Girl Who Played with Fire, The - Stieg Larsson [217]
Blomkvist remained standing at Sivarnandan’s desk and explained that of course he had no wish to subject Palmgren to any unpleasantness. He didn’t want a statement from him. He was a good friend of Salander, he was persuaded of her innocence, and he was desperately searching for information that might shed some light on certain aspects of her past.
Dr. Sivarnandan was hard to convince. Blomkvist had to explain in detail his own role in the drama. Not until half an hour of discussion had passed did Sivarnandan give his consent. He asked Blomkvist to wait while he went up to ask Palmgren whether he would see him.
Sivarnandan returned after ten minutes.
“He’s agreed to see you. If he doesn’t like you then he’ll put you out on your ear. You are not to interview him or write anything in the press about the visit.”
“I won’t write a line about this.”
Palmgren had a small room containing a bed, a bureau, a table, and a couple of chairs. He was white-haired and thin as a scarecrow. He evidently had trouble with his balance, but he stood up anyway when Blomkvist was shown into the room. He did not hold out his hand, but motioned to one of the chairs by the table. Blomkvist sat down. Dr. Sivarnandan remained in the room. Blomkvist had difficulty at first understanding Palmgren’s slurred speech.
“Who are you, claiming to be Lisbeth’s friend, and what do you want?”
“You don’t have to say anything to me. But I ask you to listen to what I have to say before you throw me out.”
Palmgren nodded curtly and shuffled over to the chair opposite Blomkvist.
“I met Lisbeth Salander for the first time two years ago. I hired her to do some research for me. She visited me in another town where I was living at the time, and we worked together for several weeks.”
He wondered how much he had to explain to Palmgren. He decided to stay as close to the truth as possible.
“During that time two important things happened. One was that Lisbeth saved my life. The other was that we became very good friends. I came to know her well and I think very highly of her.”
Without going into detail, Blomkvist told Palmgren how his relationship with her had suddenly ended after the Christmas holiday a year ago, when Salander left the country.
Then he told Palmgren about his work at Millennium and about how Svensson and Johansson were murdered and how he had been drawn into the hunt for the killer.
“I’ve heard that you’ve been bothered by reporters lately, and certainly the papers have published one idiotic story after the other. All I can do now is to assure you that I’m not here to gather material for yet another article. I’m here because of Lisbeth, as her friend. I’m probably one of the few people in the country right now who unhesitatingly, and without an ulterior motive, is on her side. I believe her to be innocent. I believe that a man named Zalachenko is behind the murders.”
Blomkvist paused. Something had glimmered in Palmgren’s eyes when he said the name Zalachenko.
“If you can contribute anything that would shed some light on Lisbeth’s past, this is the time to do it. If you don’t want to help her, then I’m wasting my time and yours and I’ll know where you stand.”
Palmgren had not said a word during this monologue. As Blomkvist finished, his eyes flashed again. But he was smiling. He spoke as clearly as he could.
“You really want to help her.”
Blomkvist nodded.
Palmgren leaned forward. “Describe the sofa in her living room.”
“On the occasions I visited her she had a worn-out, extremely ugly piece of furniture with a certain curiosity value. I would guess it’s from the early fifties. It has two shapeless cushions covered in brown cloth with a yellow pattern of sorts on it. The cloth is torn in several places and the stuffing was coming out when I last saw it.”
All of a sudden Palmgren laughed. It sounded more like he was clearing his throat. He looked at Dr. Sivarnandan.
“He’s been to her apartment at least. Does the doctor think it would be possible to offer my guest a cup of coffee?”
“Certainly.” Dr. Sivarnandan