Girl Who Kicked the Hornets Nest, The - Stieg Larsson [8]
She did not have to search for her colleague, Criminal Inspector Holmberg. She assumed that he would be in the restaurant car and that is where she found him. He had already bought coffee and sandwiches for her. They sat in silence for five minutes as they ate their breakfast. Finally Holmberg pushed his coffee cup aside.
“Maybe I should get some training in some other field,” he said.
Some time after 4.00 in the morning, Criminal Inspector Marcus Erlander from the Violent Crimes Division of the Göteborg police arrived in Gosseberga and took over the investigation from the overburdened Paulsson. Erlander was a short, round man in his fifties with grey hair. One of the first things he did was to have Blomkvist released from his handcuffs, and then he produced rolls and coffee from a thermos. They sat in the living room for a private conversation.
“I’ve spoken with Bublanski,” Erlander said. “Bubble and I have known each other for many years. We are both of us sorry that you were subjected to Paulsson’s rather primitive way of operating.”
“He succeeded in getting a policeman killed tonight,” Blomkvist said.
Erlander said: “I knew Officer Ingemarsson personally. He served in Göteborg before he moved to Trollhättan. He has a three-year-old daughter.”
“I’m sorry. I tried to warn him.”
“So I heard. You were quite emphatic, it seems, and that’s why you were cuffed. You were the one who exposed Wennerström last year. Bublanski says that you’re a shameless journalist bastard and an insane private investigator, but that you just might know what you’re talking about. Can you bring me up to speed so that I can get the hang of what’s going on?”
“What happened here tonight is the culmination of the murders of two friends of mine in Enskede, Dag Svensson and Mia Johansson. And the murder of a person who was no friend of mine … a lawyer called Bjurman, also Lisbeth Salander’s guardian.”
Erlander made notes between taking sips of his coffee.
“As you no doubt know, the police have been looking for Salander since Easter. She was a suspect in all three murders. First of all, you have to realize that Salander is not only not guilty of these murders, she has been throughout a victim in the whole affair.”
“I haven’t had the least connection to the Enskede business, but after everything that was in the media about her it seems a bit hard to swallow that Salander could be completely innocent.”
“Nonetheless, that’s how it is. She’s innocent. Full stop. The killer is Ronald Niedermann, the man who murdered your officer tonight. He works for Karl Axel Bodin.”
“The Bodin who’s in Sahlgrenska with an axe in his skull?”
“The axe isn’t still in his head. I assume it was Salander who nailed him. His real name is Alexander Zalachenko and he’s Lisbeth’s father. He was a hit man for Russian military intelligence. He defected in the ’70s, and was then on the books of Säpo until the collapse of the Soviet Union. He’s been running his own criminal network ever since.”
Erlander scrutinized the man opposite him. Blomkvist’s face was shiny with sweat, but he looked both frozen and deathly tired. Until now he had sounded perfectly rational, but Paulsson – whose opinion had little influence on Erlander – had warned him that Blomkvist had been babbling on about Russian agents and German hit men – hardly routine elements in Swedish police work. Blomkvist had apparently reached the point in his story at which Paulsson had decided to ignore everything else he might say. But there was one policeman dead and another severely wounded on the road to Nossebro, so Erlander was willing to listen. But he could not keep a trace of incredulity out of his voice.
“O.K. A Russian agent.”
Blomkvist smiled weakly, only too aware of how odd his story sounded.
“A former Russian agent. I can document every one of my claims.”
“Go on.”
“Zalachenko was a top spy in the ’70s.