“No. That day there were precisely thirteen boats on Hedeby Island. Most of the
pleasure boats were already in storage on land. Down in the small-boat harbour by
the summer cabins there were two Pettersson boats in the water. There were
seven eka rowing boats, of which five were pulled up on shore. Below the
parsonage one rowing boat was on shore and one in the water. By Östergården
there was a rowing boat and a motorboat. All these boats were checked and were
exactly where they were supposed to be. If she had rowed across and run away, she
would have had to leave the boat on the other side.”
Vanger held up four fingers.
“So there’s only one reasonable possibility left, namely that Harriet disappeared
against her will. Someone killed her and got rid of the body.”
Lisbeth Salander spent Christmas morning reading Mikael Blomkvist’s controversial
book about financial journalism, The Knights Templar: A Cautionary Tale for Financial
Reporters. The cover had a trendy design by Christer Malm featuring a photograph
of the Stockholm Stock Exchange. Malm had worked in PhotoShop, and it took a
moment to notice that the building was floating in air. It was a dramatic cover with
which to set the tone for what was to come.
Salander could see that Blomkvist was a fine writer. The book was set out in a
straightforward and engaging way, and even people with no insight into the
labyrinth of financial journalism could learn something from reading it. The tone
was sharp and sarcastic, but above all it was persuasive.
The first chapter was a sort of declaration of war in which Blomkvist did not mince
words. In the last twenty years, Swedish financial journalists had developed into a
group of incompetent lackeys who were puffed up with self-importance and who
had no record of thinking critically. He drew this conclusion because time after
time, without the least objection, so many financial reporters seemed content to
regurgitate the statements issued by CEOs and stock-market speculators—even
when this information was plainly misleading or wrong. These reporters were thus
either so naive and gullible that they ought to be packed off to other assignments,
or they were people who quite consciously betrayed their journalistic function.
Blomkvist claimed that he had often been ashamed to be called a financial
reporter, since then he would risk being lumped together with people whom he
did not rate as reporters at all.