Girl with the Dragon Tattoo, The - Stieg Larsson [87]
It was unlikely, in his view, that Morell had missed anything. The solution to the mystery was not going to be found in the police records. Every imaginable question had been asked, and all leads followed up, even some that seemed absurdly far-fetched. He had not read every word of the report, but the further into the investigation he got, the more obscure the subsequent leads and tips became. He was not going to find anything that his professional predecessor and his experienced team had missed, and he was undecided what approach he should adopt to the problem. Eventually it came to him that the only reasonably practical route for him to take was to try to find out the psychological motives of the individuals involved.
The first question had to do with Harriet herself. Who was she?
From his kitchen window Blomkvist had noticed a light go on upstairs in Cecilia Vanger’s house at a little after 5:00 in the afternoon. He knocked on her door at 7:30, just as the news broadcast was starting on TV. She opened the door dressed in her bathrobe, her hair wet under a yellow towel. Blomkvist apologised at once for disturbing her and made to retreat, but she waved him into the living room. She turned on the coffeemaker and vanished upstairs for a few minutes. When she came back down, she had put on jeans and a check flannel shirt.
“I was starting to think you were never going to call.”
“I should have rung first, but I saw your light was on and came over on impulse.”
“I’ve seen the lights on all night at your place. And you’re often out walking after midnight. You’re a night owl?”
Blomkvist shrugged. “It’s turned out that way.” He looked at several textbooks stacked on the edge of the kitchen table. “Do you still teach?”
“No, as headmistress I don’t have time. But I used to teach history, religion, and social studies. And I have a few years left.”
“Left?”
She smiled. “I’m fifty-six. I’ll be retiring soon.”
“You don’t look a day over fifty, more like in your forties.”
“Very flattering. How old are you?”
“Well, over forty,” Blomkvist said with a smile.
“And you were just twenty the other day. How fast it all goes. Life, that is.”
Cecilia Vanger served the coffee and asked if he was hungry. He said that he had already eaten, which was partly true. He did not bother with cooking and ate only sandwiches. But he was not hungry.
“Then why did you come over? Is it time to ask me those questions?”
“To be honest…I didn’t come over to ask questions. I think I just wanted to say hello.”
She smiled. “You’re sentenced to prison, you move to Hedeby, clamber through all the material of Henrik’s favourite hobby, you don’t sleep at night and take long nighttime walks when it’s freezing cold…Have I left anything out?”
“My life is going to the dogs.”
“Who was that woman visiting you over the weekend?”
“Erika…She’s the editor in chief of Millennium.”
“Your girlfriend?”
“Not exactly. She’s married. I’m more a friend and occasional lover.”
Cecilia Vanger hooted with laughter.
“What’s so funny?”
“The way you said that. Occasional lover. I like the expression.”
Blomkvist took a liking to Cecilia Vanger.
“I could use an occasional lover myself,” she said.
She kicked off her slippers and propped one foot on his knee. Blomkvist automatically put his hand on her foot and stroked the ankle. He hesitated for a second—he could sense he was getting into unexpected waters. But tentatively he started massaging the sole of her foot with his thumb.
“I’m married too,” she said.
“I know. No-one gets divorced in the Vanger clan.”
“I haven’t seen my husband in getting on for twenty years.”
“What happened?”
“That’s none of your business. I haven’t had sex in…hmmm, it must be three years now.”
“That surprises me.”
“Why? It’s a matter of supply and demand. I have no interest in a boyfriend or a married man or someone living with me. I do best on my own. Who should I have sex with? One of the teachers at school? I don’t think so. One of the