Girl Who Played with Fire, The - Stieg Larsson [187]
Miriam Wu felt the blood running down her neck as she landed on the floor of the van. Her nose was bleeding. He had split her lower lip and probably broken her nose. The attack had come like a bolt out of the blue. Her resistance had been quashed in less than a second. She felt the van start up as soon as her attacker slid the doors shut. For a moment, as the driver turned the van, the blond giant lost his balance.
She twisted around and braced her hips against the floor. When the man turned towards her she lashed out with a kick, striking him on the side of his head. She even saw that her heel left a mark. It was a kick that should have hurt.
He looked at her in surprise. Then he smiled.
Jesus, what kind of a fucking monster is this?
She kicked again, but he caught her leg and twisted her foot so hard that she shrieked in pain and had to roll over onto her stomach.
Then he leaned over her and slapped her again. He hit the side of her head. Wu saw stars. It felt like being struck by a sledgehammer. He sat on her back. She tried to lift him, but she could not move him an inch. He twisted her arms behind her back and locked them in handcuffs. She was helpless. Suddenly she felt a paralyzing fear.
Blomkvist was passing the Globe Arena on his way home from Tyresö. He had spent the afternoon and evening visiting three people on Svensson’s list. Not a thing had come of it. He had encountered panic-stricken men who had already been confronted by Svensson and were just waiting for the sky to fall. They had begged and pleaded with him. He crossed all of them off his private list of murder suspects.
He took out his mobile as he drove across Skanstullsbron and called Berger. She didn’t answer. He tried Eriksson. No answer there either. Damn. It was late. He wanted to talk about this with somebody.
He wondered whether Paolo Roberto had had any success with Miriam Wu and dialled his number. It rang five times before he got an answer.
“Paolo.”
“Hi. It’s Blomkvist. I’m wondering how it went—”
“Blomkvist, I’m on skrrritch skrrritch a van with Miriam.”
“I can’t hear you.”
“Skrp skrrrraaap skrraaaap.”
“You’re breaking up. I can’t hear you.”
Then the connection broke off.
Paolo Roberto swore. His battery died just as he went through Fittja. He pushed the ON button and brought the phone back to life. He dialled the number for emergency services, but as soon as they answered his mobile went dead again.
Shit.
He had a battery charger that worked in the cigarette lighter. But the charger was in the hall at home. He tossed the mobile onto the passenger seat and concentrated on keeping the taillights of the van in sight. He was driving a BMW with a full tank, and there wasn’t a chance in hell that the van would be able to outrun him. But he didn’t want to attract attention, so he increased the distance to several hundred yards.
A giant on steroids beats up a girl right in front of me. Just wait till I get my hands on that fucker.
If Erika Berger had been there she would have called him a macho cowboy. Paolo Roberto called it being pissed off.
Blomkvist drove down Lundagatan. Miriam Wu’s apartment was in darkness. He tried calling Paolo Roberto again, but got the message that the subscriber could not be reached. He swore to himself and then drove home and made coffee and a sandwich.
The drive took longer than Paolo Roberto had anticipated. The van went as far as Södertälje before it headed west on the E20 towards Strängnäs. Just past Nykvarn, it turned off to the left onto smaller roads through the countryside of Sörmland.
The smaller the roads, the greater the risk that he would be noticed by the men in the van. He eased off the accelerator and fell back even more.
He was unsure of his geography out here, but as far as he could tell they were passing to the west of Lake Yngern. He lost the van from view and went faster. He came out on a