heard footsteps behind him. He tried turning his head, but he couldn't see anyone. He told himself to stay calm.
Suddenly a loop of thick cotton rope was slipped over his head. A noose was tightened around his neck. The panic almost made him shit himself. He looked up and saw the rope run up to a block that was fastened to a hook where the ceiling lamp usually hung. Then the person who had assaulted him came into view. The first thing he saw was a pair of black boots.
The shock could not have been greater when he raised his eyes. He did not at first recognize the psychopath whose passport photograph had been plastered outside every Pressbyrå kiosk since Easter. She had short black hair and did not look that much like the picture in the papers. She was dressed all in black-jeans, midlength cotton jacket, T-shirt, gloves.
But what terrified him the most was her face. It was painted. She wore black lipstick, eyeliner, and dramatically prominent greenish-black eye shadow. The rest of her face was covered in white makeup. She had painted a red stripe from the left side of her forehead across her nose and down to the right side of her chin.
It was a grotesque mask. She looked out of her fucking mind.
His brain resisted. It seemed unreal.
Salander grasped the end of the rope and pulled. He felt the rope cut into his neck and for a few seconds he couldn't breathe. Then he fought to get his feet under himself. With a block and tackle she hardly had to exert herself to pull him to his feet. When he was upright she stopped pulling and looped the rope a few times around a radiator pipe. She tied it with a clove hitch.
Then she vanished from his field of vision. She was gone for more than fifteen minutes. When she came back she pulled up a chair and sat in front of him. He tried to avoid looking at her painted face, but he could not help it. She laid a pistol on the living-room table. His pistol. She had found it in the shoebox in the wardrobe. A Colt 1911 Government. An illegal weapon he had had for several years. He had bought it from a friend but never even fired it. Right before his eyes she took out the magazine and filled it with rounds. She shoved it back in and cocked the weapon. Sandstrom was about to faint. He forced himself to meet her gaze.
"I don't understand why men always have to document their perversions," she said.
She had a soft but ice-cold voice. She held up a photograph. She must have printed it from his hard drive, for God's sake.
"I assume that this is Ines Hammujarvi, Estonian, seventeen years old, from Riepalu near Narva. Did you have fun with her?"
The question was rhetorical. Sandstrom had no way of answering. His mouth was taped shut and his brain was incapable of formulating a response. The photograph showed... Good God, why did I save those pictures?
"You know who I am? Nod."
Sandstrom nodded.
"You're a sadistic pig, a pervert, and a rapist."
He made no move.
"Nod."
He nodded. Suddenly he had tears in his eyes.
"Let's get the rules of engagement 100 percent clear," Salander said. "As far as I'm concerned, you should be put to death at once. Whether you survive the night or not makes no difference to me at all. Understand?"
He nodded.
"It has probably not escaped your attention that I'm a madwoman who likes killing people. Especially men."
She pointed at the recent newspapers that he had collected on the living-room table.
"I'm going to remove the tape from your mouth. If you scream or raise your voice I will zap you with this." She held up a Taser. "This horrific device puts out 50,000 volts. About 40,000 volts next time, since I've used it once and haven't recharged it. Understand?"
He looked doubtful.
"That means that your muscles will stop functioning. That was what you experienced at the door when you came staggering home." She smiled at him. "And it means that your legs will not hold you up and you'll end up hanging yourself. After I've zapped you, all I have to do is get up and leave the apartment."
He nodded. Good God, she's a fucking crazy killer. He could not help it: the tears flowed uncontrollably down his cheeks. He sniffled.
She got up and pulled off the tape. Her grotesque face was only an inch from his.