Girl Who Played with Fire, The - Stieg Larsson [117]
“What sort of evidence?” someone in the crowded room immediately asked.
“We are not going to go into it.”
Several reporters started talking at once. Ekström held up his hand and pointed to a reporter from Dagens Eko. He had dealt with him before and regarded him as objective.
“Inspector Bublanski said that Fröken Salander had been in a psychiatric clinic. Why was that?”
“This woman had a … a troubled upbringing and encountered over the years a number of problems. She is under guardianship, and the person who owned the weapon was her guardian.”
“Who is he?”
“The individual who was shot in his apartment at Odenplan. At present we are withholding his name until his next of kin are notified.”
“What motive did she have for the murders?”
Bublanski took the microphone and said, “We will not speculate as to possible motives.”
“Does she have a police record?”
“Yes.”
Then came a question from a reporter with a deep, distinctive voice that could be heard over the crowd.
“Is she dangerous to the public?”
Ekström hesitated for a moment. Then he said: “We have reports which indicate that she could be considered prone to violence in stressful situations. We are issuing this statement because we want to get in touch with her as soon as possible.”
Bublanski bit his lower lip.
Criminal Inspector Sonja Modig was still in Advokat Bjurman’s apartment at 9:00 that evening. She had called home to explain the situation to her husband. After eleven years of marriage he had accepted that her job was never going to be nine to five. She was sitting at Bjurman’s desk and reading through the papers that she had found in the drawers when she heard a knock on the door and turned to see Officer Bubble balancing two cups of coffee on his notebook, with a blue bag of cinnamon rolls from the local kiosk in his other hand. Wearily she waved him in.
“What don’t you want me to touch?” Bublanski said.
“The techs have finished in here. They’re working on the kitchen and the bedroom. The body’s still in there.”
Bublanski pulled up a chair and sat down. Modig opened the bag and took out a roll.
“Thanks. I was having such caffeine withdrawal I thought I’d die.”
They munched quietly.
Modig licked her fingers and said, “I heard things didn’t go so well at Lundagatan.”
“There was nobody there. There were unopened letters for Salander, but someone called Miriam Wu lives there. We haven’t found her yet either.”
“Who is she?”
“Don’t really know. Faste is working on her background. She was added to the contract about a month ago, but she just seems to be someone who lives in the apartment. I think Salander moved without filing a change of address.”
“Maybe she planned all this.”
“What? A triple murder?” Bublanski shook his head dejectedly. “What a mess this is turning into. Ekström insisted on holding a press conference, and now we’re going to get it in the neck from the media. Have you found anything?”
“Apart from Bjurman’s body in the bedroom, you mean? We found the empty box for the Magnum. It’s being checked for prints. Bjurman has a file with copies of his monthly reports about Salander that he sent to the Guardianship Agency. If they are to be believed, Salander is a regular little angel, big time.”
“Not him too,” Bublanski said.
“Not him too what?”
“Another admirer of Fröken Salander.”
Bublanski summed up what he had learned from Armansky and Blomkvist. Modig listened without interrupting. When he finished, she ran her fingers through her hair and rubbed her eyes.
“That sounds completely absurd,” she said.
Bublanski tugged on his lower lip. Modig glanced at him and had to suppress a smile. He had a rough-chiselled face that looked almost brutal. But when he was confused or unsure of something, his expression turned sullen. It was in those moments that she thought of him as Officer Bubble. She had never used the nickname to his face and did not know who had coined it. But it suited him perfectly.
“How sure are we?”
“The prosecutor seems sure. An APB went out nationally for Salander this evening,