Girl Who Kicked the Hornets Nest, The - Stieg Larsson [13]
“We have to try to tone this down, so that the situation doesn’t get completely out of our control. So Salander was locked up in an asylum because she tried to kill her father … this Zalachenko. And now she has attacked him with an axe. By any interpretation that would be attempted murder. And she has to be charged with shooting Magge Lundin in Stallarholmen.”
“You can arrest whoever you want, but I would tread carefully if I were you.”
“There’s going to be an almighty scandal if Säpo’s involvement gets leaked.”
Bublanski shrugged. His job was to investigate crimes, not to clean up after scandals.
“This bastard from Säpo, this Gunnar Björck. What do you know about his role?”
“He’s one of the major players. He’s on sick leave for a slipped disc and lives in Smådalarö at present.”
“O.K…. we’ll keep the lid on Säpo’s involvement for the time being. The focus right now is to be on the murder of a police officer.”
“It’s going to be hard to keep this under wraps.”
“What do you mean?”
“I sent Andersson to bring in Björck for a formal interrogation. That should be happening …” – Bublanski looked at his watch – “… yes, about now.”
“You what?”
“I was rather hoping to have the pleasure of driving out to Smådalarö myself, but the events surrounding last night’s killing took precedence.”
“I didn’t give anyone permission to arrest Björck.”
“That’s true. But it’s not an arrest. I’m just bringing him in for questioning.”
“Whichever, I don’t like it.”
Bublanski leaned forward, almost as if to confide in the other man.
“Richard … this is how it is. Salander has been subjected to a number of infringements of her rights, starting when she was a child. I do not mean for this to continue on my watch. You have the option to remove me as leader of the investigation … but if you did that I would be forced to write a harsh memo about the matter.”
Ekström looked as if he had just swallowed something very sour.
Gunnar Björck, on sick leave from his job as assistant chief of the Immigration Division of the Security Police, opened the door of his summer house in Smådalarö and looked up at a powerfully built, blond man with a crewcut who wore a black leather jacket.
“I’m looking for Gunnar Björck.”
“That’s me.”
“Curt Andersson, County Criminal Police.” The man held up his I.D.
“Yes?”
“You are requested to accompany me to Kungsholmen to assist the police in their investigations into the case involving Lisbeth Salander.”
“Uh … there must be some sort of misunderstanding.”
“There’s no misunderstanding,” Andersson said.
“You don’t understand. I’m a police officer myself. Save yourself making a big mistake: check it out with your superior officers.”
“My superior is the one who wants to talk to you.”
“I have to make a call and—”
“You can make your call from Kungsholmen.”
Björck felt suddenly resigned. It’s happened. I’m going to be arrested. That goddamn fucking Blomkvist. And fucking Salander.
“Am I being arrested?” he said.
“Not for the moment. But we can arrange for that if you like.”
“No … no, of course I’ll come with you. Naturally I’d want to assist my colleagues in the police force.”
“Alright, then,” Andersson said, walking into the hallway to keep a close eye on Björck as he turned off the coffee machine and picked up his coat.
In the late morning it dawned on Blomkvist that his rental car was still at the Gosseberga farm, but he was so exhausted that he did not have the strength or the means to get out there to fetch it, much less drive safely for any distance. Erlander kindly arranged for a crime scene tech to take the car back on his way home.
“Think of it as compensation for the way you were treated last night.”
Blomkvist thanked him and took a taxi