Stieg Larsson - The Girl who played with Fire

“So soon?”

“We received the weapon early this morning, and I’m not quite done with the analysis, but I have some information that might interest you.”

“Good. Tell me what you’ve come up with,” Bublanski said.

“The weapon is a Colt.45 Magnum, made in the USA in 1981. We have fingerprints and possible DNA – but that analysis will take a little time. We’ve also looked at the bullets that the couple were shot with. Not surprisingly, they appear to have been fired from that weapon. That’s usually the case when we find a gun in the stairwell at a crime scene. The bullets are badly fragmented, but we have a piece to use for comparison. It’s most likely that this is the murder weapon.”

“An illegal weapon, I suppose. Do you have a serial number?”

“The weapon is quite legal. It belongs to a lawyer, Nils Erik Bjurman, and was bought in 1983. He’s a member of the police shooting club. He lives on Upplandsgatan near Odenplan.”

“What on earth are you saying?”

“We also found, as I mentioned, a number of prints on the weapon. Prints from at least two different people. We may expect that one set belongs to Bjurman, insofar as the weapon was not reported stolen or sold – but I have no information on that.”

“Aha. In other words, we have a lead.”

“We have a hit in the register for the second set. Prints from the right thumb and forefinger.”

“Who is it?”

“A woman born on April 30, 1978. Arrested for an assault in Gamla Stan in 1995, when the prints were taken.”

“Does she have a name?”

“Yes. Her name is Lisbeth Salander.”

Bublanski wrote down the name and a social security number that Granlund gave him.

When Blomkvist returned to work after his late lunch, he went straight to his office and closed the door, making it clear that he did not want to be disturbed. He had not had time to deal with all the peripheral information in Svensson’s email and notes. He would have to settle down and read through the book and the articles with completely new eyes, keeping in mind now that the author was dead and unable to answer any difficult questions that might need to be asked.

He had to decide whether the book could still be published. And he had to make up his mind whether there was anything in the material that might hint at a motive for murder. He switched on his computer and set to work.

Bublanski made a brief call to Ekström, to tell him what had developed at NFL. It was decided that Bublanski and Modig would pay a call on Advokat Bjurman. It could be for a talk, an interrogation, or even an arrest. Faste and Andersson would track down this Lisbeth Salander and ask her to explain how her fingerprints came to be on a murder weapon. The search for Bjurman at first presented no difficulty. His address was listed in the tax records, the weapons registry, and the vehicle licencing database; it was even in the telephone book. Bublanski and Modig drove to Odenplan and managed to get into the building on Upplandsgatan when a young man came out just as they arrived.

After that it was trickier. When they rang Bjurman’s doorbell, no-one answered. They drove to his office at St.Eriksplan, but got the same result there.

“Maybe he’s in court,” Modig said.

“Maybe he got on a plane to Brazil after shooting two people in Enskede,” Bublanski said.

Modig glanced at her colleague. She enjoyed his company. She would not have had anything against flirting with him but for the fact that she was a mother of two and she and Bublanski were both happily married. From the brass nameplates on Bjurman’s floor they noted that his nearest neighbours were a dentist, Dr. Norman, a company called N-Consulting, and Rune Håkansson, a lawyer.

They started with Håkansson.

“Hello, my name is Modig and this is Inspector Bublanski. We’re from the police and have business with Nils Erik Bjurman, your colleague from next door. Do you know where we might find him?”

Håkansson shook his head. “I haven’t seen much of him lately. He was seriously ill two years ago, and has more or less shut down his practice. I only see him about once every two months.”

“Seriously ill?” Bublanski said.

“I’m not sure what with. He was always working flat out, and then he was taken ill. Cancer, I assumed. I hardly know him.”

“Do you think or do you know that he got cancer?” Modig said.

“Well… No, I’m not sure. He had a secretary, Britt Karlsson, or Nilsson, something like that. An older woman. He let her go, and she was the one who told me that he was ill. That was in the spring of 2003. I didn’t see him again until December of that year. He looked ten years older, gaunt and grey-haired. I drew my own conclusions.”

They went back to the apartment. Still no answer. Bublanski took out his mobile and dialled Bjurman’s mobile number. He got an automated message: The subscriber you are calling cannot be reached at present. Please try again later.

He tried the number at the apartment. On the landing they could hear a faint ringing from the other side of the door before an answering machine clicked on and asked the caller to leave a message.

It was 1:00 p.m.

“Coffee?”

“I need a burger.”

At Burger King on Odenplan Modig had a Whopper and Bublanski a veggie burger. Then they returned to police headquarters.

Prosecutor Ekström called the meeting to order at the conference table in his office at 2:00. Bublanski and Modig took seats next to each other by the wall near the window. Andersson arrived two minutes later and sat down opposite them. Holmberg came in with a tray of coffee in paper cups. He had paid a brief visit to Enskede and intended to return later in the afternoon when the techs were finished.

“Where’s Faste?” Ekström asked.

“He’s with the social welfare agency. He called five minutes ago and said he’d be a little late,” Svensson said.

“We’ll get started anyway. What have we got?” Ekström began without ceremony. He pointed first to Bublanski.

“We’ve been looking for Nils Bjurman, the registered owner of what is probably the murder weapon. He isn’t at home or at his office. According to another lawyer in the same building, he fell ill two years ago and has more or less shut down his practice.”

Modig said: “Bjurman is fifty-five, not listed in the criminal register. He is mainly a business lawyer. I haven’t had time to research his background beyond that.”

“But he does own the gun that was used in Enskede.”

“That’s correct. He has a licence for it and he’s a member of the police shooting club,” Bublanski said. “I talked to Gunnarsson in weapons – he’s the chairman of the club and knows Bjurman well. He joined in 1978 and was treasurer from 1984 to 1992. Gunnarsson describes Bjurman as an excellent shot with a pistol, calm and collected, and no funny stuff.”

“A gun freak?”

“Gunnarsson thinks Bjurman was more interested in club life than in the shooting itself. He liked to compete, but he didn’t stand out, at least not as a gun fanatic. In 1983 he participated in the Swedish championships and came in thirteenth. For the past ten years he’s cut back on shooting practice and just shows up for annual meetings and such.”

“Does he own any other weapons?”

“He has had licences for four handguns since he joined the shooting club. In addition to the Colt, he’s had a Beretta, a Smith&Wesson, and a competition pistol made by Rapid. The other three were sold within the club ten years ago, and the licences were transferred to other members.”

“And we have no idea where he is.”

“That’s correct. But we’ve only been looking for him since 10:00 this morning. He may be out walking in Djurgården or in hospital or whatever.”