Girl Who Played with Fire, The - Stieg Larsson [66]
“It’s Nils Bjurman.”
“What do you want?”
“She’s back in Sweden.”
There was a brief silence at the other end.
“That’s good. Don’t call this number again.”
“But—”
“You will be notified shortly.”
Then, to his considerable irritation, the connection was cut. Bjurman swore to himself. He went over to the drinks cabinet and poured himself a triple measure of Kentucky bourbon. He swallowed the drink in two gulps. I’ve got to go easy on the booze, he thought. Then he poured one more measure and took the glass back to his desk, where he looked at the statement from Handelsbanken again.
• • •
Mimmi was massaging Salander’s back and neck. She had been kneading intently for twenty minutes while Salander mainly enjoyed herself and uttered an occasional groan of pleasure. A massage from Mimmi was a fantastic experience, and she felt like a kitten who just wanted to purr and wave its paws around.
She stifled a sigh of disappointment when Mimmi slapped her on the backside and said that should do it. For a while she lay still in the vain hope that Mimmi would go on, but when she heard her pick up her wineglass, Salander rolled onto her back.
“Thank you,” she said.
“You’re sitting in front of your computer all day. That’s why your back hurts.”
“I just pulled a muscle.”
They were lying naked in Mimmi’s bed on Lundagatan, drinking red wine and feeling silly. Since Salander had resumed her friendship with Mimmi, it was as if she couldn’t get enough of her. It had become a bad habit to call her every day—much too often. She looked at Mimmi and reminded herself not to get too close to anyone again. It might end with someone getting hurt.
Mimmi leaned over the edge of the bed and opened the drawer of her bedside table. She took out a small flat package wrapped in flowered paper with a gold bow and tossed it into Lisbeth’s lap.
“What’s this?”
“Your birthday present.”
“My birthday’s more than a month away.”
“It’s your present from last year, but I couldn’t find you.”
“Should I open it?”
“If you feel like it.”
She put down her wineglass, shook the package, and opened it carefully. She drew out a beautiful cigarette case with a lid of blue and black enamel and some tiny Chinese characters as decoration.
“You really should stop smoking,” Mimmi said. “But if you won’t, at least you can keep your cigarettes in a pretty box.”
“Thank you,” Salander said. “You’re the only person who ever gives me birthday presents. What do the characters mean?”
“How on earth would I know that? I don’t understand Chinese. I just found it at the flea market.”
“It’s beautiful.”
“It’s just some cheap nothing, but it looked as if it was made for you. We’ve run out of wine. You want to go out and get a beer?”
“Does that mean we have to leave the bed and get dressed?”
“I’m afraid so. But what’s the point of living in Söder if you can’t go to a bar now and then?”
Salander sighed.
“Come on,” Mimmi said, pointing at the jewel in Salander’s navel. “We can come back here afterwards.”
Salander sighed again, but she put one foot on the floor and reached for her underwear.
Svensson was working late at the desk he had been assigned in a corner of the Millennium offices when he heard the rattle of a key in the door. He looked at the clock and saw that it was past 9:00 p.m. Blomkvist seemed surprised to find someone still working there.
“The lamp of diligence and all that, Mikael. I’m fine-tuning the book and I lost track of time. What are you doing here?”
“Just stopped by to pick up a file I forgot. Is everything going well?”
“Sure … Well, actually no … I’ve spent three weeks trying to track down Björck from Säpo. He seems to have vanished without a trace. Perhaps he’s been kidnapped by some enemy secret service.”
Blomkvist pulled up a chair and sat thinking for a moment.
“Have you tried the old lottery trick?”
“What’s that?”
“Think of a name, write a letter saying that he’s won a mobile telephone with a GPS navigator, or whatever. Print it out so it looks official and post it to his address—in this case that P.O. box he has. He’s already