Stieg Larsson - The Girl who played with Fire

“Christer and I have a layout for the replacement issue. We’ve taken two articles earmarked for the issue after this one and we’re going to fill the gaps with freelance material. But it’ll be a bit of this and a bit of that, an issue without any real focus.”

They sat quietly for a moment.

“Have you listened to the news?” Berger asked.

“No. I know what they’re going to say.”

“It’s the top story on every radio station. The second-place story is a political move by the Centre Party.”

“Which means that absolutely nothing else is happening in the country.”

“The police haven’t released their names yet. They’re being described as a ‘conscientious couple.’ No-one’s mentioned that it was you who found them.”

“I’ll bet the police will do all they can to keep it quiet. At least that’s to our advantage.”

“Why would the police want to do that?”

“Because detectives basically hate a media circus. I would guess something will leak out sometime tonight or early tomorrow morning.”

“So young and so cynical.”

“We aren’t that young anymore, Ricky. I thought about it while I was being questioned last night. The police inspector looked like she could still be at school.”

Berger gave a weak laugh. She had had a few hours’ sleep last night, but she was beginning to feel the strain. Still, in no time at all she would be editor in chief of one of the largest newspapers in Sweden. And no – this was not the right time to reveal that news to Blomkvist.

“Henry called a while ago. A preliminary investigation leader named Ekström held some sort of press conference this afternoon.”

“Richard Ekström?”

“Yes. Do you know him?”

“Political flunky. Guaranteed media circus. This is going to get plenty of publicity.”

“Well, he says that the police are already following up certain leads and hope to solve the case soon. Otherwise he pretty much said nothing. But apparently the place was jammed with reporters.”

Blomkvist rubbed his eyes. “I can’t get the image of Mia’s body out of my mind. Damn, I was just getting to know them.”

“Some crazy –”

“I don’t know. I’ve been thinking about it all day.”

“About what?”

“Mia was shot from the side. I saw the entry wound on the side of her neck and the exit wound in her forehead. Dag was shot from the front. The bullet went into his forehead, and came out the back of his head. Those looked to be the only two shots. It doesn’t feel like the act of a lone nutcase.”

Berger looked at her partner thoughtfully. “So what was it?”

“If it’s not a random killing, then there has to be a motive. And the more I think about it, the more it feels as if this manuscript provides a damned good motive.” Blomkvist gestured at the stack of paper on Berger’s desk. She followed his eyes. Then they looked at each other. “Maybe it’s not the book itself. Maybe they had done too much snooping and managed to… I don’t know… maybe somebody felt threatened.”

“And hired a hit man. Micke – that’s the stuff of American movies. This book is about the exploiters, the users. It names police officers, politicians, journalists… So you think one of them murdered Dag and Mia?”

“I don’t know, Ricky. But we’re supposed to be going to press in three weeks with the toughest exposé of trafficking that’s ever been published in Sweden.”

At that moment Eriksson knocked and put her head round the door. An Inspector Bublanski wanted to speak with Blomkvist.

Bublanski shook hands with Berger and Blomkvist and sat down in the third chair at the table by the window. He studied Blomkvist and saw a hollow-eyed man with a day’s growth of beard.

“Have there been any developments?” Blomkvist said.

“Maybe. I understand you were the one who found the couple in Enskede and called the police last night.”

Blomkvist nodded wearily.

“I know that you told your story to the detective on duty last night, but I wonder if you could clarify a few details for me.”

“What would you like to know?”

“How did you come to be driving over to see Svensson and Johansson so late at night?”

“That’s not a detail, it’s a whole novel,” Blomkvist said with a tired smile. “I was at a dinner party at my sister’s house – she lives in a new development in Stäket. Dag Svensson called me on my mobile and said that he wasn’t going to have time to come to the office on Thursday – today, that is – as we had previously agreed. He was supposed to deliver some photographs to our art director. The reason he gave was that he and Mia had decided to drive up to her parents’ house over the weekend, and they wanted to leave early in the morning. He asked if it would be OK if he messengered them to me last night instead. I said that since I lived so close, I could pick up the photographs on my way home from my sister’s.”

“So you drove to Enskede to pick up photographs.”

“Yes.”

“Can you think of any motive for the murders of Svensson and Johansson?”

Blomkvist and Berger glanced at each other. Neither said a word.

“What is it?” Bublanski wanted to know.

“We’ve discussed the matter today and we’re having a bit of a disagreement. Well, actually not a disagreement – we’re just not certain. We would rather not speculate.”

“Tell me.”

Blomkvist described to him the subject of Svensson’s book, and how he and Berger had been discussing whether it might have some connection to the murders. Bublanski sat quietly for a moment, digesting the information.

“So Dag Svensson was about to expose police officers.”

He did not at all like the turn the conversation had taken, and imagined how a “police trail” might wander back and forth in the media and give rise to all kinds of conspiracy theories.

“No,” Blomkvist said. “He was about to expose criminals, a few of whom happen to be police officers. There are also one or two members of my own profession, namely journalists.”

“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.