Girl Who Played with Fire, The - Stieg Larsson [246]
“This changes the entire picture we have of her.”
“It explains a great deal.”
“Sonja, can you pick me up in the morning at 8:00?”
“Of course.”
“We’re going to go down to Smådalarö to have a talk with Gunnar Björck. I made some enquiries. He’s on sick leave.”
“I’m looking forward to it already.”
Beckman looked at his wife as she stood by the window in the living room, staring out at the water. She had her mobile in her hand, and he knew that she was waiting for a call from Blomkvist. She looked so unhappy that he went over and put his arm around her.
“Blomkvist is a grown man,” he said. “But if you’re really so worried you should call that policeman.”
Berger sighed. “I should have done that hours ago. But that’s not why I’m unhappy.”
“Is it something I should know about?”
“I’ve been hiding something from you. And from Mikael. And from everyone else at the magazine.”
“Hiding? Hiding what?”
She turned to her husband and told him that she had been offered the job of editor in chief at Svenska Morgon-Posten. Beckman raised his eyebrows.
“But I don’t understand why you didn’t tell me,” he said. “That’s a huge coup. Congratulations.”
“It’s just that I feel like a traitor.”
“Mikael will understand. Everyone has to move on when it’s time. And right now it’s time for you.”
“I know.”
“Have you already made up your mind?”
“Yes. I’ve made up my mind. But I haven’t had the guts to tell anybody. And it feels as if I’m leaving in the midst of a huge disaster.” Beckman took his wife in his arms.
Armansky rubbed his eyes and looked out into the darkness.
“We ought to call Bublanski,” he said.
“No,” Palmgren said. “Neither Bublanski nor any other authority figure has ever lifted a finger to help her. Let her take care of her own affairs.”
Armansky looked at Salander’s former guardian. He was still amazed by the improvement in Palmgren’s condition compared with when he last saw him over Christmas. He still slurred his words, but he had a new vitality in his eyes. There was also a fury about the man that Armansky had never seen before. Palmgren told him the whole story that Blomkvist had pieced together. Armansky was shocked.
“She’s going to try to kill her father.”
“That’s possible,” Palmgren said calmly.
“Or else Zalachenko might try to kill her.”
“That’s also possible.”
“So we’re just supposed to wait?”
“Dragan … you’re a good person. But what Lisbeth Salander does or doesn’t do, whether she survives or whether she dies, is not your responsibility.”
Palmgren threw out his arms. All of a sudden he had rediscovered a coordination that he hadn’t had in a long time. It was as though the drama of the past few weeks had revived his dulled senses.
“I’ve never been sympathetic towards people who take the law into their own hands. But I’ve never heard of anyone who had such a good reason to do so. At the risk of sounding like a cynic, what happens tonight will happen, no matter what you or I think. It’s been written in the stars since she was born. And all that remains is for us to decide how we’re going to behave towards Lisbeth if she makes it back.”
Armansky sighed and looked grimly at the old lawyer.
“And if she spends the next ten years in prison, at least she was the one who chose that path. I’ll still be her friend,” Palmgren said.
“I had no idea you had such a libertarian view of humanity.”
“Neither did I,” he said.
• • •
Miriam Wu stared at the ceiling. She had the nightlight on and the radio was playing “On a Slow Boat to China” at a low volume.
The day before she had woken to find herself in the hospital where Paolo Roberto had brought her. She slept and woke restlessly and went to sleep again with no real grasp of passing time. The doctors told her that she had a