“I’m trying to work out what happened to her daughter—and she hates me. If
Harriet were my daughter, I would have reacted a bit differently.”
At 2:00 in the afternoon, his mobile rang.
“Hello, my name is Conny Torsson and I work at the Hedestad Courier. Do you have
time to answer a few questions? We got a tip that you’re living here in Hedeby.”
“Well, Herr Torsson, your tip machine is a little slow. I’ve been living here since the
first of the year.”
“I didn’t know that. What are you doing in Hedestad?”
“Writing. And taking a sort of sabbatical.”
“What are you working on?”
“You’ll find out when I publish it.”
“You were just released from prison...”
“Yes?”
“Do you have a view on journalists who falsify material?”
“Journalists who falsify material are idiots.”
“So in your opinion you’re an idiot?”
“Why should I think that? I’ve never falsified material.”
“But you were convicted of libel.”
“So?”
Torsson hesitated long enough that Blomkvist had to give him a push.
“I was convicted of libel, not of falsifying material.”
“But you published the material.”