“Oh, there you are. Henrik has been asking after you.”
Frode held open the door and Blomkvist walked past Birger into the room.
Vanger looked to have aged ten years. He was lying with his eyes half closed, an
oxygen tube in his nose, and his hair more dishevelled than ever. A nurse stopped
Blomkvist, putting a hand firmly on his arm.
“Two minutes. No more. And don’t upset him.” Blomkvist sat on a visitor’s chair so
that he could see Vanger’s face. He felt a tenderness that astonished him, and he
stretched out his hand to gently squeeze the old man’s hand.
“Any news?” The voice was weak.
Blomkvist nodded.
“I’ll give you a report as soon as you’re better. I haven’t solved the mystery yet, but
I’ve found more new stuff and I’m following up a number of leads. In a week,
perhaps two, I’ll be able to tell the results.”
The most Vanger could manage was to blink, indicating that he understood.
“I have to be away for a few days.”
Henrik raised his eyebrows.
“I’m not jumping ship. I have some research to do. I’ve reached an agreement with
Dirch that I should report to him. Is that OK with you?”
“Dirch is...my man...in all matters.”
Blomkvist squeezed Vanger’s hand again.
“Mikael...if I don’t...I want you to...finish the job.”
“I will finish the job.”
“Dirch has...full...”
“Henrik, I want you to get better. I’d be furious with you if you went and died after
I’ve made such progress.”