Girl Who Played with Fire, The - Stieg Larsson [167]
“I didn’t know that. But my question was why is he visiting me?”
“Because … well, I think it’s better if he explains that himself.”
Blomkvist had only just showered and put on his pants when the doorbell rang. He opened the door and asked the boxer to take a seat at the table while he found a clean shirt and made two double espressos, which he served with a teaspoon of milk. Paolo Roberto inspected the coffee, impressed.
“You wanted to talk to me?” Blomkvist said.
“It was Erika Berger’s suggestion.”
“I see. Talk away.”
“I know Lisbeth Salander.”
Blomkvist raised his eyebrows. “You do?”
“I was a little surprised when Erika told me that you knew her too.”
“I think perhaps it would be better if you started at the beginning.”
“OK. Here’s the deal. I came home the day before yesterday after a month in New York and found Lisbeth’s face on every fucking newspaper in town. The papers are writing a load of fucking crap about her. And not one of those fuckers seems to have a good word to say.”
“You got three fucks into that outburst.”
Paolo Roberto laughed. “Sorry. But I’m really pissed off. In fact, I called Erika because I needed to talk and didn’t really know who else to call. Since that journalist in Enskede worked for Millennium and since I happen to know Erika, I called her.”
“So?”
“Even if Salander went completely off her rocker and did everything the police are claiming she did, she has to be given a sporting chance. We do happen to have the rule of law in this country, and nobody should be condemned without their day in court.”
“I believe that too.”
“That’s what I understood from Erika. When I called her I thought that you guys at Millennium were after her scalp too, considering that the Svensson guy was writing for you. But Erika said you thought she was innocent.”
“I know Lisbeth. I can’t see her as a deranged killer.”
Paolo Roberto laughed out loud. “She’s one fucking freaky chick… but she’s one of the good ones. I like her.”
“How do you know her?”
“I’ve boxed with Salander since she was seventeen.”
Blomkvist closed his eyes for ten seconds before he opened them and looked at the boxing champ. Salander was, as always, full of surprises.
“Of course. Lisbeth Salander boxes with Paolo Roberto. You’re in the same division.”
“I’m not joking.”
“I believe you. She told me once that she used to spar with the boys at some boxing club.”
“Let me tell you how it happened. Ten years ago I took a job as a trainer for juniors who wanted to start boxing down at the Zinken club. I was already established, and the club’s junior leader thought I’d be a big draw, so I’d come in afternoons and spar with the guys. As it turned out, I stayed the whole summer and part of the autumn too. They ran a campaign and put up posters and all that, trying to lure the local kids. And it did attract a lot of fifteen-and sixteen-year-olds and some a few years older too. Quite a few immigrant kids. Boxing is a great alternative to running around town and raising hell. Ask me. I know.”
“I believe you.”
“Then one day in the middle of summer this skinny girl turns up out of nowhere. You know how she looks, right? She came into the club and said she wanted to learn to box.”
“I can picture the scene.”
“There was a roar of laughter from half a dozen guys who weighed about twice as much as she did and were obviously a whole lot bigger. I laughed too. It was nothing serious, but we teased her a little. We have a girls’ section too, and I said something stupid about the fact that little chicks were only allowed to box on Thursdays or something like that.”
“She didn’t laugh, I bet.”
“No. She didn’t laugh. She looked at me with those black eyes of hers. Then she reached for a pair of boxing gloves that somebody had left lying around. They weren’t tied up or anything and they were way too big for her. But we weren’t laughing any more. You know what I mean?”
“This doesn’t sound good.”
Paolo Roberto laughed again. “Since I