The Girl who played with Fire

“And you’re thinking of publishing this information now?”

Blomkvist turned to look at Berger.

“No,” she said. “We’ve spent the day working on the next issue. In all probability we’ll publish Svensson’s book, but that won’t happen until we know exactly what’s going on. In light of what has happened, the book will have to be extensively reworked. We will do nothing to sabotage the investigation into the murder of our two friends, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“I’ll have to take a look at Svensson’s desk, but since these are the editorial offices of a magazine it might be a sensitive thing to put in hand a complete search.”

“You’ll find all Dag’s material in his laptop,” Berger said.

“I’ve gone through his desk,” Blomkvist said. “I’ve taken some documents that directly identify sources who want to remain anonymous. You are at liberty to examine everything else, and I’ve put a note on the desk to the effect that nothing may be touched or moved. The problem is that the contents of the book absolutely have to remain under wraps until it’s printed. We badly need to avoid having the text passed around the police force, the more so since we’re going to hang one or two policemen out to dry.”

Shit, Bublanski thought. Why didn’t I come straight here this morning? But he only nodded and changed tack.

“OK. We have a person we want to question in connection with the murders. I believe it’s someone you know. I’d like to hear what you have to say about a woman named Lisbeth Salander.”

For a second Blomkvist looked like a virtual question mark. Bublanski noted that Berger gave her colleague a sharp look.

“Now I don’t understand.”

“You know Lisbeth Salander?”

“Yes, I do know her.”

“How do you know her?”

“Why do you ask?”

Bublanski was obviously irritated, but all he said was, “I’d like to interview her in connection with the murders. How do you know her?”

“But… that doesn’t make sense. Lisbeth Salander has no connection whatsoever to Dag Svensson or Mia Johansson.”

“That’s something we’ll establish in due course,” Bublanski said patiently. “But my question remains. How do you know Lisbeth Salander?”

Blomkvist stroked the stubble on his chin and then rubbed his eyes as thoughts tumbled around in his head. At last he met Bublanski’s gaze.

“I hired her about two years ago to do some research for me on a completely different project.”

“What was that project?”

“I’m sorry, but now you’ll have to take my word for it: it didn’t have the slightest thing to do with Dag Svensson or Mia Johansson. And it’s all over.”

Bublanski did not like it when someone claimed there were matters that could not be discussed even in a murder investigation, but he chose to drop it for the time being.

“When was the last time you saw Salander?”

Blomkvist paused before he spoke.

“Here’s how it is. During the autumn two years ago I was seeing her. The relationship ended around Christmas of that year. Then she disappeared from the city. I hadn’t seen her for more than a year until a week ago.”

Berger raised her eyebrows. Bublanski surmised that this was news to her.

“Tell me where you saw her.”

Blomkvist took a deep breath and then gave a brisk account of the events on Lundagatan. Bublanski listened with gathering astonishment, unsure how much of the story Blomkvist was making up.

“So you didn’t talk to her?”

“No, she disappeared on upper Lundagatan. I waited a long time, but she never came back. I wrote her a note and asked her to get in touch with me.”

“And you’re quite sure you know of no connection between her and the couple in Enskede.”

“I am certain of it.”

“Can you describe the man you say you saw attack her?”

“Not in detail. He attacked, and she defended herself and fled. I saw him from a distance of forty to forty- five yards. It was late at night and quite dark.”

“Were you intoxicated?”

“I was a little under the influence, but I wasn’t falling-down drunk. The man had lightish hair in a ponytail. He wore a dark waist-length jacket. He had a prominent belly. When I went up the stairs on Lundagatan I only saw him from behind, but he turned around when he clobbered me. I seem to remember that he had a thin face and blue eyes set close together.”

“Why didn’t you tell me this earlier?” Berger said.

Blomkvist shrugged. “There was a weekend in between, and you went to Goteborg to take part in that damned debate programme. You were gone Monday, and on Tuesday we only saw each other briefly. It didn’t seem so important.”

“But considering what has happened in Enskede… it’s odd that you didn’t mention this to the police,” Bublanski said.

“Why would I mention it to the police? That’s like saying I should have mentioned that I caught a pickpocket trying to rob me in the tunnelbana at T-Centralen a month ago. There is absolutely no imaginable connection between what happened on Lundagatan and what happened in Enskede.”

“But you didn’t report the attack to the police?”

“No.” Blomkvist paused. “Lisbeth Salander is a very private person. I considered going to the police but decided it was up to her to do that if she wanted to. And I wanted to speak to her first.”

“Which you haven’t done?”

“I haven’t spoken to her since the day after Christmas a year ago.”

“Why did your – if relationship is the right word – why did it end?”

Blomkvist’s eyes darkened.

“I don’t know. She broke off contact with me – it happened practically overnight.”

“Did something happen between you?”

“No, not if you mean an argument or anything like that. One day we were good friends. The next day she didn’t answer her telephone. Then she melted into thin air and was gone from my life.”

Bublanski contemplated Blomkvist’s explanation. It sounded honest and was supported by the fact that Armansky had described her disappearance from Milton Security in similar terms. Something had apparently happened to Salander during the winter a year earlier. He turned to Berger.

“Do you know Salander too?”

“I met her once. Could you tell us why you’re asking questions about her in connection with Enskede?” she said.

Bublanski shook his head. “She has been linked to the crime scene. That’s all I can say. But I have to admit that the more I hear about Lisbeth Salander the more surprised I am. What is she like as a person?”

“In what respect?” Blomkvist said.

“How would you describe her?”

“Professionally – one of the best fact finders I have ever come across.”

Berger glanced at Blomkvist and bit her lower lip. Bublanski was convinced that some piece of the puzzle was missing and that they knew something they were unwilling to tell him.

“And privately?”

Blomkvist paused for a long moment before he spoke.

“She is a very lonely and odd person,” Blomkvist said. “Socially introverted. Doesn’t like talking about herself. At the same time she’s a person with a strong will. She has morals.”

“Morals?”