Armansky woke up Salander when he called her at 1:30 in the afternoon.
“What’s this about?” she said, drunk with sleep. Her mouth tasted like tar.
“Mikael Blomkvist. I just talked to our client, the lawyer, Frode.”
“So?”
“He called to say that we can drop the investigation of Wennerström.”
“Drop it? But I’ve just started working on it.”
“Frode isn’t interested any more.”
“Just like that?”
“He’s the one who decides.”
“We agreed on a fee.”
“How much time have you put in?”
Salander thought about it. “Three full days.”
“We agreed on a ceiling of forty thousand kronor. I’ll write an invoice for ten
thousand; you’ll get half, which is acceptable for three days of time wasted. He’ll
have to pay because he’s the one who initiated the whole thing.”
“What should I do with the material I’ve gathered?”
“Is there anything dramatic?”
“No.”
“Frode didn’t ask for a report. Put it on the shelf in case he comes back. Otherwise
you can shred it. I’ll have a new job for you next week.”
Salander sat for a while holding the telephone after Armansky hung up. She went
to her work corner in the living room and looked at the notes she had pinned up on
the wall and the papers she had stacked on the desk. What she had managed to