had, after all, given them the scoop. And besides, he liked the man, so he supposed it was a concession he would have to live with. In any case it was bound to be a relief for Rebecka and the boys.
It was particularly heartening that Nima Rita had been cremated according to Buddhist custom back home in Tengboche, Nepal. There was also to be a memorial service, and Bob Carson was coming over from Denver. Fredrika Nyman would be there too. Everything seemed to be falling into place. Yet somehow none of it made him really happy. He felt that he was on the sidelines, especially now that Erika was babbling excitedly at him over the telephone. What on earth was she talking about?
“Who’s Kuznetsov?” he said.
“Have you completely lost your marbles?”
“What do you mean, my marbles?”
“You’ve hung him out to dry.”
“I have?”
“What drugs are they giving you?”
“Nowhere near enough.”
“And it’s a lousy piece of writing too.”
“I did warn you.”
“But in your usual lousy style you’ve emphasized very clearly that it was Vladimir Kuznetsov who set off this summer’s stock market crash. He was also one of the people behind the murders of homosexuals in Chechnya.”
He had no idea what she was talking about. He hobbled over to his computer and opened up his old article.
“That sounds pretty crazy.”
“Not half as crazy as your reaction to my questions.”
“It must be…” He did not finish his sentence, but then he did not have to either. The same thought had occurred to Erika.
“Is this something to do with Lisbeth?”
“I honestly don’t know, Erika,” he said, shocked. “But tell me now. Kuznetsov, you say.”
“You’ll have to read it yourself. Irina is busy translating the documents and the evidence that was attached. But it’s an absolutely mind-boggling story. Kuznetsov’s the one the Crazy Sisters sing about in ‘Killing the World with Lies.’ ”
“In what?”
“Sorry, I keep forgetting that you lost touch somewhere around Tina Turner.”
“Pack it in.”
“I’ll do my best.”
“At least give me a chance to look into it.”
“I’ll pop over this evening and we can talk about it.”
He thought about Catrin, who was meant to be coming over late that afternoon.
“Let’s meet up tomorrow, that’ll give me time to get my head around a bit more of this.”
“OK. And how are you feeling, by the way?”
He gave it some thought. And decided that she deserved a serious answer.
“It’s been pretty tough.”
“I can imagine.”
“But now…”
“What?”
“I’ve just begun to feel alive again.”
He was in a hurry to hang up.
“I have to…” he went on.
“Get in touch with a certain person.”
“Something like that.”
“Take care then,” she said.
He ended the call and tried again what he had tried to do countless times from hospital—get hold of Salander. He had not seen a single sign of life since she had vanished, had heard nothing at all of her except that she had sent that message to Kadi Linder, and he was worried. It was part of his general anxiety, a creeping unease which was always worst at night and early in the morning. He was afraid that she was unable to stop; that she would seek out new shadows from her past, and that eventually she would run out of luck. It was—he could not get the thought out of his mind—as if she were predestined for a violent end, and he could not bear the thought.
He picked up his mobile. What would he write this time? The clouds were rolling in outside. The wind was picking up and rattling the windowpanes and he felt his heart beat in his chest. Memories of the gaping furnace in Morgonsala washed over him and he toyed with the idea of making his message sound quite strict: She must get in touch. Otherwise, he would go mad.
But in the end it was lighthearted—as if he were afraid to show how worried he was.
But there was no answer. The hours passed and day turned to night and Catrin came. They kissed and shared a bottle of wine, and for a while he forgot his troubles. They didn’t stop talking until they both fell asleep at around eleven, entwined in each other’s arms. He woke up three hours later with a feeling of impending doom and nervously picked up his mobile. But there was nothing from Salander. He reached for his crutches, limped into the kitchen and sat there until dawn, thinking about her.