Girl Who Kicked the Hornets Nest, The - Stieg Larsson [137]
Ten minutes later the woman with the camera came out of the building again. Instead of going back up the hill to Tavastgatan, she continued down the hill and turned right at the corner of Pryssgränd. Hmm. If she had a car parked down on Pryssgränd, Figuerola was out of luck. But if she was walking, there was only one way out of the dead end – up to Brännkyrkagatan via Pustegränd and towards Slussen.
Figuerola decided to leave her car behind and turned left in the direction of Slussen on Brännkyrkagatan. She had almost reached Pustegränd when the woman appeared, coming up towards her. Bingo. She followed her past the Hilton on Södermalmstorg and past the Stadsmuseum at Slussen. The woman walked quickly and purposefully without once looking round. Figuerola gave her a lead of about thirty metres. When she went into Slussen tunnelbana Figuerola picked up her pace, but stopped when she saw the woman head for the Pressbyrån kiosk instead of through the turnstiles.
She watched the woman as she stood in the queue at the kiosk. She was about one metre seventy and looked to be in pretty good shape. She was wearing running shoes. Seeing her with both feet planted firmly as she stood by the window of the kiosk, Figuerola suddenly had the feeling that she was a policewoman. She bought a tin of Catch Dry snuff and went back out on to Södermalmstorg and turned right across Katarinavägen.
Figuerola followed her. She was almost certain the woman had not seen her. The woman turned the corner at McDonald’s and Figuerola hurried after her, but when she got to the corner, the woman had vanished without a trace. Figuerola stopped short in consternation. Shit. She walked slowly past the entrances to the buildings. Then she caught sight of a brass plate that read Milton Security.
Figuerola walked back to Bellmansgatan.
She drove to Götgatan where the offices of Millennium were and spent the next half hour walking around the streets in the area. She did not see Mårtensson’s car. At lunchtime she returned to police headquarters in Kungsholmen and spent two hours thinking as she pumped iron in the gym.
“We’ve got a problem,” Cortez said.
Eriksson and Blomkvist looked up from the typescript of the book about the Zalachenko case. It was 1.30 in the afternoon.
“Take a seat,” Eriksson said.
“It’s about Vitavara Inc., the company that makes the 1700 kronor toilets in Vietnam.”
“Alright. What’s the problem?” Blomkvist said.
“Vitavara Inc. is a wholly owned subsidiary of Svea Construction Inc.”
“I see. That’s a very large firm.”
“Yes, it is. The chairman of the board is Magnus Borgsjö, a professional board member. He’s also the chairman of the board of Svenska Morgon-Posten and owns about 10 per cent of it.”
Blomkvist gave Cortez a sharp look. “Are you sure?”
“Yep. Berger’s boss is a bloody crook, a man who exploits child labour in Vietnam.”
Assistant Editor Fredriksson looked to be in a bad mood as he knocked on the door of Berger’s glass cage at 2.00 in the afternoon.
“What is it?”
“Well, this is a little embarrassing, but somebody in the newsroom got an email from you.”
“From me? So? What does it say?
He handed her some printouts of emails addressed to Eva Carlsson, a 26-year-old temp on the culture pages. According to the headers the sender was erika.berger@smpost.se>:
Darling Eva. I want to caress you and kiss your breasts. I’m hot with excitement and can’t control myself. I beg you to reciprocate my feelings. Could we meet? Erika
And then two emails on the following days:
Dearest, darling Eva. I beg you not to reject me. I’m crazy with desire. I want to have you naked. I have to have you. I’m going to make you so happy. You’ll never regret it. I’m going to kiss every inch of your naked skin, your lovely breasts, and your delicious grotto. Erika
Eva. Why don’t you reply? Don’t be afraid of me. Don’t push me away. You’re no innocent. You know what it’s all about. I want to have sex with you and I’m going to reward you handsomely. If you’re nice to me then I’ll be nice to you. You’ve asked for an extension