Girl Who Played with Fire, The - Stieg Larsson [214]
Could he trust Blomkvist? He was now at the man’s mercy. But he had held back the crucial information: Zala’s identity and his role in the whole drama.
How the hell had he landed in this mess? All he did was pay some whores. He was a bachelor. That sixteen-year-old bitch hadn’t even pretended that she liked him. He had felt her disgust.
Fucking cunt. If she hadn’t been so young. If she’d been at least twenty it wouldn’t have looked so bad. Blomkvist detested him too, and made no effort to hide it.
Zalachenko.
A pimp. What irony. He had fucked Zalachenko’s whores. But Zalachenko had been smart enough to stay in the background.
Bjurman and Salander.
And Blomkvist.
A way out.
After an hour of worrying he went to his study and found the piece of paper with the telephone number he had retrieved from his office earlier in the week. It wasn’t the only thing he’d kept from Blomkvist. He knew exactly where Zalachenko was, though he hadn’t spoken to him in more than twelve years. Nor had he any desire to do so ever again.
But Zalachenko was a sly devil. He would understand the problem. He would be able to vanish from the face of the earth. Go abroad and retire. The real catastrophe would be if he were actually caught. Then everything would come crashing down.
He hesitated a long time before he dialled the number.
“Hello. It’s Sven Jansson,” he said. A name that he had not used in a very long time. Zalachenko remembered instantly who he was.
CHAPTER 28
Wednesday, April 6
Bublanski met Modig for coffee and a bite to eat at Wayne’s on Vasagatan at 8:00 in the evening. She had never seen her boss so downcast before. He told her everything that had happened that day. Finally she reached out and put her hand over his. It was the first time she had ever touched Bublanski, and there was no other reason than companionship. He smiled sadly and patted her hand in an equally friendly way.
“Maybe I should retire,” he said.
She smiled at him indulgently.
“This investigation is falling apart,” he went on. “It’s already in pieces. I informed Ekström of everything that occurred today, and he just said, ‘Do what you think is best.’ He seems incapable of action.”
“I don’t want to bad-mouth a superior, but as far as I’m concerned, Ekström can go jump in the lake.”
Bublanski nodded. “You’re officially back on the case, but don’t expect he’ll come up with an apology. Also, Faste stormed out this morning and has had his mobile switched off all day. If he doesn’t turn up tomorrow I’m going to have to get somebody to look for him.”
“Faste can stay out of it too. What’s happening with Hedström?”
“Nothing. I wanted to have him charged, but Ekström doesn’t dare. We kicked him out and I had a serious talk with Armansky We broke off working with Milton, which unfortunately means that we’ve lost Sonny Bohman too. Which is a shame. He was a talented detective.”
“How did Armansky take it?”
“He was crushed. The curious thing is that…”
“What?”
“He said that Salander never liked Hedström. He remembered she told him a couple of years ago that Hedström should be fired. She said he was a shithead, but apparently wouldn’t explain why. Armansky of course didn’t do as she suggested.”
“Interesting.”
“Curt is still down in Södertälje. They’re about to do a search of Carl-Magnus Lundin’s place. Jerker is fully occupied digging up bits of Kenneth ‘the Vagabond’ Gustafsson. And just before I got here he called to say that there’s another body in the second grave. From the clothes it’s probably a woman. Seems to have been there quite a while.”
“A woodland cemetery. Jan, I assume Salander is not a suspect in the murders at Nykvarn.”
Bublanski smiled for the first time in hours. “No. She had to be crossed off that one. But she’s definitely carrying a weapon and she did shoot Lundin.”
“Mind you, she shot him in the foot, not in the head. In Lundin’s case there