tableau before Blomkvist got a rubbish sack and cleaned it away. He put the cat in
the boot of the Volvo. He ought to file a police report for animal cruelty, possibly
intimidation, but he did not think he would want to explain why the intimidation
had taken place.
At 8:30 Isabella Vanger walked past and on to the bridge. She did not see them or
at least pretended not to.
“How are you doing?” Blomkvist said.
“Oh, I’m fine.” Salander looked at him, perplexed. OK, then. He expects me to be
upset. “When I find the motherfucker who tortured an innocent cat to death just to
send us a warning, I’m going to clobber him with a baseball bat.”
“You think it’s a warning?”
“Have you got a better explanation? It definitely means something.”
“Whatever the truth is in this story, we’ve worried somebody enough for that
person to do something really sick. But there’s another problem too.”
“I know. This is an animal sacrifice in the style of 1954 and 1960 and it doesn’t seem
credible that someone active fifty years ago would be putting tortured animal
corpses on your doorstep today.”
Blomkvist agreed.
“The only ones who could be suspected in that case are Harald Vanger and Isabella
Vanger. There are a number of older relatives on Johan Vanger’s side, but none of
them live in the area.”
Blomkvist sighed.
“Isabella is a repulsive bitch who could certainly kill a cat, but I doubt she was
running around killing women in the fifties. Harald Vanger...I don’t know, he seems
so decrepit he can hardly walk, and I can’t see him sneaking over here last night,
catching a cat, and doing all this.”
“Unless it was two people. One older, one younger.”