cheerfully conceded that he had screwed whores from the East. No, he did not feel a grain of remorse. Prostitution was an honourable profession and he considered he was doing the girls a favour by being their customer.
Blomkvist was driving through Liljeholmen around 10:00 p.m. when Eriksson called him.
“Hi,” she said. “Did you read the online edition of the
“No, what’ve they got?”
“Salander’s girlfriend came home today.”
“What? Who?”
“That dyke Miriam Wu who lives in her apartment on Lundagatan.”
“Thanks. I’m on my way.”
Wu had unplugged the phone in her apartment and turned off her mobile. By 7:30 that evening news of her homecoming had appeared on the website of one of the morning papers. Soon after that
Twice the doorbell had rung. She had not opened the door, and she turned off all the lights in the apartment. She felt like breaking the nose of the next reporter who hassled her. In the end she turned on her mobile and called a girlfriend who lived within walking distance down by Hornstull and asked if she could spend the night there.
She slipped out the entrance door on Lundagatan less than five minutes before Blomkvist rang her doorbell.
Bublanski called Modig just after 10:00 on Saturday morning. She had slept until 9:00 and then played with the children before her husband took them out for a Saturday treat.
“Have you read the papers today?”
“No, not yet. I’ve only been up an hour, and busy with the kids. Did something happen?”
“Somebody on our team is leaking stuff to the press.”
“We’ve known that all along. Someone leaked Salander’s psychiatric report several days ago.”
“That was Ekstrom.”
“It was?” Modig said.
“Of course, though he’ll never admit it. He’s trying to generate interest because it’s to his advantage. But not this. A freelancer called Tony Scala talked to someone who told him all kinds of stuff about Miriam Wu. Among other things, details from what was said in the interview yesterday. That was something we wanted to keep quiet, and Ekstrom has gone through the roof.”
“Damn it.”
“The reporter didn’t name anyone. The source was described as a person with a ‘central position in the investigation.’”
“Shit,” Modig said.
“The article describes the source as a ‘she.’”
Modig said nothing for ten seconds. She was the only woman on the investigative team.
“Bublanski… I haven’t said one word to a single journalist. I haven’t discussed the investigation with anyone outside our corridor. Not even with my husband.”
“I don’t for a second believe that you would leak information. But unfortunately Prosecutor Ekstrom does. And Faste, who’s on weekend duty, is brimming with insinuations.”
Modig felt quite weary. “So what happens now?”
“Ekstrom is insisting that you be taken off the investigation while the charge is checked out.”
“What charge? This is absurd. How am I supposed to prove –”
“You don’t have to prove a thing. The person making the accusation has to come up with the proof.”
“I know, but… damn it all. How long is this going to take?”
“It’s already over.”
“What?”
“I’ve just asked you. You said that you hadn’t leaked any information. So the investigation is done and I write a report. I’ll see you at 9:00 on Monday in Ekstrom’s office, and I’ll handle the questions.”
“Thank you, Bublanski.”
“My pleasure.”
“There is one problem.”
“I know.”
“Since I didn’t leak anything, somebody else on the team must have.”
“Any suggestions?”
“My first guess would be Faste, but I don’t really think he could be the one.”
“I’m inclined to agree with you. He can be a total prick, but he was genuinely outraged at the leak.”
Bublanski liked his walks, depending on the weather and how much time he had. It was exercise he enjoyed. He lived on Katarina Bangata in Sodermalm, not so far from
His wife Agnes accompanied him for the first part of the walk. They had been married for twenty-three years, and in all that time he had never strayed.
They stopped at the synagogue for a while and talked to the rabbi. Bublanski was a Polish Jew, while Agnes’ family – the few who had survived Auschwitz – were originally from Hungary.
After visiting the synagogue they parted – Agnes to go shopping, Bublanski to keep walking. He needed to be alone, to think about the investigation. He went back over the measures he had taken since the job had landed on his desk on the morning of Maundy Thursday, and he could identify only a couple of mistakes.
One was that he hadn’t immediately sent someone to go through Svensson’s desk at
Another mistake was missing the fact that Salander had bought a car. But Holmberg had reported that the car contained nothing of interest.
Apart from these two errors, the investigation had been as thorough as could have been expected.
He stopped at a kiosk near Zinkensdamm and stared at a newspaper headline. The passport photograph of Salander had been cropped to a small but easily recognizable size and the focus had shifted to a more sensational line of news:
POLICE TRACKING
LESBIAN SATANIST CULT
He bought a copy and found the spread, which was dominated by a photograph of five girls in their late teens dressed in black leather jackets with rivets, torn black jeans, and tight T-shirts. One of the girls was holding up a flag with a pentagram and another was making a sign with her index and little fingers. The caption read:
The name Evil Fingers was not mentioned, and the newspaper had blacked out their eyes, but friends of the rock group would certainly recognize the girls.
The story was mainly about Miriam Wu and was illustrated with a picture taken from a show at Bern’s in which she had performed. She was topless and wearing a Russian army officer’s cap. Her eyes were blacked out
