untouched, picked up his laptop case, and hurried off towards the editorial offices on Gotgatan. He had crossed Mariatorget and was just turning up St Paulsgatan when his mobile beeped. He answered on the run.
"Blomkvist."
"Hi, it's Malin."
"I heard the news. Do we know who the killer was?"
"Not yet. Henry is chasing it down."
"I'm on the way in. Be there in five minutes."
Blomkvist ran into Cortez at the entrance to the Millennium offices.
"Ekstrom's holding a press conference at 3.00," Cortez said. "I'm going to Kungsholmen now."
"What do we know?" Blomkvist shouted after him.
"Ask Malin," Cortez said, and was gone.
Blomkvist headed into Berger's... wrong, Eriksson's office. She was on the telephone and writing furiously on a yellow Post-it. She waved him away. Blomkvist went into the kitchenette and poured coffee with milk into two mugs marked with the logos of the K.D.U. and S.S.U. political parties. When he returned she had just finished her call. He gave her the S.S.U. mug.
"Right," she said. "Zalachenko was shot dead at 1.15." She looked at Blomkvist. "I just spoke to a nurse at Sahlgrenska. She says that the murderer was a man in his seventies, who arrived with flowers for Zalachenko minutes before the murder. He shot Zalachenko in the head several times and then shot himself. Zalachenko is dead. The murderer is just about alive and in surgery."
Blomkvist breathed more easily. Ever since he had heard the news at the Kaffebar he had had his heart in his throat and a panicky feeling that Salander might have been the killer. That really would have thrown a spanner in the works.
"Do we have the name of the assailant?"
Eriksson shook her head as the telephone rang again. She took the call, and from the conversation Blomkvist gathered that it was a stringer in Goteborg whom Eriksson had sent to Sahlgrenska. He went to his own office and sat down.
It felt as if it was the first time in weeks that he had even been to his office. There was a pile of unopened post that he shoved firmly to one side. He called his sister.
"Giannini."
"It's Mikael. Did you hear what happened at Sahlgrenska?"
"You could say so."
"Where are you?"
"At the hospital. That bastard aimed at me, too."
Blomkvist sat speechless for several seconds before he fully took in what his sister had said.
"What on earth... you were there?"
"Yes. It was the most horrendous thing I've ever experienced."
"Are you hurt?"
"No. But he tried to get into Lisbeth's room. I blockaded the door and locked us in the bathroom."
Blomkvist's whole world suddenly felt off balance. His sister had almost...
"How is she?" he said.
"She's not hurt. Or, I mean, she wasn't hurt in today's drama at least."
He let that sink in.
"Annika, do you know anything at all about the murderer?"
"Not a thing. He was an older man, neatly dressed. I thought he looked rather bewildered. I've never seen him before, but I came up in the lift with him a few minutes before it all happened."
"And Zalachenko is dead, no question?"
"Yes. I heard three shots, and according to what I've overheard he was shot in the head all three times. But it's been utter chaos here, with a thousand policemen, and they're evacuating a ward for acutely ill and injured patients who really ought not to be moved. When the police arrived one of them tried to question Lisbeth before they even bothered to ask what shape she's in. I had to read them the riot act."
Inspector Erlander saw Giannini through the doorway to Salander's room. The lawyer had her mobile pressed to her ear, so he waited for her to finish her call.
Two hours after the murder there was still chaos in the corridor. Zalachenko's room was sealed off. Doctors had tried resuscitation immediately after the shooting, but soon gave up. He was beyond all help. His body was sent to the pathologist, and the crime scene investigation proceeded as best it could under the circumstances.
Erlander's mobile chimed. It was Fredrik Malmberg from the investigative team.
"We've got a positive I.D. on the murderer," Malmberg said. "His name is Evert Gullberg and he's seventy-eight years old."
Seventy-eight. Quite elderly for a murderer.
"And who the hell is Evert Gullberg?"
"Retired. Lives in Laholm. Apparently he was a tax lawyer. I got a call from S.I.S. who told me that they had recently initiated a preliminary investigation against him."
"When and why?"
"I don't know when. But apparently he had a habit of sending crazy and threatening letters to people in government."