Girl Who Played with Fire, The - Stieg Larsson [140]
He collected his suitcase from the baggage carousel. At Customs he was stopped and about to be pulled aside when one of the Customs officers recognized him.
“Hello, Paolo. All you’ve got in your case is gloves, I presume?”
He was crossing the arrivals hall to the escalator down to the Arlanda Express when he stopped short, stunned by Salander’s face on the headlines of the evening newspapers. He wondered if he was suffering from jet lag after all. Then he read the headline again.
HUNT FOR
LISBETH SALANDER
He looked at the other headline.
EXTRA!
PSYCHOPATH SOUGHT
FOR TRIPLE KILLING
He bought both the evening papers and the morning ones too and then went over to a cafeteria. He read the articles with growing astonishment.
When Blomkvist came home to Bellmansgatan at 11:00 on Thursday night he was tired and depressed. He had planned to make it an early night to catch up on his sleep, but he couldn’t resist the temptation to switch on his iBook and check his email. Nothing of great interest there, but he opened the folder. His pulse quickened when he discovered a new document entitled [MB2]. He double-clicked.
Prosecutor E. is leaking information to the media. Ask him why he didn’t leak the old police report.
Blomkvist pondered the message, baffled. What old police report? Why did she have to write every message like a riddle? He created a new document that he called [Cryptic].
Hi, Sally. I’m tired as hell and I’ve been on the go nonstop since the murders. I don’t feel like playing guessing games. Maybe you don’t give a damn, but I want to know who killed my friends. M.
He waited at his desk. The reply [Cryptic 2] came a minute later.
What would you do if it was me?
He replied with [Cryptic 3].
Lisbeth, if it’s true that you’ve really gone over the edge, then maybe you can ask Peter Teleborian to help you. But I don’t believe you murdered Dag and Mia. I hope and pray that I’m right.
Dag and Mia were going to publish their exposés of the sex trade. My theory is that could have been the reason for the murders. But I have nothing to go on.
I don’t know what went wrong between us, but you and I discussed friendship once. I said that friendship is built on two things—respect and trust. Even if you don’t like me, you can still depend on me and trust me. I’ve never shared your secrets with anyone. Not even what happened to Wennerström’s billions. Trust me. I’m not your enemy. M.
Blomkvist had almost given up hope when, nearly fifty minutes later, the file [Cryptic 4] materialized.
I’ll think about it.
Blomkvist sighed with relief. He felt a little ray of hope. The reply meant exactly what it said. She was going to think about it. It was the first time since, without a word of explanation, she had vanished from his life that she had held out the prospect of communicating with him at all. He wrote [Cryptic 5].
OK, I’ll wait. But please don’t take too long.
Inspector Faste got the call when he was on Långholmsgatan near Västerbron on his way to work on Friday morning. The police did not have the resources to put the apartment on Lundagatan under twenty-four-hour surveillance, so they had arranged for a neighbour, a retired policeman, to keep an eye on it.
“The Chinese girl just came in,” the neighbour said.
Faste could hardly have been in a more convenient place. He made an illegal turn past the bus shelter on to Heleneborgsgatan just before Västerbron and drove down Högalidsgatan to Lundagatan. He was there less than two minutes after he got the call and jogged across the street and through to the back building.
Miriam Wu was still standing at the door of her apartment staring at the drilled-out lock and the police tape across the door when she heard footsteps on