Girl Who Played with Fire, The - Stieg Larsson [243]
“Aha. So simple. Thanks. I’ll remember that.”
The muzzle of the pistol was still pointing at her chest.
“Do you really think this is going to blow over?” Salander said. “You’ve made too many mistakes. The police are going to identify you.”
“I know. Björck called yesterday and told me that a journalist from Millennium has been sniffing around and that it was just a matter of time. It’s possible that we’ll have to do something about that.”
“It’ll be a long list,” Salander said. “Mikael Blomkvist and Erika Berger, the editor in chief, the managing editor, and half a dozen others at Millennium alone. And then you have Dragan Armansky and some of his staff at Milton Security. And Detective Inspector Bublanski and everyone involved in the investigation. How many people would you have to kill to cover this up? No, they’re going to get to you.”
Zalachenko gave her a horrible twisted smile.
“So what? I haven’t shot anybody, and there isn’t one shred of forensic evidence against me. They can identify whoever the hell they want. Believe me … they can search this house from top to bottom and they won’t find so much as a speck of dust that could connect me to any criminal activity. It was Säpo who locked you up in the asylum, not me, and it won’t take much for them to put all the papers on the table.”
“Niedermann,” Lisbeth reminded him.
“Early tomorrow morning Ronald is going on vacation abroad for a while and he’ll wait out whatever develops.”
Zalachenko gave Salander a triumphant look.
“You’re still going to be the prime suspect. So it’s best if you just disappear.”
It was almost an hour before Niedermann returned. He was wearing boots.
Salander glanced at the man who according to her father was her half brother. She couldn’t see the slightest resemblance. In fact, he was her diametrical opposite. But she felt very strongly that there was something wrong with Niedermann. His build, the weak face, and the voice that hadn’t really broken—they all seemed like genetic defects of some sort. He had evidently been insensitive to the Taser, and his hands were enormous. Nothing about Ronald Niedermann seemed quite normal.
There are all sorts of genetic defects in the Zalachenko family, she thought bitterly.
“Ready?” Zalachenko asked.
Niedermann nodded. He held out his hand for the Sig Sauer.
“I’ll come with you,” Zalachenko said.
Niedermann hesitated. “It’s quite a walk.”
“I’ll come anyway. Get my jacket.”
Niedermann shrugged and did as he was told. Zalachenko put on his jacket and vanished into the next room for a while. Salander watched as Niedermann screwed what appeared to be a homemade silencer onto the gun.
“All right, let’s go,” Zalachenko said from the door.
Niedermann bent and pulled Salander to her feet. She looked him in the eye.
“I’m going to kill you too,” she said.
“You’re very sure of yourself. I’ll say that for you,” her father said.
Niedermann smiled mildly and then pushed her towards the front door and out into the yard. He kept a firm grip on the back of her neck His fingers could reach almost all the way around it. He steered her towards the woods beyond the barn.
They moved slowly and Niedermann stopped occasionally to let Zalachenko catch up. They both had powerful flashlights. When they reached the edge of the woods Niedermann let go of Salander’s neck. He kept the pistol trained on her back.
They followed a difficult path for about four hundred yards. Salander stumbled twice, but each time was lifted to her feet.
“Turn right here,” Niedermann said.
After about fifty feet they came into a clearing. Lisbeth saw a hole in the ground. In the beam of Niedermann’s flashlight she saw a spade stuck in a mound of soil. Then she understood Niedermann’s assignment. He pushed her towards the hole and she tripped and went down on all fours with her hands buried deep in the sandy earth. She got up and gave him an expressionless look. Zalachenko was taking his time, and Niedermann waited patiently. The muzzle of the pistol was unswervingly aimed at her chest.
Zalachenko was out of breath. It was more