“And by the following evening the killer would have been free to get in his car and
drive across the bridge to hide the body somewhere else.”
“Right under the noses of everyone involved in the search. If that’s the way it
happened, we’re talking about a cold-blooded bastard.”
Vanger gave a bitter laugh. “You just gave an apt description of quite a few
members of the Vanger family.”
They continued their discussion over supper at 6:00. Anna served roast hare with
currant jelly and potatoes. Vanger poured a robust red wine. Blomkvist still had
plenty of time to make the last train. He thought it was about time to sum things
up.
“It’s a fascinating story you’ve been telling me, I admit it. But I still don’t know why
you wanted me to hear it.”
“I told you. I want to nail the swine who murdered Harriet. And I want to hire you to
find out who it was.”
“Why?”
Vanger put down his knife and fork. “Mikael, for thirty-six years I’ve driven myself
crazy wondering what happened to Harriet. I’ve devoted more and more of my
time to it.”
He fell silent and took off his glasses, scrutinising some invisible speck of dirt on the
lens. Then he raised his eyes and looked at Blomkvist.
“To be completely honest with you, Harriet’s disappearance was the reason why
gradually I withdrew from the firm’s management. I lost all motivation. I knew that
there was a killer somewhere nearby and the worrying and searching for the truth
began to affect my work. The worst thing is that the burden didn’t get any lighter
over time—on the contrary. Around 1970 I had a period when I just wanted to be
left alone. Then Martin joined the board of directors, and he had to take on more
and more of my work. In 1976 I retired and Martin took over as CEO. I still have a
seat on the board, but I haven’t sailed many knots since I turned fifty. For the last
thirty-six years not a day has passed that I have not pondered Harriet’s