Blomkvist heard a car go by and looked up and saw Cecilia driving away over the
bridge. Harald and Cecilia, he thought, but they hardly spoke. Despite Martin
Vanger’s promise to talk to her, Cecilia had still not answered any of his telephone
messages.
“It must be somebody who knows we’re doing this work and that we’re making
progress,” Salander said, getting up to go inside. When she came back out she had
put on her leathers.
“I’m going to Stockholm. I’ll be back tonight.”
“What are you going to do?”
“Pick up some gadgets. If someone is crazy enough to kill a cat in that disgusting
way, he or she could attack us next time. Or set the cottage on fire while we’re
asleep. I want you to go into Hedestad and buy two fire extinguishers and two
smoke alarms today. One of the fire extinguishers has to be halon.”
Without another word, she put on her helmet, kick-started the motorcycle, and
roared off across the bridge.
Blomkvist hid the corpse and the head and guts in the rubbish bin beside the
petrol station before he drove into Hedestad to do his errands. He drove to the
hospital. He had made an appointment to meet Frode in the cafeteria, and he told
him what had happened that morning. Frode blanched.
“Mikael, I never imagined that this story could take this turn.”
“Why not? The job was to find a murderer, after all.”
“But this is disgusting and inhuman. If there’s a danger to your life or to Fröken
Salander’s life, we are going to call it off. Let me talk to Henrik.”
“No. Absolutely not. I don’t want to risk his having another attack.”
“He asks me all the time how things are going with you.”
“Say hello from me, please, and tell him I’m moving forward.”