home by 7.00. She showered, made a simple dinner, and turned on the T.V. to listen to the news. But then she got restless and put on her running kit. She paused at the front door to think. Bloody Blomkvist. She flipped open her mobile and called his Ericsson.
"We found out a certain amount about von Rottinger and Clinton."
"Tell me."
"I will if you come over."
"Sounds like blackmail," Blomkvist said.
"I've just changed into jogging things to work off a little of my surplus energy," Figuerola said. "Should I go now or should I wait for you?"
"Would it be O.K. if I came after 9.00?" "That'll be fine."
At 8.00 on Friday evening Salander had a visit from Dr Jonasson. He sat in the visitor's chair and leaned back.
"Are you going to examine me?" Salander said.
"No. Not tonight."
"O.K."
"We studied all your notes today and we've informed the prosecutor that we're prepared to discharge you."
"I understand."
"They want to take you over to the prison in Goteborg tonight."
"So soon?"
He nodded. " Stockholm is making noises. I said I had a number of final tests to run on you tomorrow and that I couldn't discharge you until Sunday."
"Why's that?"
"Don't know. I was just annoyed they were being so pushy."
Salander actually smiled. Given a few years she would probably be able to make a good anarchist out of Dr Anders Jonasson. In any case he had a penchant for civil disobedience on a private level.
"Fredrik Clinton," Blomkvist said, staring at the ceiling above Figuerola's bed.
"If you light that cigarette I'll stub it out in your navel," Figuerola said.
Blomkvist looked in surprise at the cigarette he had extracted from his jacket.
"Sorry," he said. "Could I borrow your balcony?"
"As long as you brush your teeth afterwards."
He tied a sheet around his waist. She followed him to the kitchen and filled a large glass with cold water. Then she leaned against the door frame by the balcony.
"Clinton first?"
"If he's still alive, he's the link to the past."
"He's dying, he needs a new kidney and spends a lot of his time in dialysis or some other treatment."
"But he's alive. We should contact him and put the question to him directly. Maybe he'll talk."
"No," Figuerola said. "First of all, this is a preliminary investigation and the police are handling it. In that sense, there is no 'we' about it. Second, you're receiving this information in accordance with your agreement with Edklinth, but you've given your word not to take any initiatives that could interfere with the investigation."
Blomkvist smiled at her. "Ouch," he said. "The Security Police are pulling on my leash." He stubbed out his cigarette.
"Mikael, this is not a joke."
Berger drove to the office on Saturday morning still feeling queasy. She had thought that she was beginning to get to grips with the actual process of producing a newspaper and had planned to reward herself with a weekend off - the first since she started at S.M.P. - but the discovery that her most personal and intimate possessions had been stolen, and the Borgsjo report too, made it impossible for her to relax.
During a sleepless night spent mostly in the kitchen with Linder, Berger had expected the "Poison Pen" to strike, disseminating pictures of her that would be deplorably damaging. What an excellent tool the Internet was for freaks. Good grief... a video of me shagging my husband and another man - I'm going to end up on half the websites in the world.
Panic and terror had dogged her through the night.
It took all of Linder's powers of persuasion to send her to bed.
At 8.00 she got up and drove to S.M.P. She could not stay away. If a storm was brewing, then she wanted to face it first before anyone else got wind of it.
But in the half-staffed Saturday newsroom everything was normal. People greeted her as she limped past the central desk. Holm was off today. Fredriksson was the acting news editor.
"Morning. I thought you were taking today off," he said.
"Me too. But I wasn't feeling well yesterday and I've got things I have to do. Anything happening?"
"No, it's pretty slow today. The hottest thing we've got is that the timber industry in Dalarna is reporting a boom, and there was a robbery in Norrkoping in which one person was injured."
"Right. I'll be in the cage for a while."
She sat down, leaned her crutches against the bookshelves, and logged on. First she checked her email. She had several messages, but nothing from Poison