something, our agreement is void, and I’ll hang your name out to dry on every single news headline in Sweden, just as I did with Wennerstrom.”
Bjorck shuddered at the memory.
“OK,” he said. “I don’t have a choice. I’ll tell you who Zala is. But I’m going to need absolute confidentiality.”
He reached out his hand. Blomkvist grasped it. He had just promised to assist in covering up a crime, but it didn’t trouble him for a moment. All he had promised was that he himself and
The call came through to the police in Strangnas at 3:18 p.m. It came directly to the switchboard and not through the emergency services. A man named Oberg, owner of a summer cabin just east of Stallarholmen, reported that he had heard what sounded like a shot and went to see what was going on. He had found two severely wounded men. Well, one of the men may not have been so severely wounded, but he was in a lot of pain. And the cabin they were lying in front of was owned by Nils Bjurman, a lawyer. The late Nils Bjurman, that is – the man there was so much about in the papers.
The Strangnas police had already had an eventful day with an extensive traffic check in the community. During the course of the morning the traffic assignment had been interrupted when a call came in that a middle- aged woman had been killed by her boyfriend at the house they shared in Finninge. At almost the same time a fire had spread from an outhouse into a property in Storgardet. One body was found in the wreckage. And to top it all off, two cars had collided head-on on the Enkoping highway. Accordingly, the Strangnas police force was busy, almost to a man.
The duty officer, however, had been following the developments in Nykvarn that morning, and she deduced that this new commotion must have something to do with that Lisbeth Salander everyone was talking about. Not least since Nils Bjurman was a part of the investigation. She took action on three fronts. She requisitioned the only remaining police van and drove directly to Stallarholmen. She called her colleagues in Sodertalje and asked for assistance. The Sodertalje force was also spread thin since part of their manpower had been sent to dig up bodies around a burned-out warehouse south of Nykvarn, but the possible connection between Nykvarn and Stallarholmen prompted another duty officer in Sodertalje to dispatch two cruisers to Stallarholmen to assist. In the end the duty officer from Strangnas called Inspector Bublanski in Stockholm. She reached him on his mobile.
Bublanski was at Milton Security in a meeting with its CEO, Armansky, and two of his staff, Fraklund and Bohman. Hedstrom was conspicuous by his absence.
Bublanski immediately sent Andersson out to Bjurman’s summer cabin and told him to take Faste if he could get hold of him. After thinking for a moment, Bublanski also called Holmberg, who was near Nykvarn and therefore considerably closer to Stallarholmen.
Holmberg had some news for him too. “We’ve identified the body in the pit.”
“That’s impossible. How so fast?”
“Everything’s simple when the corpse considerately has himself buried with his wallet and laminated ID.”
“Who is it?”
“A bit of a celebrity. Kenneth Gustafsson, known as the Vagabond. Does it ring a bell?”
“Are you kidding? Downtown hooligan, pusher, petty thief, and addict? He’s lying in a hole in Nykvarn?”
“Yes, that’s the man. At least that’s the ID in the wallet. Identification will have to be confirmed by forensics, and it’s going to be like putting a puzzle together. The Vagabond was chopped into five or six pieces.”
“Interesting. Paolo Roberto said that the super heavyweight he was fighting threatened Miriam Wu with a chain saw.”
“Could very well have been a chain saw, but I haven’t looked that closely. We’ve just started digging up the second site. They’re busy setting up the tent.”
“That’s good. Jerker – it’s been a long day, I know, but can you stay on this evening?”
“Sure, OK. I’ll let them get on with it here and head on to Stallarholmen.”
Bublanski disconnected and rubbed his eyes.
The armed response team hastily assembled from Strangnas arrived at Bjurman’s summer cabin at 3:44 p.m. On the access road they literally collided with a man on a Harley-Davidson, who was wobbling along until he steered right into the oncoming van. It was not a serious collision. The police climbed out and identified Sonny Nieminen, thirty-seven years old and a known killer from the mid-nineties. Nieminen seemed to be in bad shape. When they put the cuffs on him, they were surprised to find that the back of his vest was slashed. A piece of leather about eight inches square was missing. It looked peculiar. Nieminen was unwilling to discuss the matter.
They locked him in the van and drove on two hundred yards to the cabin. They found a retired harbour worker by the name of Oberg putting a splint on the foot of one Carl-Magnus Lundin, thirty-six years old and president of the gang that called itself Svavelsjo MC.
