Girl Who Played with Fire, The - Stieg Larsson [133]
“She needed cash in the autumn of 2003. That was when she stopped working for Milton Security,” Bohman said.
“Possibly. The account stood at zero for about two weeks. And then she put the same amount back into it.”
“She thought she needed money for something, but she didn’t spend it and put the money back?”
“Possibly. In December 2003 she used the account to pay a number of bills, including her rent for a year in advance. The account dropped to 70,000 kronor. After that the account wasn’t touched for a year, except for a deposit of around 9,000 kronor. I’ve checked—it was an inheritance from her mother. In March this year she took out this sum—the exact amount was 9,312 kronor—and that’s the only time she’s touched the account.”
“So what the hell does she live on?”
“Listen to this. In January of this year she opened a new account. This one at Svenska Enskilda Banken. She deposited two million kronor.”
“Where did the money come from?” Modig asked.
“The money was transferred to her account from a bank in the Channel Islands.”
Silence descended over the conference room.
“I don’t understand any of this,” Modig said after a moment.
“So this is money she hasn’t declared?” Bublanski asked.
“No, but technically she doesn’t have to until next year. What’s interesting is that the sum is not recorded in Bjurman’s report on her assets, and he filed a report every month.”
“So—either he didn’t know about it or else they were running a scam together. Jerker, where do we stand on forensics?”
“I had a report from the leader of the preliminary investigation yesterday evening. This is what we know. One: we can tie Salander to both crime scenes. We found her fingerprints on the murder weapon and on the shards of a broken coffee cup in Enskede. We’re waiting for results from all the DNA samples we gathered, but there’s no doubt that she was there in the apartment. Two: we have her prints on the box we found in Bjurman’s apartment, the one the gun came in. Three: we finally have a witness who can place her at the site of the murders in Enskede. The owner of a corner shop telephoned to say that Salander was definitely in his shop on the night of the murders. She bought a pack of Marlboro Lights.”
“And he comes out with this days after we asked the public for information?”
“He was away over the holidays, like everybody else. In any case”—Holmberg pointed at a map—“the corner shop is here, about two hundred yards from the crime scene. She came in just as he was closing at 10:00 p.m. He gave a perfect description of her.”
“Tattoo on her neck?” Andersson said.
“He was a bit vague about that. He thought he saw a tattoo. But he definitely saw that she had a pierced eyebrow.”
“What else?”
“Not that much in the way of technical evidence. But it should hold up.”
“Faste—the apartment on Lundagatan?”
“We’ve got her prints, but we don’t think she lives there. We’ve turned the place upside down, and it seems that a Miriam Wu is living there. Her name was added to the contract as recently as February this year.”
“What do we know about Wu?”
“No police record. Known lesbian. She appears in shows at the Gay Pride Festival. Seems to be studying sociology and is part owner of Domino Fashion, a sex shop on Tegnérgatan.”
“Sex shop?” Modig said with raised eyebrows.
On one occasion she had bought, to her husband’s delight, some sexy lingerie at Domino Fashion. And she had absolutely no intention of revealing that to the men in the room.
“Yeah, they sell handcuffs and whore outfits and stuff like that. Need a whip?”
“It’s not a sex shop. It’s a fashion boutique for people who like sexy underwear.”
“Same shit.”
“Go on,” Bublanski said angrily. “Is there any sign of Fröken Wu?”
“Not a trace.”
“She could have gone away for Easter,” Modig said.
“Or else Salander whacked her too,” Faste said. “Maybe she wants to make a clean sweep of all her acquaintances.”
“Wu is a lesbian. Should we conclude that she and Salander are a couple?”
“I think we can draw the conclusion that there’s a sexual relationship,” Andersson