Girl Who Played with Fire, The - Stieg Larsson [179]
His panic had subsided when Salander’s face was slapped on every front page in the country. Who the hell was this Salander? He had never heard her name before. But the police clearly considered her a serious suspect, and according to the prosecutor’s statement, the murders might soon be solved. It was possible that no-one would show any interest in him at all. But from his own experience he knew that journalists always saved documentation and notes. Millennium. A piece-of-shit magazine with an undeserved reputation. They were like all the rest. Poking around and whining and damaging people.
He had no way of knowing how long the research had been going on. There was nobody he could ask. He felt as if he was in a vacuum.
He vacillated between panic and intoxication. Apparently the police were not looking for him. Maybe—if he was lucky—he would get away scot-free. But if he was not lucky, his working life would be over.
He stuck the key in his front door and turned the lock. When he opened the door he suddenly heard a rustling sound behind him and before he could turn he felt a paralyzing pain in the small of his back.
Björck had not yet gone to bed when the telephone rang. He was in his pajamas and dressing gown, but he was still sitting in the kitchen in the dark, gnawing on his dilemma. In his whole long career he had never found himself even close to being in such a fix.
He had not intended to pick up the phone. It was after midnight. But it kept ringing. After the tenth ring he could resist no longer.
“It’s Mikael Blomkvist,” said a voice on the other end.
Shit.
“I was in bed.”
“I thought you might be interested in hearing what I have to say.”
“What do you want?”
“Tomorrow at 10:00 a.m. I’m giving a press conference on the murders of Dag Svensson and Mia Johansson.”
Björck swallowed hard.
“I’m going to give an account of the details in the book about the sex trade that Svensson had all but finished. The only john I’ll be naming is you.”
“You promised to give me some time…” He heard the fear in his voice and stopped.
“It’s been several days. You said you’d call me after the weekend. Tomorrow is Tuesday. Either you tell me now or I’m holding that press conference in the morning.”
“If you hold that press conference you’ll never find out a damn thing about Zala.”
“That’s possible. But then it won’t be my problem any more either. You’ll have to do your talking to the police investigation instead. And to the rest of the media, of course.”
There was no room for negotiation.
Björck agreed to meet Blomkvist, but he succeeded in putting the meeting off until Wednesday. A short reprieve. But he was ready.
It was sink or swim.
• • •
He woke up on the floor of his living room. He did not know how long he had been unconscious. His body hurt all over and he couldn’t move. It took him a while to realize that his hands were tied behind his back with electrical tape and his feet were bound. He had a piece of tape over his mouth. The lamps in the room were lit and the blinds were closed. He couldn’t understand what had happened.
He was aware of sounds that seemed to be coming from his office. He lay still and listened and heard a drawer being opened and closed. A robbery? He heard the sound of paper and someone rummaging through the drawers.
It seemed like an eternity before he heard footsteps behind him. He tried turning his head, but he couldn’t see anyone. He told himself to stay calm.
Suddenly a loop of thick cotton rope was slipped over his head. A noose was tightened around his neck. The panic almost made him shit himself. He looked up and saw the rope run up to a block that was fastened to a hook where the ceiling lamp usually hung. Then the person who had assaulted him came into view. The first thing he saw was a pair of black boots.
The shock could not have been greater when he raised his eyes. He did not at first