Girl Who Played with Fire, The - Stieg Larsson [234]
“Hi again. It’s Malin. I think I’ve got something.”
“What?”
“There’s no Ronald Niedermann in the social security records in Sweden. He’s not in any telephone book or tax records or on the vehicle licencing database, or anywhere else. But listen to this. In 1998 a corporation was registered with the Patent Office. It’s called KAB Import AB and has a P.O. box address in Göteborg. The company imports electronics. The chairman of the board is Karl Axel Bodin, hence KAB, born in 1941.”
“It doesn’t ring a bell.”
“Not for me either. There’s also an accountant on the board who’s registered at a couple of dozen other companies. He seems to be one of those nominal finance directors that small companies need. The company has been more or less dormant since it was set up. But then the third member of the board is an R. Niedermann. He doesn’t have a social security number in Sweden. He was born on January 18, 1970, and is listed as the company’s representative in the German market.”
“Good work, Malin. Very good. Do we have an address apart from the P.O. box?”
“No, but I’ve tracked down Karl Axel Bodin. He’s registered in West Sweden and lives at the address for P.O. box 612 in Gosseberga. I looked it up; it seems to be a property in the country not far from Nossebro, northeast of Göteborg.”
“What do we know about him?”
“He declared an income of 260,000 kronor two years ago. According to our friend on the police force, he has no criminal record. He has a licence for a moose rifle and a shotgun. He has two cars, a Ford and a Saab, both older models. No points on his licence. He’s unmarried and calls himself a farmer.”
“A man about whom we know nothing, who has no police record.” Blomkvist thought for a few moments. He had to make a decision.
“One more thing. Dragan Armansky called several times looking for you.”
“Thanks, Malin. I’ll call you later.”
“Mikael… is everything OK with you?”
“No, everything isn’t OK, but I’ll be in touch.”
As a good citizen he ought to call Bublanski. If he did, he would either have to tell him the truth about Salander or end up in a muddled situation of half-truths and withheld facts. But that was not the real problem.
Salander was out looking for Niedermann and Zalachenko. He had no idea how far she had gotten, but if he and Eriksson could find an address for P.O. box 612 in Gosseberga, there was no doubt that Salander could too. It was very likely that she was heading to Gosseberga. That was the natural next step.
If he called the police and told them where Niedermann was hiding, he’d have to tell them that Salander was probably on her way there. She was being sought for three murders and the shooting in Stallarholmen, which would mean that the national armed response team or some equivalent would be tasked with taking her in.
And Salander would no doubt put up a violent resistance.
Blomkvist got a pen and paper and made a list of things he could not or would not want to tell the police.
First the address in Mosebacke.
Salander had gone to a great deal of trouble to ensure the privacy of her apartment. This was where she had her life and her secrets. He was not going to give her away.
Then he wrote Bjurman and added a question mark after the name.
He glanced at the DVD on the desk. Bjurman had raped Salander. He had nearly killed her. He had outrageously abused his position as her guardian. He should be exposed for the swine he was. But there was an ethical dilemma here. Salander had not told the police. Did she want to be exposed in the media by a police investigation in which the most harrowing, intimate details would be leaked in a matter of hours? The DVD was proof, and stills from it would probably end up in the evening papers.
It was up to Salander to decide how she wanted to proceed. But if he had been able to track down her apartment, sooner or later the police would do so too. He put the DVD in his bag.
Then he wrote Björck’s report. In