night.
He had his passport and wallet in his pocket. He didn't want to go back. There was nothing at the farm he needed.
Except perhaps a car.
He was still hesitating when he saw the gleam of headlights approaching from the other side of the hill. He turned his head. All he needed was a car to get him to Goteborg.
For the first time in her life - at least since she had been a little girl - Salander was unable to take command of her situation. Over the years she had been mixed up in fights, subjected to abuse, been the object of both official and private injustices. She had taken many more punches to both body and soul than anyone should ever have to endure.
But she had been able to rebel every time. She had refused to answer Teleborian's questions, and when she was subjected to any kind of physical violence, she had been able to slink away and retreat.
A broken nose she could live with.
But she couldn't live with a hole in her skull.
This time she couldn't drag herself home to bed, pull the covers over her head, sleep for two days and then get up and go back to her daily routine as if nothing had happened.
She was so seriously injured that she couldn't cope with the situation by herself. She was so exhausted that her body refused to listen to her commands.
I have to sleep for a while, she thought. And suddenly she realized that if she closed her eyes and let go there was a good chance she would never wake up again. She analyzed this conclusion and gradually came to understand that she didn't care. On the contrary. She felt almost attracted by the thought. To rest. To not wake up.
Her last thoughts were of Miriam Wu.
Forgive me, Mimmi.
She was still holding Nieminen's pistol, with the safety off, when she closed her eyes.
Blomkvist saw Niedermann in the beam of his headlights from a long way off and recognized him at once. It was hard to mistake a blond behemoth built like an armor-piercing robot. Niedermann was running in his direction, waving his arms. Blomkvist slowed down. He slipped his hand into the outer pocket of his laptop case and took out the Colt 1911 Government he had found on Salander's desk. He stopped about five yards away from Niedermann and turned off the engine before opening the car door and stepping out.
"Thanks for stopping," Niedermann said, out of breath. "I had a... car accident. Can you give me a lift to town?"
He had a surprisingly high-pitched voice.
"Of course. I can see that you get to town," Blomkvist said. He pointed the gun at Niedermann. "Lie down on the ground."
There was no end to the tribulations Niedermann was having to suffer that night. He stared in puzzlement at Blomkvist.
Niedermann was not the least bit afraid of either the pistol or the man holding it. On the other hand, he had respect for weapons. He had lived with violence all his life. He assumed that if somebody pointed a gun at him, that person was prepared to use it. He squinted and tried to take stock of the man behind the pistol, but the headlights turned him into a shadowy figure. Police? He didn't sound like a cop. Cops usually identified themselves. At least that's what they did in the movies.
He weighed his chances. He knew that if he charged the man he could take away the gun. But the man sounded cold and was standing behind the car door. He would be hit by at least one, maybe two bullets. If he moved fast the man might miss, or at least not hit a vital organ, but even if he survived, the bullets would make it difficult and perhaps impossible for him to escape. It would be better to wait for a more suitable opportunity.
"LIE DOWN NOW!" Blomkvist yelled.
He moved the muzzle an inch and fired a round into the ditch.
"The next one hits your kneecap," Blomkvist said in a loud, clear voice of command.
Niedermann got down on his knees, blinded by the headlights.
"Who are you?" he said.
Blomkvist reached his other hand into the pocket in the car door and took out the flashlight he had bought at the gas station. He shone the beam into Niedermann's face.
"Hands behind your back," Blomkvist commanded. "And spread your legs."
He waited until Niedermann reluctantly obeyed the orders.
"I know who you are. If you even begin to do anything