sat still for a long time staring into space. Nobody was innocent. There were only varying degrees of responsibility. And somebody was responsible for Salander. She would definitely have to pay a visit to Smådalaro. She assumed that no-one in the shipwreck that was the state justice system would have any desire to discuss the subject with her, and in the absence of anyone else, a talk with Gunnar Bjorck would have to do.
She looked forward to that talk.
She did not need to take all the folders with her. As she read them they became forever imprinted on her photographic memory. She took along Palmgren's notebooks, Bjorck's police report from 1991, the medical report from 1996 when she was declared incompetent, and the correspondence between Teleborian and Bjorck. That was enough to fill her backpack.
She closed the door, but before she had time to lock it she heard the sound of motorcycles behind her. She looked around. It was too late to try to hide, and she didn't have the slightest chance of outrunning two bikers on Harley-Davidsons. She stepped down warily from the porch and met them in the driveway.
Bublanski marched furiously down the corridor and saw that Hedstrom had not yet returned to Modig's office. But the toilet was vacant. He continued down the corridor and found him holding a plastic cup from the coffee vending machine, talking to Andersson and Bohman.
Bublanski turned unseen at the doorway and walked up one flight to Ekstrom's office. He shoved the door open without knocking, interrupting Ekstrom in the middle of a phone conversation.
"Come with me," he said.
"I beg your pardon?" Ekstrom said.
"Put the telephone down and come with me."
Bublanski's expression was such that Ekstrom did as he was told. In this situation it was easy to understand why Bublanski had been given the nickname Officer Bubble. His face looked like a bright red antiaircraft balloon. They went downstairs. Bublanski marched up to Hedstrom, took a firm grip on his hair, and turned him to Ekstrom.
"Hey, what the hell are you doing? Are you crazy?"
"Bublanski!" Ekstrom shouted, startled.
Hedstrom looked nervous. Bohman's mouth dropped open.
"Is this yours?" Bublanski asked, holding out the Sony Ericsson mobile.
"Let me go!"
"IS THIS YOUR MOBILE?"
"Yeah, damn it. Let me go."
"Not yet. You're under arrest."
"I'm what?"
"You're under arrest for breach of secrecy and for interfering with a police investigation. Or else give us a reasonable explanation for why, according to your list of calls, you called a journalist who answers to the name of Tony Scala at 9:57 this morning, right after the meeting and just before Scala went public with the very information we had decided to keep secret."
After getting instructions to go to Stallarholmen and set a fire, Lundin had wandered over to the clubhouse in the abandoned printing factory on the outskirts of Svavelsjo and taken Nieminen with him. It was perfect weather to roll out the hogs for the first time since winter. He had been given detailed directions and had studied a map. They put on their leathers and covered the distance from Svavelsjo to Stallarholmen in no time.
Lundin did not believe his eyes when he saw Lisbeth Salander in the driveway in front of Bjurman's summer cabin. It was a bonus that would blow the giant's fucking mind. He was sure it was her, although she looked different. Was that a wig? She was just standing there, waiting for them.
They rode up and parked six feet away on each side of her. When they switched off their motors it was utterly silent in the woods. Lundin didn't quite know what to say. At last he managed to speak.
"Well, how about that? We've been looking for you for a while, Salander. Sonny, meet Froken Salander."
He smiled. Salander regarded Lundin with expressionless eyes. She noticed that he still had a bright red, newly healed welt on his cheek and jaw where she had cut him with her keys. She raised her eyes and looked at the treetops behind him. Then she lowered them again. Her eyes were disconcertingly coal black.
"I've had a fucking miserable week and I'm in a fucking bad mood," she said. "You know what the worst thing is? Every time I turn around there's some fucking pile of shit with a beer belly in my way acting tough. Now I'd like to leave. So move your ass."
Lundin's mouth was hanging open. He thought he had heard wrong. Then he started laughing involuntarily. The situation was ridiculous. There stood a skinny girl