“If your father took any pictures on the day of the accident, the day that Harriet
disappeared.”
They went up to the attic. It took several minutes before Alexander was able to
identify a box of unsorted photographs.
“Take home the whole box,” he said. “If there are any at all, they’ll be in there.”
As illustrations for the family chronicle, Greger Vanger’s box held some real gems,
including a number of Greger together with Sven Olof Lindholm, the big Swedish
Nazi leader in the forties. Those he set aside.
He found envelopes of pictures that Greger had taken of family gatherings as well
as many typical holiday photographs—fishing in the mountains and a journey in
Italy.
He found four pictures of the bridge accident. In spite of his exceptional camera,
Greger was a wretched photographer. Two pictures were close-ups of the tanker
truck itself, two were of spectators, taken from behind. He found only one in which
Cecilia Vanger was visible in semi-profile.
He scanned in the pictures, even though he knew that they would tell him nothing
new. He put everything back in the box and had a sandwich lunch as he thought
things over. Then he went to see Anna.
“Do you think Henrik had any photograph albums other than the ones he
assembled for his investigation about Harriet?”
“Yes, Henrik has always been interested in photography—ever since he was young,
I’ve been told. He has lots of albums in his office.”
“Could you show me?”
Her reluctance was plain to see. It was one thing to lend Blomkvist the key to the
family crypt—God was in charge there, after all—but it was another matter to let
him into Henrik Vanger’s office. God’s writ did not extend there. Blomkvist
suggested that Anna should call Frode. Finally she agreed to allow him in. Almost
three feet of the very bottom shelf was taken up with photograph albums. He sat at
the desk and opened the first album.