Girl Who Played with Fire, The - Stieg Larsson [143]
“You’ll ruin my life if you publish this stuff,” said Björck.
“Yes.”
“And you’re going to do it.”
“Absolutely”
“Why? Can’t you give me a break? I’m not well.”
“Interesting that you bring up human kindness as an argument.”
“It doesn’t cost a thing to be compassionate.”
“You’re right about that. While you moan about me destroying your life, you’ve enjoyed destroying the lives of young girls against whom you’ve committed crimes. We can prove three of them. God knows how many others there are. Where was your compassion then?”
He picked up his papers and stuffed them into his briefcase.
“I’ll find my own way out.”
As he reached the door, he turned back to Björck.
“Have you ever heard of a man named Zala?” he said.
Björck stared at him. He was still so agitated that he scarcely heard Blomkvist’s question. Then his eyes widened.
Zala!
It’s not possible.
Bjurman!
Could it be possible?
Blomkvist noticed the change and came back to the table.
“Why do you ask about Zala?” Björck said. He looked to be almost in shock.
“He interests me,” Blomkvist said.
Blomkvist could almost see the wheels turning in Björck’s head. After a while Björck grabbed a pack of cigarettes from the windowsill and lit one.
“If I do know something about Zala … what’s it worth to you?”
“It depends on what you know.”
Feelings and thoughts tumbled through Björck’s head.
How the hell could Blomkvist know anything about Zalachenko?
“It’s a name I haven’t heard in a long time,” Björck finally said.
“So you know who he is?”
“I didn’t say that. What are you after?”
“He’s one of the names on the list of people Svensson was investigating.”
“What’s it worth to you?” he said again.
“What’s what worth?”
“If I can lead you to Zala… Would you leave me out of your report?”
Blomkvist sat down slowly. After Hedestad he had decided never again to bargain over a story. He did not intend to bargain with Björck either; no matter what happened he was going to hang him out to dry. But he realized he was unscrupulous enough to do a deal with Björck, then double-cross him. He felt no guilt. Björck was a policeman who had committed crimes. If he knew the name of a possible murderer, then it was his job to intervene—not to use the information to save his own skin. Blomkvist put his hand in his jacket pocket and switched on the tape recorder he had turned off when he got up from the table. “Let’s hear it,” he said.
Modig was infuriated by Faste, but she did not allow her expression to reveal what she thought of him. The interview with Miriam Wu, which had continued after Bublanski left the room, was anything but by the book.
Modig was also surprised. She had never liked Faste and his macho style, but she had considered him a skilful police officer. That skill was glaringly absent today. It was obvious that Faste felt threatened by a beautiful, intelligent, and outspoken lesbian. It was equally obvious that Wu was aware of Faste’s irritation and ruthlessly played to it.
“So you found the strap-on in my drawer. What did you fantasize about then?”
Miriam Wu gave a curious smirk. Faste looked like he was going to explode.
“Shut up and answer the question.”
“You asked me if I ever fuck Lisbeth Salander with it. And my answer is that it’s none of your fucking business.”
Modig raised her hand: “The interview with Miriam Wu was interrupted for a break at 11:12 a.m.”
She turned off the tape recorder.
“Would you stay here, please, Miriam? Faste, I’d like a word with you.”
Miriam Wu smiled sweetly when Faste gave her a filthy look and slouched after Modig into the corridor. Modig spun around and looked Faste in the eye, her nose nearly touching his.
“Bublanski assigned me to take over the interview. Your help’s not worth shit.”
“Oh, come off it. That surly cunt is squirming like a snake.”
“Could there be some sort of Freudian symbolism