Girl Who Played with Fire, The - Stieg Larsson [139]
“And by 11:00 that night—by the time the police arrived at his apartment—the computer was gone.”
“Correct.”
“What should we deduce from that?”
“He could have stopped somewhere else and for some reason left or forgotten his computer.”
“How likely is that?”
“Not very likely. But he could have dropped it off for repair. Then there’s the possibility that there was some other place he worked that we don’t know about. For example, he once rented a desk at a freelancers’ office near St. Eriksplan. Then, of course, there’s the possibility that the killer took the computer with him.”
“According to Armansky, Salander is very good with computers.”
“Exactly,” Modig said, nodding.
“Hmm. Blomkvist’s theory is that Svensson and Johansson were murdered because of the research Svensson was doing. Which would all be on his computer.”
“We’re lagging a little behind. Three murder victims create so many loose ends that we can’t really keep up, but we actually haven’t done a proper search of Svensson’s workplace at Millennium yet.”
“I talked with Erika Berger this morning. She says they’re surprised that we haven’t been over to take a look at what he left there.”
“We’ve been focusing too much on the hunt for Salander, and so far we don’t have a clue about the motive. Could you …?”
“I’ve made a rendezvous with Berger at Millennium for tomorrow.”
“Thanks.”
On Thursday Blomkvist was at his desk talking to Eriksson when a telephone rang somewhere else in the offices. Through the doorway he caught a glimpse of Cortez on his way to answer it. Then he registered somewhere in the back of his mind that it was the phone on Svensson’s desk. He jumped to his feet.
“Stop—don’t touch that phone!” he yelled.
Cortez had his hand on the receiver. Blomkvist hurried across the room. What the hell was the name of that phony company Svensson made up?
“Indigo Market Research, this is Mikael. May I help you?”
“Uh … hello, my name is Gunnar Björck. I got a letter saying I’ve won a mobile phone.”
“Congratulations,” Blomkvist said. “It’s a Sony Ericsson, the latest model.”
“And it’s free?”
“That’s right, it’s free. To receive the gift you only have to be interviewed. We do market research studies and in-depth analyses for various companies. It’ll take about an hour to answer the questions. After that your name will be entered in another drawing and you’ll have the chance to win 100,000 kronor.”
“I understand. Can we do it over the phone?”
“Unfortunately not. The questionnaire involves looking at company logos and identifying them. We will also be asking about what type of advertising images you like and we show you various alternatives. We have to send out one of our employees.”
“I see … and how did I happen to be selected?”
“We do this type of study several times a year. Right now we’re focusing on a number of successful men in your age group. We’ve drawn social security numbers at random within that demographic.”
Björck finally agreed to a meeting. He told Blomkvist that he was on sick leave and was convalescing at a summer cabin up in Smådalarö. He gave directions on how to get there. They agreed to meet on Friday morning.
“YES!” Blomkvist cried when he hung up the phone. He punched the air with his fist. Eriksson and Cortez exchanged puzzled glances.
Paolo Roberto landed at Arlanda at 11:30 on Thursday morning. He had slept during much of the flight from New York, and for once did not have any jet lag.
He had spent a month in the United States talking boxing, watching exhibition fights, and looking for ideas for a production he was planning to sell to Strix Television. Sadly, he admitted to himself, he had left his own professional