Girl with the Dragon Tattoo, The - Stieg Larsson [186]
Vanger was wearing a bathrobe, sitting at a table by the window of his room. His illness had left its mark, but Vanger had regained some colour in his face and looked as if he were on the path to recovery. They shook hands. Blomkvist asked the nurse to leave them alone for a few minutes.
“You’ve been avoiding me,” Vanger said.
Mikael nodded. “On purpose. Your family didn’t want me to come at all, but today everyone is over at Isabella’s house.”
“Poor Martin,” Vanger said.
“Henrik. You gave me an assignment to dig up the truth about what happened to Harriet. Did you expect the truth to be painless?”
The old man looked at him. Then his eyes widened.
“Martin?”
“He’s part of the story.”
Henrik closed his eyes.
“Now I have got a question for you,” Blomkvist said.
“Tell me.”
“Do you still want to know what happened? Even if it turns out to be painful and even if the truth is worse than you imagined?”
Henrik gave Blomkvist a long look. Then he said, “I want to know. That was the point of your assignment.”
“OK. I think I know what happened to Harriet. But there’s one last piece of the puzzle missing before I’m sure.”
“Tell me.”
“No. Not today. What I want you to do right now is to rest. The doctors say that the crisis is over and that you’re getting better.”
“Don’t you treat me like a child, young man.”
“I haven’t worked it all out yet. What I have is a theory. I am going out to find the last piece of the puzzle. The next time you see me, I’ll tell you the whole story. It may take a while, but I want you to know that I’m coming back and that you’ll know the truth.”
Salander pulled a tarpaulin over her motorcycle and left it on the shady side of the cabin. Then she got into Blomkvist’s borrowed car. The thunderstorm had returned with renewed force, and just south of Gävle there was such a fierce downpour that Blomkvist could hardly see the road. Just to be safe, he pulled into a petrol station. They waited for the rain to let up, so they did not arrive in Stockholm until 7:00 that evening. Blomkvist gave Salander the security code to his building and dropped her off at the central tunnelbana. His apartment seemed unfamiliar.
He vacuumed and dusted while Salander went to see Plague in Sundbyberg. She arrived at Blomkvist’s apartment at around midnight and spent ten minutes examining every nook and cranny of it. Then she stood at the window for a long time, looking at the view facing the Slussen locks.
They got undressed and slept.
At noon the next day they landed at London’s Gatwick Airport. They were met with rain. Blomkvist had booked a room at the Hotel James near Hyde Park, an excellent hotel compared to all the one-star places in Bayswater where he had always ended up on his previous trips to London.
At 5:00 p.m. they were standing at the bar when a youngish man came towards them. He was almost bald, with a blond beard, and he was wearing jeans and a jacket that was too big for him.
“Wasp?”
“Trinity?” she said. They nodded to each other. He did not ask for Blomkvist’s name.
Trinity’s partner was introduced as Bob the Dog. He was in an old VW van around the corner. They climbed in through the sliding doors and sat down on folding chairs fastened to the sides. While Bob navigated through the London traffic, Wasp and Trinity talked.
“Plague said this had to do with some crash-bang job.”
“Telephone tapping and checking emails in a computer. It might go fast, or it could take a couple of days, depending on how much pressure he applies.” Lisbeth gestured towards Blomkvist with her thumb. “Can you do it?”
“Do dogs have fleas?” Trinity said.
Anita Vanger lived in a terrace house in the attractive suburb of St. Albans, about an hour’s drive north. From the van they saw her arrive home and unlock the door some time after 7:30 that evening. They waited until she had settled, had her supper, and was sitting in front of the TV before Blomkvist rang the doorbell.
An almost identical copy of Cecilia Vanger opened the door, her expression politely questioning.
“Hi, Anita. My name