been at the scene of the murders in Enskede."
Bublanski frowned and then looked sullen. They had reached the point in the agenda over which he and Ekstrom had disagreed, namely the question of whether they should name their suspect.
Ekstrom had maintained that according to all available documentation, Salander was a mentally ill, potentially violent woman and that something had apparently triggered a murderous rage. There was no guarantee that the violence was at an end, and therefore it was in the public interest that she be named and apprehended as soon as possible.
Bublanski held that there was reason to wait at least for results of the technical examination of Bjurman's apartment before the investigative team committed itself unequivocally to one approach. But Ekstrom had prevailed.
Ekstrom held up a hand to interrupt the buzzing of the assembled reporters. The revelation that a woman was being sought for three murders would go off like a bomb. He passed the microphone to Bublanski, who cleared his throat twice, adjusted his glasses, and stared hard at the paper with the wording they had agreed on.
"The police are searching for a twenty-six-year-old woman by the name of Lisbeth Salander. A photograph from the passport office will be distributed. We do not know where she is at present, but we believe that she is in the greater Stockholm area. The police would like the public's assistance in finding this woman as soon as possible. Lisbeth Salander is four feet eleven inches tall, with a slim build."
He took a deep, nervous breath. He could feel the dampness under his arms.
"Lisbeth Salander has previously been in the care of a psychiatric clinic and is regarded as dangerous to herself and to the public. We would emphasize that we cannot say unequivocally that she is the killer, but circumstances dictate that we question her immediately to ascertain what knowledge she may have about the murders in Enskede and at Odenplan."
"You can't have it both ways," shouted a reporter from an evening paper. "Either she's a murder suspect or she isn't."
Bublanski gave Ekstrom a helpless look.
"The police are investigating on a broad front, and of course we're looking at various scenarios. But there is reason to suspect the woman we have named, and the police consider it extremely urgent that she is taken into custody. She is a suspect due to forensic evidence which emerged during the investigation of the crime scene."
"What sort of evidence?" someone in the crowded room immediately asked.
"We are not going to go into it."
Several reporters started talking at once. Ekstrom held up his hand and pointed to a reporter from Dagens Eko. He had dealt with him before and regarded him as objective.
"Inspector Bublanski said that Froken Salander had been in a psychiatric clinic. Why was that?"
"This woman had a... a troubled upbringing and encountered over the years a number of problems. She is under guardianship, and the person who owned the weapon was her guardian."
"Who is he?"
"The individual who was shot in his apartment at Odenplan. At present we are withholding his name until his next of kin are notified."
"What motive did she have for the murders?"
Bublanski took the microphone and said, "We will not speculate as to possible motives."
"Does she have a police record?"
"Yes."
Then came a question from a reporter with a deep, distinctive voice that could be heard over the crowd.
"Is she dangerous to the public?"
Ekstrom hesitated for a moment. Then he said: "We have reports which indicate that she could be considered prone to violence in stressful situations. We are issuing this statement because we want to get in touch with her as soon as possible."
Bublanski bit his lower lip.
Criminal Inspector Sonja Modig was still in Advokat Bjurman's apartment at 9:00 that evening. She had called home to explain the situation to her husband. After eleven years of marriage he had accepted that her job was never going to be nine to five. She was sitting at Bjurman's desk and reading through the papers that she had found in the drawers when she heard a knock on the door and turned to see Officer Bubble balancing two cups of coffee on his notebook, with a blue bag of cinnamon rolls from the local kiosk in his other hand. Wearily she waved him in.
"What don't you want me to touch?" Bublanski said.
"The techs have finished in here. They're working on the kitchen and the bedroom. The body's still in there."
Bublanski pulled up a chair and sat down. Modig opened the bag