The Girl Who Lived Twice (Millennium #6) - David Lagercrantz Page 0,28

also because of his personality. He was well educated and rich, a marathon runner and a cross-Channel swimmer who could sometimes come across as supercilious. Certainly he’d been known to put people’s backs up.

But Blomkvist liked him. Every now and then they would run into each other in Sandhamn and exchange pleasantries. Out of a sense of duty he had followed up the rumours that Forsell had made huge sums from the stock market crash, and might even have been one of the contributing factors. He had not found a shred of evidence to support the claims. Forsell’s assets were managed on a discretionary basis and there had been no transactions either before or during the collapse. What is more, the market falls had most decidedly not strengthened his position. But as of now he was the most hated man in the government. His principal achievement was to have got increased funding for Must, the Swedish Military Intelligence and Security Service, and MSB, the Swedish Civil Contingencies Agency, so it was hardly surprising under the circumstances.

“I can’t stand all the lies that are being churned out,” she said.

“I don’t much like them either,” he said.

“Then we can agree on one thing, at least.”

“I accept that it’s not easy to talk to a guy who’s shouting and waving a stick,” he said.

“That’s generous of you.”

“But sometimes it’s worth listening even though it doesn’t seem to make sense. There might still be a grain of truth there.”

“And now you’re telling me how to do my job?”

Her tone was infuriating.

“Do you know something?” he said. “It can drive you mad when no-one believes you, or listens to you.”

“Are you serious?”

“To be ignored year after year? Oh yes, that can destroy you.”

“The man became homeless and psychotic because people like me wouldn’t listen to him?” she said.

“That’s not what I meant.”

“It sounded like it.”

“In that case, I apologize.”

“Thank you.”

“You haven’t had an easy time of it yourself, from what I’ve heard,” he tried.

“What’s that got to do with it?”

“Nothing, I guess.”

“Well, then. Thank you for coming by,” she said.

“Christ,” he muttered. “What’s the matter with you?”

“What’s the matter with me?” she repeated and got to her feet. For a few seconds they glared at each other.

He had the ridiculous feeling that they were duelling, or that they were two boxers in a ring, and without quite understanding how it happened they were suddenly very close to each other. He felt her breath and saw her eyes glow and her chest heave. When she inclined her head to one side he kissed her, and for a moment he thought he had done something unforgivably stupid. But she kissed him back, and for a few seconds they looked at each other in astonishment, as if neither could grasp what had happened.

Then she put a hand around his neck and pulled him to her, and within moments it got completely out of hand. They found themselves on the sofa and on the floor, and in the middle of all the madness Blomkvist realized that he had wanted her ever since he first saw her picture online.

CHAPTER 9

August 24

Fredrika Nyman was sitting in the laboratory at the Forensic Board thinking about her daughters, and wondering what had gone wrong.

“I don’t get it,” she said to her colleague Mattias Holmström.

“What don’t you get?”

“How I can be so angry at Josefin and Amanda. It’s as if I’m about to explode.”

“What is it that’s making you so angry?”

“They’re so arrogant. They don’t even say hello.”

“Jesus, Fredrika, they’re teenagers. It’s normal. Don’t you remember how you were at that age?”

Nyman did remember. She had been a model child, good at school and good at the flute, volleyball and choral singing. And at being polite and mannerly. She had been one big smile and had said “Yes, Mamma” and “Of course, Pappa” like a happy little trouper. She must have been unbearable in her own way. But heavens…to not even answer when you’re spoken to?

She couldn’t understand it, nor could she help being in a bad mood all the time, losing her temper and yelling at the girls in the evenings. She was simply too tired. She had to get some sleep, and some peace, and of course the obvious thing would be to prescribe herself some sleeping pills. And why not a controlled substance while she was at it? Since she had been such an exemplary teenager, surely she could go off the rails a bit now and, well, why