and that she earned enough money to take a year off and travel around the world, all without her guardian sounding the alarm. Something doesn't add up here."
"There's quite a bit that doesn't add up regarding Froken Salander."
"May I ask... what is your overall opinion of her?"
Armansky thought for a while. Finally he said: "She's one of the most irritating, inflexible people I've met in my whole life."
"Inflexible?"
"She won't do anything she doesn't want to do. She doesn't give a damn what other people think of her. She is tremendously skilled. And she is unlike anyone I've ever met."
"Is she unbalanced?"
"How do you define unbalanced?"
"Is she capable of murdering two people in cold blood?"
Armansky was quiet for a long time. "I'm sorry. I can't answer that question. I'm a cynic. I believe that everyone has it in them to kill another person. In desperation or hatred, or at least to defend themselves."
"You don't discount the possibility, at any rate."
"Lisbeth Salander will not do anything unless she has a good reason for it. If she murdered someone, then she must have felt that she had a very good reason to do so. On what grounds do you suspect her of being involved in these murders?"
Bublanski met Armansky's gaze.
"Can we keep this confidential?"
"Absolutely"
"The murder weapon belonged to her guardian. And her fingerprints were on it."
Armansky clenched his teeth. That was serious circumstantial evidence.
"I've only heard about the murders on the radio. What was it about? Drugs?"
"Is she mixed up with drugs?"
"Not that I know of. But, as I said, she went through a bad time in her teens, and she was arrested a few times for being drunk. Her record will tell you whether drugs were involved."
"We don't have a motive for the murders. They were a conscientious couple. She was a criminologist and was just about to get her doctorate. He was a journalist. Dag Svensson and Mia Johansson. Do those names ring any bells?"
Armansky shook his head.
"We're trying to find a connection between them and Lisbeth Salander."
"I've never heard of them."
Bublanski stood up. "Thanks for your time. It's been a fascinating conversation. I don't know how much the wiser I am for it, but I hope we can keep all of this between ourselves."
"Of course."
"I'll get back to you if necessary. And of course, if Salander should get in touch... "
"Certainly," Armansky said.
They shook hands. Bublanski was on his way out the door when he stopped.
"You don't happen to know anyone that Salander associates with, do you? Friends, acquaintances... "
Armansky shook his head.
"I don't know a single thing about her private life. Except that her old guardian meant something to her. Holger Palmgren. He's in a nursing home in Ersta. She might have made contact with him since she came back."
"She never had visitors when she was working here? Would there be a record of that?"
"No. She worked from home mainly and came in only to present her reports. With a few exceptions, she never even met the clients. Possibly... " Armansky was struck by a thought.
"What?"
"There is just possibly one other person she may have got in touch with, a journalist she knew a couple of years ago. He was looking for her when she was out of the country."
"A journalist?"
"His name is Mikael Blomkvist. Do you remember the Wennerstrom affair?"
Bublanski came slowly back into Armansky's office.
"It was Blomkvist who discovered the couple in Enskede. You've just established a link between Salander and the murder victims."
Armansky again felt the solid pain of the lump in his stomach.
CHAPTER 14
Maundy Thursday, March 24
Modig tried three times in half an hour to reach Nils Bjurman on his mobile. Each time she got the message that the subscriber could not be reached.
At 3:30 p.m. she drove to Odenplan and rang his doorbell. Once more, no answer. She spent the next twenty minutes knocking on doors in the apartment building to see if any of Bjurman's neighbours knew where he might be.
In eleven of the nineteen apartments no-one was there. It was obviously the wrong time of day to be knocking on doors, and it would not get any better over the Easter weekend. In the eight apartments that were occupied, everyone was helpful. Five of them knew who Bjurman was - a polite, well-mannered gentleman on the fifth floor. No-one could provide any information as to his whereabouts. She managed to ascertain that Bjurman might be visiting one of his closest neighbours, a businessman named Sjoman. But nobody answered the door