set up your observation post on precisely the spot where we'd positioned alarms. It's the best view of the farm. Usually it's moose or deer, and sometimes berry-pickers who come too close. But we don't often get to see somebody sneak up to the front door with a gun in their hand." He paused for a moment. "Did you really think Zalachenko would sit in his little house in the country completely unprotected?"
Salander massaged the back of her neck and began to get up.
"Stay there on the floor," Zalachenko said.
Niedermann stopped fiddling with the gun and watched her quietly. He raised an eyebrow and smiled at her. Salander remembered Paolo Roberto's battered face on TV and decided it would be a good idea to stay on the floor. She breathed out and leaned back against the sofa.
Zalachenko held out his intact right hand. Niedermann pulled a weapon out of his waistband, cocked it, and gave it to him. Salander noticed that it was a Sig Sauer, standard police issue. Zalachenko nodded, and Niedermann turned away and put on a jacket. He left the room and Salander heard the front door open and close.
"In case you get any stupid ideas, if you even try to get up I'll shoot you right in the gut."
Salander relaxed. He might manage to get off two, maybe three shots before she could reach him, and he was probably using ammo that would make her bleed to death in a few minutes.
"You look like shit," Zalachenko said. "Like a fucking whore. But you've got my eyes."
"Does it hurt?" she asked, nodding at his prosthesis.
Zalachenko looked at her for a long time. "No. Not anymore."
Salander stared at him.
"You'd really like to kill me, wouldn't you?" he said.
She said nothing. He laughed.
"I've thought about you over the years. In fact almost every time I look in the mirror."
"You should have left my mother alone."
"Your mother was a whore."
Salander's eyes turned black as coal. "She was no whore. She worked as a cashier in a supermarket and tried to make ends meet."
Zalachenko laughed again. "You can have whatever fantasies you want about her. But I know that she was a whore. And she made sure to get pregnant right away and then tried to get me to marry her. As if I'd marry a whore."
Salander looked down the barrel of the gun and hoped he would relax his concentration for an instant.
"The firebomb was sneaky. I hated you for that. But in time it didn't matter. You weren't worth the energy. If you'd only let things be."
"Bullshit. Bjurman asked you to fix me."
"That was another thing entirely. He needed a film that you have, so I made a little business deal."
"And you thought I'd give the film to you."
"Yes, my dear daughter. I'm convinced that you would have. You have no idea how cooperative people can be when Ronald asks for something. And especially when he starts up a chain saw and saws off one of your feet. In this case it would have been appropriate compensation - a foot for a foot."
Salander thought about Miriam at the hands of Niedermann in the warehouse. Zalachenko misinterpreted her expression.
"You don't have to worry. We don't intend to cut you up. But tell me: did Bjurman rape you?"
She said nothing.
"Damn, what appalling taste he must have had. I read in the paper that you're some sort of fucking dyke. That's no surprise. There can't be a man who'd want you."
Salander still said nothing.
"Maybe I should ask Niedermann to screw you. You look as if you need it." He thought about it. "Although Ronald doesn't have sex with girls. He's not a fairy. He just doesn't have sex."
"Then maybe you should screw me," Salander said to provoke him.
Come closer. Make a mistake.
"No, thanks all the same. That would be perverse."
They were silent for a moment.
"What are we waiting for?" Salander asked.
"My companion is coming right back. He just had to move his car and run a little errand. Where's your sister?"
Salander shrugged.
"Answer me."
"I don't know and I honestly don't give a shit."
He laughed again. "Sisterly love, eh? Camilla was always the one with the brains - you were just worthless filth. But I have to admit it's quite satisfying to see you again up close."
"Zalachenko," she said, "you're a tiresome fuck. Was it Niedermann who shot Bjurman?"
"Naturally. Ronald is the perfect soldier. He not only obeys orders, he also takes his own initiative when necessary."