their views on how well the trusteeship had functioned—if they had any opinions
about their own trustee, Advokat Bjurman wasn’t it? No-one had anything bad to
say about him.
When Salander completed her ferreting, she gathered up the documents in a bag
from Ica and put it out with the twenty bags of old newspapers out the hall.
Bjurman was apparently beyond reproach. There was nothing in his past that she
could use. She knew beyond a doubt that he was a creep and a pig, but she could
find nothing to prove it.
It was time to consider another option. After all the analyses were done, one
possibility remained that started to look more and more attractive—or at least
seemed to be a truly realistic alternative. The easiest thing would be for Bjurman
simply to disappear from her life. A quick heart attack. End of problem. The catch
was that not even disgusting fifty-three-year-old men had heart attacks at her beck
and call.
But that sort of thing could be arranged.
Blomkvist carried on his affair with Headmistress Cecilia Vanger with the greatest
discretion. She had three rules: she didn’t want anyone to know they were meeting;
she wanted him to come over only when she called and was in the mood; and she
didn’t want him to stay all night.
Her passion surprised and astonished him. When he ran into her at Susanne’s, she
was friendly but cool and distant. When they met in her bedroom, she was wildly
passionate.
Blomkvist did not want to pry into her personal life, but he had been hired to pry
into the personal lives of everyone in the Vanger family. He felt torn and at the
same time curious. One day he asked Vanger whom she had been married to and
what had happened. He asked the question while they were discussing the
background of Alexander and Birger.
“Cecilia? I don’t think she had anything to do with Harriet.”